Envy those who rejoice, correct those who mourn
By Chris Bruno | December 17, 2008
One day a friend comes to church glowing, a smile stretched from ear to ear. Without even being asked, he launches into an in-depth story of how he landed the best job of his life, one that would provide his family with more financial resources than he’s ever had. Through his elation, he begins to tell you of the well-deserved trips he plans to take, the debts he plans to pay, and the charities he has already chosen to support. “I can’t believe that God has done this for me! Can you?”
What is YOUR response?
The next day, another friend calls you. Tragedy has hit his home, and he is beside himself with grief and agony, completely unsure of what lies ahead. Tremors of panic rack his words, and brief cracks of doubt are evident in his shaken faith. The fear and anxiety he feels about the future seem to overwhelm him. He asks such questions as: “How could God allow this?” and “Where is God in the midst of this terror?” or “What am I to do?”
What is YOUR response?
No really, what happens, more often than not, in our hearts, as we face these two friends, one in deep agony, the other in extreme elation?
Sadly, I believe we respond like this: To our elated friend, knowing the struggle through which he has come to achieve this job, we may, for a while, be excited for him. “That’s so great!” we respond. “Yep, God is so good to do that for you!” But secretly deep within our hearts, there often rises up a shoot of envy, one that we may never voice outwardly, but says, “Yeah, God is good to you, but what about me?! I’ve been working hard too. God, when is it my turn? Why won’t you show up for me too?”
The real message behind our response, then, is one of envy. Rather than truly participating in our friend’s joy, we remain distant, unable to give the gift mutual rejoicing. Our own disappointment in God’s giving good gifts to others but not to us drives us away from a place of mutuality.
To the friend in desperation, we might indeed feel the pain and terror with him for a while, and even seek to comfort and aid him as best we can. But often we find ourselves trying to spiritualize, analyze or rationalize away the pain. Before our hearts are drawn into a place of despair and darkness along with his, we fight for intellectual control over our hearts by attempting to explain God’s place and reasons. We defend God’s character, affirming that He is indeed good, and that “surely He knows what He is doing. This is all part of His plan, though we may not see that now.” In so doing, we form barriers around our own hearts like spiritual dikes designed to hold back the floodwaters of grief. “God works in mysterious ways.”
The real message behind our words, then, is one of correction. We are in essence chiding our friend’s despair, not giving it space to exist while we attempt to exterminate it with “right thinking.” In essence we condemn it as disbelief that can be comforted or corrected with doctrinal truths designed to inoculate the pain. To his question of “how could God allow this?” we answer, “Who are we to question God? Everything He does is good and right, so change your despair into submission to His sovereign plan.”
Envy those who rejoice, correct those who mourn. How has it come to this?
Many of us are familiar with the following passage from Scripture:
“Rejoice with those who rejoice, mourn with those who mourn.”
Romans 12:15
Why is something stately so simply so incredibly difficult to do? What does it mean to rejoice with another? What does it mean to mourn with another?
I believe our failure in both of these realms is primarily a theological one. What I mean by this is that we have misunderstood God’s heart for us as we are commanded to rejoice and mourn with others. From the moment we pick up the phone and enter into a conversation with our despairing friend, or from the first glance at our rejoicing friend’s smile we have entered into a deeply theological realm designed to bring us closer to the heart of God.
Our first assumption is that the focus of the interaction, (any conversation, as a matter of fact, but for the current argument, let’s stick to these two friends), is on the issue at hand, namely the pain or the elation. Our attention is centered on the earthly place where struggle and triumph exist. However, I would argue that, in order to truly obey the command to rejoice or mourn with others, we may enter closer into the heart of God as we seek to see Him rejoicing or mourning with and for us and our friends.
Yes, God Himself rejoices. He sings over us. He seeks us. He smiles. As our Father, He loves to give good gifts to His children. As an earthly father rejoices when his son makes the 3-point hoop or his daughter perfectly graces the ballet stage, He loves to see our smiles. So when we see goodness and passionate pursuit of His children on earth, we may catch a precious glimpse of His fatherly heart. Rather than respond to our elated friend with envy, we may instead ask to see God’s elation – how is HE rejoicing right now in this situation? What does His face look like right now as he hears my friend’s joy? What does His laughter sound like? How does hearing about this gift exalt my view of God and his giving heart? In so doing, the conversation becomes an interaction not only with my friend, but also with God Himself. God becomes the focus, and the temptation to envy my friend practically disappears as I have entered into communion with God through the joy of my friend. I am now truly rejoicing, because I have entered God’s joy in being a good God, and am basking in the glory of His smile. Pure joy.
And yes, God Himself mourns. He weeps over us. He agonizes. He sheds tears. As our Father, He is well aware of our pain and suffering. He Himself has experienced that pain in ways that we will never come close to comprehending. The tragedy and agony of our lives have not escaped divine notice, but rather have so moved Him to enter our loss personally. He is not afraid of our despair, and He can handle our doubt. He is not threatened by our questions, but rather identifies with our grief with holy tears. As an earthly father weeps with the pain and fears of his earthly children, so too God weeps with us. Rather than respond to pain with feeble attempts to correct our thinking, we may instead ask to see God’s agony – how is HE weeping right now in this situation? What tears is He shedding with my friend? How is His countenance as He sits with this grief? And how may we grasp His love for us all the more as we experience His sorrow as well? We are brought into the tearful mourning of God Himself, a place of truly intense love for us. I am now truly mourning, because the Great Divine also weeps at pain, loss and brokenness.
In our friend’s elation or pain, we too receive a gift from God – a deeper glimpse into His heart for us. That same God who rejoices with them also rejoices over me. That same God who weeps with them also weeps with me. There is then a great freedom to rejoice or mourn – neither threatens us. Rather, they draw us closer to God Himself.
So the next time you either encounter a rejoicing or mourning friend, or you yourself have a season in either of these two places, consider allowing yourself to stay there in obedience of God’s command. Truly rejoice, because HE rejoices. Truly mourn, because HE mourns. If He’s ok with it, you can be too.
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