Suffer

The Day ‘Darkness Rejoiced As Though Heaven Had Lost’

/ Blake Glosson / 2 Comments

Today is Holy Saturday—the day between Christ’s death and resurrection—the day darkness rejoiced as though Heaven had lost.

_______________________

I visited Taylor University last week. The chapel service was one of the most enthusiastic worship gatherings I have ever experienced. Multiple times I thought, “Is an Asburian revival about to break out?”

Several factors might’ve contributed to the energy in the room that day. It was Friday. It was sunny. Spring is here. College students are lively. And honestly, I wonder if God is answering prayers and bringing genuine revival among college campuses.

But beyond that, on that Friday—just two weeks before Easter—there was a true sense of resurrection victory in the air. Christ’s power over darkness was the theme of the service, and the joy of Jesus’ resurrected life was palpable.

This joy was perhaps most noticeable as we sang Death Was Arrested, a song that… well… I had somehow never heard before that morning.

You say, Um… what? Are you even a Christian?

I know, I know, I live under a rock when it comes to modern worship music. Shortly after the service, I asked one of my friends, “Have you ever heard that song before?”

She said, “I’ve known that song for like six years, Blake…”

Sheesh!

Anyway, in case you, like me, have *miraculously* never heard Death Was Arrested, let me explain what makes this song so moving.

As the title suggests, Death Was Arrested heralds Jesus’ victory over sin, darkness, and death. Through the grace and endless love of Christ, ashes become beauty; orphans become children; tears become dancing; prisoners become free. Christ defeated death with death and rose triumphantly to give us new life. The song glitters with little gospel gems.

But something happens in the middle of the song that—for first-time hearers like me—is quite striking.

Midway through the song, we sing,

Our Savior displayed on a criminal’s cross

Darkness rejoiced as though Heaven had lost

Then, unexpectedly, the music fades. Several (long) seconds of silence ensue. (In the live North Point Worship version, the lights cut out, and darkness floods in.) For a few moments, the room fills with the ominous aura of Holy Saturday. The day of silence. The day of waiting. The day darkness rejoiced as though Heaven had lost.

Twenty-four long hours for Christians to wonder, Is it true? Has Heaven lost? Has darkness won? 

When darkness feels like your closest friend

Our lives are full of moments and seasons of this tension, this silence, this waiting. I experienced one such moment several months ago.

It was a month of praying, fasting, struggling, and waiting. One morning, I spent several hours in my bedroom, seeking the Lord, wrestling to discern his will for my life. I felt like God was not answering me. No—let me rephrase that. I felt like God didn’t even hear me. It wasn’t like he was giving me an answer I didn’t want to hear; it felt like he wasn’t answering at all.

By God’s grace, this was a very unusual experience for me. Normally, God attends my prayer times with a strong sense of his presence, blessing, and even direction. But this day felt different. It felt like darkness. I even asked him, “Are you not going to meet me today?”

He didn’t answer.

At least, I didn’t initially feel like he had answered.

So, I did what any good seminary student would do—I prayed Psalm 88. It was the first time in my life that I pulled the Psalm 88 card on God in prayer. I wasn’t messing around.

Psalm 88 is known to be one of the only Psalms that does not end with a word of hope. In fact, the prayer ends with “Darkness is my closest friend.”

That’s what I felt that day.

It wasn’t complete hopelessness—God has proved himself faithful far too many times for that—but my experience was, “At this moment, it feels like darkness has won. It feels like God is absent. It feels like God doesn’t hear me. Where is God in all of this?”

But as the day went on, it dawned on me that the very existence of Psalm 88 was a profound evidence of God’s presence, love, and care.

When God’s people suffer, he doesn’t say, “Stop hurting! How dare you feel like darkness is your closest friend!” No, no—quite the opposite. God is actually the one who gave us these words to pray in the first place!

God doesn’t only give us permission to express our true feelings; he literally gives us step-by-step instructions. He knew we would, at times, feel drowned by darkness in this life, so he gave us a way to process our feelings with him—a way for our souls to breathe.

Ed Welch describes the Psalter as a self-diagnosis manual through which God asks us, “Do you feel like I have left you? Do you feel like I have forgotten you? Do you feel like I have rejected you? Do you feel like I don’t care? Do you feel like I don’t hear? Do you feel like I sleep while you suffer? Do you feel like you are drowning in my waves? Do you feel like darkness is your closest companion?” God graciously gives us words to pray when we have none. He even gives us words to express our frustrations with him!

