To Suffer Long
My husband and I moved to the suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio as 22 year-olds with bright eyes, dogged tenacity, and few fears.
My husband and I moved to the suburbs of Cleveland, Ohio as 22 year-olds with bright eyes, dogged tenacity, and few fears. We moved our lives from the Bible-belt-security of Texas because a church was dying in an unlucky city. She needed help. We loved her from first sight, and it stung us to see her gasping for air. I have spent the last four years in a practicum of longsuffering.
While I do not regret moving to Cleveland to serve a dying Bride, there are pains I wish I could have avoided along the way. I wish that we hadn’t been abandoned by co-laborers, that we hadn’t been rocked by suicide, and that partners hadn't retracted their financial support. Many other church planters I know have not been given such (lack of) luck, and I envy them. But there's no changing the hand we've been dealt.
There have been sleepless nights and countless tears, and the hardest days to get out of bed are Sundays. Sometimes, most times, I hate Sundays. My disposition doesn’t come from an animosity of the gathered assembly or a distaste for communion bread and Welch’s juice. Rather it comes from a place of vulnerability. When tears fall so frequent that grooves form on your cheeks, no amount of smiling can conceal the hardship. But each Sunday I wake up. I, along with my husband, get to the church two hours early to set up. I sing. I break bread with the saints. And I worship God.
Working among God’s people is not without joys; however, those joys are often eclipsed by sufferings. Whether by human error or the Devil's surplus of wool to pull over my sleepy eyes, the pains are louder than the delights. A patient suffering seems integral to the human experience. Or maybe it’s not essential as much as it is unavoidable. As disciples of Christ, we're war-torn and ragged around the edges. If our own sin doesn't set a bear trap before us, our enemies surely will. Ministry is a work of longevity and humiliation, two things (among many more) our God knows intimately.
It all starts in the Garden, where though he is sinned against, God relents from the immediate termination of humankind. Even in his cursing he offers the hopeful blessing of a snake-crushing victor to come. In the same way, the Lord does not rush his people into the promised land; instead, he gives the breadth of forty years for the sake of Israel's purity and holiness and then gifts them their inheritance. Perhaps most pointedly, God wades through the decades of rebellious and wicked kings who lead his people in idolatry and debauchery. Their hearts turn away, but God’s is unmoving and unchanging. The prophet Hosea depicts the relentless love of God through the act of keeping covenant with a prostitute. God’s patience to bear with us in our misdeeds is surprising, if not downright scandalous.
And we see this same posture in Christ during his time on earth. Dejected, abused, and misunderstood, Jesus persisted in what he came to do. He had every reason to quit, but his people were worth the quiet, unseen sufferings he endured. He gathered his bride, commissioned her, and gave her endurance over hell and hades. He patiently bore hardship, and so now we follow his footsteps — steady, sure, and purposeful steps. Steps that don't hesitate when waves lap up at our ankles, then our knees, then our necks. Steps that stand firm, even when our spines don't want us to.
More days than not, I want to give up, and some days I outright do. Some days I begrudgingly partake in the bread and the cup. Some days I reluctantly sing songs in worship when the words seem untrue. Some of God’s characteristics, like sovereignty, are not achievable to mankind, but longsufferingness can and should be sought, valued, and emulated by his children. My patience will forever be stretched to its breaking point, but by prioritizing persevering endurance, the ability to longsuffer increases. Patience may be taut, but the posture of longsufferingness eases the tension as we gaze upon the flogged back of our Savior. He bore our stripes, but not without crushing the head of the serpent, accomplishing what he came to do. He was pierced, but not without making sure his bride would assemble and survive.
In the hard nights and impossible days, when my tears soak my bed, I have the opportunity to exercise the hope provided in God's longsufferingness. I have the chance to take up the cross of loving kindness towards Christ's bride and pour myself out for her once more.
