Pop’s Page

Published in the Town North Presbyterian Crier, June, 2009

I didn’t intend on writing a sequel to last month’s Crier article by the same name.  I hadn’t intended to write anything at all.   But here I am, seemingly forced by the sheer weight of divine providence to reflect once again on what I had forgotten before.

Here’s how it happened.   Wednesday was a hectic day.   We were preparing to head out of town for a week’s vacation with extended family in the mountains of Tennessee.   As usual I had my “game face” on, something that has always been annoying to my spouse because I get grumpy trying to think of all the details that have to be attended to before leaving the house: stopping the mail, programming the thermostats and irrigation system, protecting electronics against the inevitable lightning storm, etc.  In the midst of all this the phone rings—it’s the nurse from my cardiologist’s office to give me the results of my annual stress test.   Fourteen years ago I had a major heart problem, and I had to have one of my coronary arteries reamed out (they call it “angioplasty”) because it was 99% blocked.   Every year since then I get checked to make sure no blockage has recurred.   I look forward to these tests because they have always shown that my physical disciplines of exercise, diet and medications have kept me free of any problems.   I was sure that this call would be the same as all the others.  After all, the previous day I had gone out on my bike for 90 minutes and had never felt better.   My pulse rate was up well over 160 and I had no chest pains or any other symptoms.  During the stress test itself, the EKG was entirely normal and there was no reason to suspect that this year wouldn’t be just the same as all previous years: a real yawner. 

“Mr. Dishman, the results of the stress test have come back and the doctor wants to schedule you for a catheterization.”   “I beg your pardon,” I replied, sure that my senior citizen ears had misheard what she said.   “The scan showed that the back part of your heart is not getting enough blood.  Are you having any chest pain?”  A long pause.  “No, I’m not….” I replied, and the conversation tailed off with a discussion of what to do next and when to do it.

Since I wasn’t having any symptoms, it was agreed I could go ahead with my planned vacation and see the doctor when I returned.   Needless to say, my perceptions about myself suddenly changed.   Every little pain in my upper body now became suspect—was this ache the result of “the back part of my heart not getting enough blood”?  More important than how I viewed my body, however, was how I viewed my soul.

Fourteen years ago my medical problem demanded that I go back to the Scriptures to understand the spiritual implications of the Lord’s providence in that situation.  It just so happened that in my personal devotional reading I had come to Paul’s second letter to the Corinthian church, chapter one, just as the diagnosis was received.   This is the famous passage where Paul describes “the God of all comfort.”   In a brief five verses he uses the word comfort nine times.  Now my new diagnosis forced me to go back to those same verses and re-read the journal entries that accompanied my attempt to apply these verses to my medical condition 14 years previously.   As I read those verses again, and my personal commentary on them, I realized: I had forgotten that before.

In particular I had forgotten three things.   First, Paul tells us that our troubles are a blessing, not a curse, because they allow those of us with troubles to comfort others who have troubles.  In other words, “it takes one to know one.”  As the person who has been praying the pastoral prayers in worship recently, I have to admit if I’m completely honest about it, that I can develop a certain detachment about those whom I’m praying for.   It is easy to fall into the trap of saying to myself, “I’m not like them.   I’m okay.  They are the ones with problems, not me.”   Now that I, too, am on the prayer list I find myself much more empathetic with their afflictions because I’m experiencing the same worries, the same tensions about the future, that these brothers and sisters are.   In Paul’s case he despaired of life itself (II Cor. 1:8) because of the persecutions he faced in the province of Asia.  As a result he could comfort those who likewise were persecuted for their Christian faith throughout the Roman world of his day.

Second, Paul says that just as the sufferings of Christ flow into our lives, so also the comfort of Christ overflows (II Cor. 1:5) .   This reminds us that the only perfect man ever to live, lived a life not of comfort and ease, but one of suffering as the “man of sorrows.”   In other words, suffering is a privilege not a pain, because in our own sufferings we gain a window into the incredible sufferings that our Savior bore in order to purchase our salvation.  Having to bear the threat of a blocked coronary artery causing a major heart attack is minor compared to the load of sorrow that our Lord bore for our redemption.  “Thank  you Lord for reminding me of that,” is what I need to be saying.  Notice also that even as the sufferings “flow” the comfort “overflows”.   The idea is that there is so much comfort that the Lord wants to bring that no vessel is big enough to contain it.   In the deep recesses of our hearts we can look forward to that comfort overflowing into us as we spend time alone with Him in prayer.

Third, Paul tells us that our afflictions produce in us a change in our character.  Its fruit is patient endurance (II Cor. 1:6).   This happens as we rely not on ourselves, but on God “who raises the dead” (II Cor. 1:9).   I have to admit in the fourteen years since my first heart problem I had begun to labor under a guise of false security based on my “good works.”  In this case the good works were eating a low fat diet, riding my bike regularly to exercise my damaged heart, and taking a cocktail of prescribed and non-prescribed medications.   These actions were not bad in themselves—in fact they were good for me.  But it was and is my attitude toward them that sprung the deadly trap of relying on myself and not on God to “raise the dead,” in this case, me.   My new heart problem reminds me that my physical body is mortal.  It can and will die.   Perhaps sooner rather than later.   Only by totally resting in the grace of Christ will I receive the peace that passes understanding that comes from His resurrection and my future resurrection by Him on the great day when the dead will be raised.

As Paul winds up his inspired thoughts about the God of all comfort, he teaches us one more thing: the importance of prayer.   In verses 10 and 11 he says,

He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will continue to deliver us, as you help us by your prayers. Then many will give thanks on our behalf for the gracious favor granted us in answer to the prayers of many. (II Cor.1:10-11)

Would Christianity die in its infancy because of the imprisonment, persecutions and shipwreck of its most important apostle?   No, because his brothers and sisters were praying for him, and those prayers would be answered.    At Town North we have a weekly prayer list.   On it are our brothers and sisters who have asked for and need our prayers.   Will we likewise stand by them in faithful prayer?  

As I now join my fellow sufferers on that prayer list, I ask their forgiveness for my prior detachment and failure to uphold them daily in prayer.   Once again the Lord is teaching me the lessons of His comfort.  May you and I never have to say again that we had forgotten that before.