Like any good counselor, God isn’t threatened or offended by our feelings. He knows his own perfection and doesn’t need to defend or justify himself. Rather than interrogate us for our feelings, God illumines us about our feelings. In love, he helps us understand ourselves.

Psalm 88 stands as a reminder that God doesn’t condemn us for our feelings. Yet he does want to help us take our feelings captive. He wants to give us hope through his Word (Psalm 119:49–50).

The Hope of Holy Saturday

Consider the kindness of God to write Holy Saturday into Holy Week. He could’ve just as easily raised Jesus from the dead on Saturday instead of Sunday. Why wait a day?

By writing Holy Saturday into Holy Week, God communicates to every suffering saint who feels like darkness is winning: I see you. I know your suffering. I know the darkness that clouds your vision and threatens to smother your hope. But, dear child, remember that resurrection is coming! I didn’t leave Christ in the grave, and I won’t leave you in the grave, either. Darkness didn’t prevail over Christ, and it won’t prevail over you.

Believer, let this Holy Saturday remind you that our Savior willingly entered into darkness to save us. He knows what it feels like to wait. He knows what it feels like to suffer. He’s not unfamiliar with the blackness; he plunged its deepest depths—its very heart—to rescue us. And because Jesus entered into that dark abyss, we can rest knowing that the darkness we experience in this life is the darkest it will ever get. Eternal light is coming. Resurrection is coming. Jesus is coming.

“I am certain that I will see the Lord’s goodness in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart be courageous. Wait for the Lord!” —Psalm 27:13–14

_________________________

Blake Glosson is a pastoral resident at Chapelstreet Church in Geneva, Illinois, and an MDiv student at Reformed Theological Seminary. He has been published by The Gospel Coalition and Crosswalk.com and republished and/or referred by Eternal Perspective Ministries (Randy Alcorn), Challies.com (Tim Challies), Moody Radio (here, here, and here), The JOY FM (The Morning Cruise with Dave, Bill, and Carmen), ChurchLeaders.com, The Aquila Report, Monergism.com, and numerous other sources. Previously, he served as the director of young adults at New Covenant Bible Church in St. Charles, Illinois.

Read “In Suffering, God Isn’t (Simply) Teaching You a Lesson” here.

Read “That Decompressing Exhale For Which Our Souls Long” here.

Read “Three Ways to Glorify God in Worry and Anxiety” here.

Song suggestions:

In Suffering, God Isn’t (Simply) Teaching You a Lesson

/ Blake Glosson / 13 Comments

Note: This article is also published on The Gospel Coalition.

Sufferers often ask, “What lesson is God trying to teach me through this hardship?” Their friends ask them, “What is God trying to teach you?”

Generally, these are helpful questions. Suffering is difficult and confusing, and at times it feels pointless, so it’s natural and healthy to look for lessons to learn. It’s also true that God graciously uses trials to produce sweet fruit in our lives (James 1:2–4), often using difficult circumstances to teach us some of life’s most valuable lessons. Praying, “Lord, teach and grow me through this trial,” is always useful for us and precious to God.

Yet, there is a danger in reducing suffering to “a lesson to learn”—in believing (or communicating to others) that God allowed our suffering merely to send us a corrective message. Here are five potential problems with this line of thinking.

1. It’s unbiblical.

Consider two famous biblical examples of suffering: Job and Jesus. The opening chapter of Job does not say, “Job was walking in disobedience to God, so God brought suffering to teach him a lesson.” Rather, it says Job was “blameless and upright” (1:1), and God allowed suffering (in part) to prove his genuineness (1:8–12). If Job’s suffering was initially brought about to teach someone a lesson, the student to be corrected wasn’t Job but Satan (1:6–12).

Jesus, meanwhile, experienced the greatest suffering in human history. Yet the purpose of Christ’s suffering wasn’t to teach him a lesson but to bring sinners to God (1 Pet. 3:18).

In God’s kindness, both Job and Jesus learned through their suffering (Job 42:1-6; Heb. 5:8), but in neither case does the Bible reduce the purpose of suffering to a lesson for the sufferer.

2. It can unjustly condemn sufferers.

If we are too quick to ask, “What is God trying to teach you through this suffering?” we can (at times) place an unnecessary yoke on the back of the sufferer. It adds guilt if she hasn’t “figured out God’s lesson” yet, and it can imply that she’s at fault for her suffering:

  • “Maybe if you didn’t idolize being a mother, God wouldn’t have allowed your miscarriage.”
  • “Maybe if you didn’t idolize your career, God wouldn’t have allowed you to lose your job.”
  • “Maybe if you were a better Christian, God wouldn’t have to teach you lessons like these.”

