A fan of J.R.R. Tolkien posed a question to him in a letter. He asked why the heroes of the Lord of the Rings trilogy didn’t simply fly on the giant eagles into Mordor. In a later interview, Tolkien admitted, “It would have made the quest a whole lot easier.” Yet he gave a shockingly curt answer: “Shut up.”
Tolkien’s inelegant response contains a lesson for us. We might ask a similar question of the Grand Storyteller—God. We say, “You’re the all-powerful God. Why don’t You fix my problem?”
Although the poets and prophets of the Bible are full of hard questions for God, He doesn’t tell us to shut up. Yet when we humans are confronted with His presence, we tend to grow silent.
Job, who suffered tremendously, had big questions. His children dead, his wealth gone, his health ruined, he lamented, “I cry out to you, God, but you do not answer” (Job 30:20). Eventually, God replied, but in a surprising way. He said, “I will question you, and you shall answer me” (38:3). Job had no answer, and concluded, “I spoke of things I did not understand” (42:3).
If Tolkien’s eagles had flown Frodo and Sam into the evil heart of Mordor, there would have been no quest, no story, no character development. God is writing a story, and He’s developing our character through it—yours and mine. We’re on a quest in the greatest fellowship of them all.
Hippocrates (ca. 460–375
The apostle Paul cared for a church with multiple problems, yet he saw the humanity of each member—including a man who’d committed a sin “that even pagans do not tolerate” (1 Corinthians 5:1). Paul dealt strongly with the “disease,” and the man repented. Now, as he wrote another letter to the church in Corinth, Paul had affirming instructions for all of them. He recognized that this man’s sin had affected everyone. “He has grieved all of you to some extent,” he said (2 Corinthians 2:5). But since the man had turned from his sin, Paul said, “Reaffirm your love for him” (v. 8).
His motivation was clear: “I wrote you out of great distress and anguish of heart and with many tears, not to grieve you but to let you know the depth of my love for you” (v. 4). He knew them all. And he loved them.
Sin affects us all. Behind each sin is a human being. When we’ve been wronged, it may be difficult to work toward restoration, yet that’s what God calls us to do. Know the person. Then, in Christ’s strength, love them.
As a young man, journalist Sebastian Junger traveled the US and wrote about it. One day in the 1980s, he entered a restroom in the Florida Keys and found hateful graffiti scrawled on the walls. Most of it targeted Cuban immigrants. But one message, apparently from a Cuban, stood out. It read, “Thank God the rest of the people in this country are warm and caring and welcomed me in ’62.” Junger observed, “The very worst things about America were on that men’s-room wall, and the very best.”
How are we to respond to the poisonous messages we so often encounter? The book of Proverbs offers sound counsel. Solomon, who compiled most of the book, brackets chapter 15 with similar imagery: “the mouth of the fool gushes folly” (v. 2), and “the mouth of the wicked gushes evil” (v. 28). The chapter begins, however, with the antidote to such venom: “A gentle answer turns away wrath” (v. 1). Solomon also noted, “The soothing tongue is a tree of life” (v. 4). Always, a patient response is key: “The heart of the righteous weighs its answers” (v. 28).
How might God use our words when we ask Him to help us weigh them before our mouths, our pens, or our keyboards spew venom and vitriol at our fellow humans? As the proverb says, “How good is a timely word!” (v. 23).
Late autumn 1941. The Sunday service had just concluded. As their father lingered at the little north-country church, my dad and his siblings walked the short distance home. When their father came up the snowy hill to the farmhouse, he was crying. He’d just learned Pearl Harbor had been bombed. His sons—my dad included—would be going to war. Dad always recalled the moment in vivid detail.
Researchers call such events “flashbulb memories”—moments seared into our minds. Think of 9/11, or the day you lost someone close. Think too of your most joyous experience.
Imagine the flashbulb memories of Jesus’ disciples. They witnessed miracle after miracle. Suddenly, catastrophe struck. The Son of God was arrested and crucified. But then, resurrection! Mary Magdalene hurried to tell the disciples, “I have seen the Lord!” (John 20:18). Still, the disciples hid in fear. They didn’t believe the news (Luke 24:11), not until “Jesus came and stood among them” (John 20:19). Then, “The disciples were overjoyed” (v. 20).
John recorded some of those moments, saying, “These are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name” (v. 31). “Flashbulb memories” with eternal significance.
Charles had sunk into depression. Despite having a loving family, he felt all alone. “The overwhelming pressure of supporting them was continuing to build,” he said, “and I felt like taking my own life.” Surprisingly—or perhaps not—Charles Morris also led a Christian ministry.
A wise friend told him that when faced with depression, “We should soak in the Psalms.” Charles got through his deep despondency by reading relatable Bible passages, accepting prudent medical care, and pouring his heart out to God.
