The Love Called Brutality

This week I was told not to be afraid to be brutally honest. In every conversation, I make it an endeavor to be as truthful as possible. However, brutality usually isn't on the agenda. Brutality is harsh. It hurts. It tears down and does not build up. And it has no place in the life of a believer. 

Or does it?

If I have been informed correctly, helping a butterfly coming out of its cocoon is the most brutal thing one could do to the creature. But our natural instinct is to desire to help it. Why? Because an even more brutal thing in our eyes is to watch the new beautiful creature suffer and struggle and squirm. So we want to help it.

But our help is the help that kills (and I'll explain why in a moment). Walk with me through one more example: the giraffe. The moment a giraffe is born, it suffers brutality. Rather than finding warmth and comfort and "love" from its mother, the newborn giraffe is repeatedly bumped over. When it stands back up on its feet, its mother knocks it over again. And again. And again. Brutality.

But let us love these creatures. Suppose we were to rescue them. Suppose we peeled back the remains of the cocoon and let the butterfly escape. Or suppose we let the little giraffe find comfort for a while apart from his mother. We will give them compassion.

We will give them death.

The reason we don't understand brutality is because we don't understand the purpose of suffering (even though the Bible tells us in many places, such as Romans 5). If a butterfly is released prematurely from its struggle, it cannot fly. Rather, it will fall to the ground and be devoured by some other hungry creature. And similarly with the giraffe, if it is not taught to run immediately after its birth, it is likely to be consumed by a lion or some other wild animal. Therefore, the most loving - albeit the most brutal - thing a mother giraffe can do for her young is kick it over, again and again, until the giraffe can run.

I think sometimes I have prayed for God to take away His heavy hand from me and withhold all of the terrible brutality I am facing in life. The ache is too much to bear. I don't want to struggle to get out of my cocoon - I want to rest. I don't want to be knocked over - I want to be left alone. Let me learn how to run by myself.

In a way, I have prayed for God to do the most unloving thing He could do. And haven't we all? Perhaps there is something greater than we can see behind the curtain of our suffering. And that something greater gives us reason not only to endure but to rejoice and exult. We will be able to fly.

All that having been said, I imagine that many our prayers for relief ascend to God to which He answers: "No, my child. I love you far too much."



Hebrews 12:6
For those whom the LORD loves He disciplines,
And He scourges every son whom He receives.

Romans 5:1-5
Therefore, having been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom also we have obtained our introduction by faith into this grace in which we stand; and we exult in hope of the glory of God. And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

Amazed Again

Today is a beautiful February day in the Indianan planes. There was frost out this morning, but the afternoon has proven to be quite glorious. Delightful. The sun is shining, and my ears have heard the long-forgotten melody of birds whistling their songs of joy through the air. How I have missed spring and summer and autumn; winter is death.

For me, spring represents spiritual life. For the past few years, I have made a habit of taking my guitar outside and singing in the cool wind. I don't play many songs I've written or sing about abstractions. It's all worship. And today I did it again, for the first time in quite a long time.

How is it that we so easily forget the sound of birds cheeping? Why does sin look so pleasurable at times? Why does our faith grow so numb and dim and cold that we want something more? What is my problem?

I have ceased to be amazed.

This is the problem.

God never becomes boring. He is the One who created butterflies and lilies and laughing children and wallabies and nebulae. He hand-made every fingerprint and fashioned every son and daughter. He is the reason we have blood vessels, fingernails, nerves, tibiae (hmm, it's tibiae, not tibias), and salivary glands. He's the God who created fun (thanks, KB).

So how can it be that I am bored? The problem is in me. Listen to God's words in Psalm 50:

For every beast of the forest is Mine,The cattle on a thousand hills.I know every bird of the mountains,And everything that moves in the field is Mine.If I were hungry I would not tell you,For the world is Mine, and all it contains.Shall I eat the flesh of bullsOr drink the blood of male goats?Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgivingAnd pay your vows to the Most High;Call upon Me in the day of trouble;I shall rescue you, and you will honor Me (vv. 10-15).

Now would be the time to say, Wow! This planet, full with 7,000,000,000 (seven billion) people, is God's. All of it. Every inch. Every beast of every field, all cattle of every farm. The thousands of blackbirds that will fly over my house this spring belong to God.

God has spoken: "You thought that I was just like you" (v. 21).

I stand corrected.

I stand amazed.

The reality of the holiness of God is that He is not like man (Num. 23:19). And therefore, the reality of our sin is that we have made Him into our own image.

Let us return. Let us see Him for who He really is. And let us be amazed again.