The Bible teaches that all suffering is a result of sin (Rom. 5:12) but all suffering is not a consequence of personal sin (John 9:2–3). To blame someone’s suffering on his sin is often presumptuous, usually unhelpful, and almost always simplistic.

Asking loved ones what God is teaching them through their suffering can be profitable and encouraging. But let’s be careful not to fall into the trap of Job’s friends by communicating that the only reason they’re suffering is that God wanted to correct them for a certain sin. 

3. It teeters on the prosperity gospel.

You’ve heard the stories:

  • “I was struggling as a single Christian. But then I realized God was trying to teach me to be content in my singleness. Once I learned my lesson, God brought Jeff into my life! #truelove”
  • “I always lived paycheck to paycheck. But then I realized God was trying to teach me to tithe more and not idolize money. Once I learned my lesson, God blessed me with my dream job and more money than I ever imagined! #Ephesians3:20”

I praise God for the lessons these people learned. But, “I learned my lesson and then was blessed with stuff” isn’t how it works for all people—and it’s certainly never promised in Scripture.

Whether intentional or not, these stories can communicate a harmful message to hearers: “Have you considered that maybe the reason you are still suffering is that you haven’t learned your lesson yet?”

Trained by this subtle prosperity gospel, we can begin putting our hope in learning our lesson rather than looking to Jesus. We throw ourselves onto our own behavior to heal us rather than throwing ourselves onto the grace of God. The lesson rather than the Lord becomes our Savior.

4. It undermines our humanity.

Whenever approaching the topic of suffering, we must remember we’re naturally weak and limited, whereas God alone is infinite in his wisdom and understanding (Isa. 55:8–9). In this life, we simply won’t understand fully why God allows the hardships he allows. Suffering can’t be fully explained, nor can it be boxed up into a nice little lesson.

When we’re suffering, our job isn’t to figure it all out—that will always be an exercise in futility. The fact that you don’t know why God allowed a certain hardship doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong; it means you’re not God.

When we’re walking alongside someone who is suffering, our job isn’t to help her figure it all out. Our job is to be present with her, encourage her, and remind her of God’s presence and promises.

5. It can misrepresent God.

If we stray from God’s means of grace in our suffering, we can start to see God as a cruel father who abandons his child and says, “I’ll come back once you learn your lesson.” Nothing could be further from the testimony of Scripture.

God isn’t playing games with you, throwing you into a dungeon and seeing if you can crack the code to unlock his hidden lesson. He’s not holding his presence and goodness hostage until you learn your lesson.

Jesus doesn’t scoff at sufferers as they flail helplessly in a current of hurt, saying, “Get yourself together!” He, rather, enters into the current of our suffering and says, “Let me be a refuge for you.” As Dane Ortlund put it, “There’s no minimum bar you need to get over [or lesson you need to learn] to get to him. All you have to do, actually, is collapse in order to get into the heart of Christ.”

Christ isn’t looking down his nose at your suffering. He isn’t disappointed you haven’t figured everything out. He isn’t waiting for you to submit a report on the lessons you learned from your pain before he grants you his presence. He simply wants you to collapse into his loving arms.

We have a sympathetic Savior who walks with us, grieves with us, and redeems our suffering for good—often teaching us precious lessons through hardships. Let’s rejoice in these lessons while also remembering that God’s purposes in our suffering are far greater than a lesson—and that one day Christ will return to save us, heal us, and unburden our suffering fully and forever.

________________________________

Blake Glosson is a pastoral resident at Chapelstreet Church in Geneva, Illinois, and an MDiv student at Reformed Theological Seminary. He has been published by The Gospel Coalition and Crosswalk.com and republished and/or referred by Eternal Perspective Ministries (Randy Alcorn), Challies.com (Tim Challies), Moody Radio (here, here, and here), The JOY FM (The Morning Cruise with Dave, Bill, and Carmen), ChurchLeaders.com, The Aquila Report, Monergism.com, and numerous other sources. Previously, he served as the director of young adults at New Covenant Bible Church in St. Charles, Illinois.

Watch or listen to “With Us in the Wilderness” (sermon) here.

Read “When to Give Advice and When to Listen” here.

Read “That Decompressing Exhale For Which Our Souls Long” here.

Read “Five Habits That Kill Contentment” here.

Read “Three Ways to Glorify God in Worry and Anxiety” here.