The Psalms are often brutally honest. Heman the Ezrahite wrote one of the most bitter. Hope is found only in the opening lines: “
When we read psalms such as this one, we realize we’re not alone. Others have experienced desperate feelings and have dared to put voice to them. God could take such honesty from Heman. He can take it from you too. He’s there, and He’s listening.
In her blog post “Regrets of the Dying,” Bronnie Ware outlines regrets she heard as a nurse caring for the terminally ill. Among them were “I wish I hadn’t worked so hard” and “I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.” Perhaps most intriguing: “I wish that I had let myself be happier.”
“Facing our own inevitable death is a fabulous tool for joy-filled living,” Ware writes. That’s sound advice, but what is the source of such joy? Where do we find ultimate meaning?
As a young man, John the disciple held a distorted view of life’s purpose. He and his brother asked Jesus, “Let one of us sit at your right and the other at your left in your glory” (Mark 10:37). Their request only sparked dissension among the disciples (v. 41).
Decades later John held a drastically different view—one of love and community in Jesus. John saw Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection as foundational to everything. “We proclaim to you the eternal life,” he wrote (1 John 1:2). John told us about Jesus so that “you also may have fellowship with us” (v. 3). Then he added, “Our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ. We write this to make our joy complete” (vv. 3-4).
Life can bring regrets. Jesus invites us to exchange them for the complete joy only He can give.
In Charles Dickens’ classic novel Oliver Twist, the sickly Oliver is born in a workhouse, an institution notorious for exploiting the poor. Orphaned at birth, the boy eventually runs away due to abusive treatment. Through an amazing set of “twists,” he learns he is heir to a sizable fortune. Dickens, who loved happy endings, ensured that everyone who harmed Oliver over the years either received justice or repented. His oppressors got what they deserved while Oliver “inherited the land.” If only life came with tidy endings like those scripted in a Dickens novel.
In the Bible we read a song by a man who anticipated such a day—when justice is served and the oppressed “inherit the land” (Psalm 37:9). Though he experienced evil firsthand, the poet David urged patience. “Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him,” he wrote. “Do not fret when people succeed in their ways, when they carry out their wicked schemes” (v. 7). He continued, “Those who are evil will be destroyed, but those who hope in the Lord will inherit the land” (v. 9). Despite observing how the “wicked draw the sword” to “bring down the poor and needy” (v. 14), David trusted God to make things right (v. 15).
Life is hard and often unfair. Yet we hear in the words of Jesus an echo from Psalm 37. “Blessed are the meek,” He said, “for they shall inherit the earth” (Matthew 5:5).
“Sometimes in life we see things that we can’t unsee,” Alexander McLean told a 60 Minutes interviewer. The South Londoner was eighteen when he went to Uganda to assist in prison and hospice work. That’s where he saw something he couldn’t unsee—an old man lying helpless next to a toilet. For five days McLean cared for him. Then the man died.
The experience ignited a passion in McLean. He earned his law degree and returned to Africa to help the marginalized. Eventually he founded Justice Defenders, an organization that advocates for prisoners.
Many people live in conditions we couldn’t “unsee” if we were to see them. But we don’t see them. In his lament for his devastated homeland, the prophet Jeremiah poured out his heart over his sense of being unseen. “Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by?” he cried. “Look around and see. Is any suffering like my suffering?” (Lamentations 1:12).
Jeremiah’s heart ached not only for himself but for all the oppressed as well. “To crush underfoot all prisoners in the land, to deny people their rights . . . would not the Lord see such things?” he asked rhetorically (3:34–36). Yet he saw hope. “No one is cast off by the Lord forever,” he said. “You, Lord, took up my case; you redeemed my life” (vv. 31, 58).
The “unseen” are all around us. God, who has redeemed us, calls us to see and serve them as He enables us.
They were three adrenaline-fueled teenage boys, unleashed in the immense underground system connecting to Mammoth Cave. With them was their Uncle Frank, a veteran caver familiar with these parts. He knew the drop-offs and danger spots and continually called to the three, “Guys, this way!” Still, they ventured ever farther from him.
Dimming his headlamp, Uncle Frank decided to remain silent. Soon, the boys realized they’d lost their guide. Panic-stricken, they yelled his name. No response. Finally, they saw his headlamp flicker to life in the distance. Instant relief and peace! Now they were ready to follow their guide.
This true story makes an apt parable for how we can treat the gift of the Holy Spirit. Detours lure us away from the voice that calls us to follow the One who said, “Follow me” (Matthew 16:24). That voice is the Holy Spirit, who dwells inside each child of God (Acts 2:38–39).
God’s Spirit will never abandon us, but we can ignore Him. The apostle Paul warns, “Do not quench the Spirit” (1 Thessalonians 5:19). Instead, “Rejoice always, pray continually,” and “give thanks in all circumstances” (vv. 16–18). By doing so, we stay close to our guide, “the God of peace,” who can keep us “blameless” (v. 23). It’s not our work that does it. It’s His. As Paul reminds us, “The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it” (v. 24).
