Greshniku

You are all alone.

This is one of the most effective lies I’ve ever heard. King Saul believed it. Elijah believed it. Christians around the world believe it. I suspect it’s been hissed into the hearts of all of God’s people at some point in their lives.

I read all these newsletters about missionaries around the world, including some of the most desperate, dark places imaginable. The newsletters often include stories about locals who had been secretly following Christ for years before they ever learned of another believer. When they learn that they are not alone as they’d thought, they almost always weep in relief. Because the load is too heavy to carry alone.

Elijah called down fire from heaven and God consumed an entire altar before the stunned eyes of all of Israel. He was clearly working for the winning team. He was the host for an enormous victory for God. And then, he believed the lie. He found himself on a mountain, being supernaturally fed and protected – and he prayed that he would die. He was so sure that he was the only one – that he was carrying everything alone – that he wanted nothing more than to give up forever.

Loneliness is a powerful feeling. It’s a powerful lie.

Sometimes, I’m Elijah. I sit back and watch God do overwhelming things, and then I crawl into a cave and accuse Him of putting me out there all alone. I don’t just mean because I’m single, although I’m sure that’s part of it. But it’s also a different kind of aloneness. A deeper kind.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not praying for God to end my life. And I’m still perfectly happy and willing to go out and watch Him change the World and reveal His glory. And I have friends and family who love me and listen to me and go through life with me.

But sometimes, when I’m sitting in my house, or watching people at the airport, or sending out another prayer update, I think, I’m alone here, aren’t I?

This has been especially frequent in the last few days. While my summer and house were occupied by plenty of external presence, the lie hasn’t had a chance to slither in. But now that I’ve been alone for a few days, it hits me like a familiar scent that I had almost forgotten at times when I least expect it.

I’d like to be able to post this blog in the past tense. I’d like to say I have figured out how to silence the lie forever. I can’t in good faith do that. But I can say that I know it IS a lie. And the more I read God’s Word and learn about the Christians around the world, I know that I’m in good company – which makes me feel much less lonely.

And, I can say, that like Elijah, God is showing up in the quiet moments of my fear. Not in the wind. Not in the earthquake. Not in the fire. In the whisper.

And that gives me a lot of hope.

Hurt people hurt people.

This is what my dad taught me several years ago when I couldn’t answer questions about fairness, suffering and the emotional pain inside me so sharp that each breath was a struggle. And he was right. The people who are fierce, cold, manipulative, sarcastic, negative, abusive, oppressive – these are the people who are most wounded, lonely, hopeless, lost and hurting.

I was reminded of this while watching an episode of “Intervention” a few nights ago. This is a TV show that documents the lives of people who are addicted to something so severely that it is literally destroying their lives. My self-righteous, super-Christian side looks at those people, shakes my head sadly, and says, “They’re doing this to themselves. They just need to make good decisions. Look at how selfish they’re being. They don’t even care that they’re destroying the people who love them. Terrible.”

But, like everything else, it’s a little more complicated than that. In following these people around, the show reveals layers of abandonment, abuse, hopelessness, anger, grief, mental and physical disabilities, and a host of equally debilitating demons. Yes, they still made bad decisions along the way, but those decisions were compounded by forces well outside of their control.

Do they deserve my compassion? My action?

What about in the truly terrible situations? I hear about all the trafficking of young girls into the sex industry, and I’m immediately filled with righteous anger and a desire for justice. I want those girls to be rescued and their oppressors to be punished. But then, in the middle of my indignation, it hits me.

Hurt people hurt people.

Oh. Dang it. Those depraved, conscience-less, evil destroyers of innocence and hope – they are victims, too. They’ve been so engulfed by immorality and wretchedness that their very lives are saturated with it. They are so enslaved that they don’t always even know what kind of wickedness controls them.

Do they deserve my compassion? My action?

This nagging question infiltrates countless situations. The guy who cut me off with his car. The friend who constantly picks at what I say. The old lady who gossips and meddles. The careless family member who jokes at my expense. The co-worker who seems to run over everybody. The politician who fails to deliver on his promises. The angry mom who yells at her kid at the grocery store. The workaholic who never sees his family. The teenager who walks into his school and starts pulling the trigger.

And the list goes on. What if instead of getting angry or self-righteous, I recognized each act of pain-infliction for what it really is – a confession of suffering? Would my reaction change? Would my whole world change?

What if I refuse to continue the cycle? What if I take the hurt I’ve received and put it aside? What if I forgive when I want to lash out, move forward when I want to wallow, and restore where I want to rip away? What if I trust God with what I can’t control and pursue Him with what I can?

What if I stop worrying about who deserves my compassion and just start worrying about who needs it?