The Funeral Procession of Our Expectations
We all have things we are carrying that did not survive the winter of our lives. Dreams that withered on the vine. Relationships that fractured beyond repair. Prayers that felt like they hit a brass ceiling and fell back to the floor in pieces. In these hard seasons, we often feel like we are just putting one foot in front of the other, marching toward a graveyard of our own expectations. You might be living with memories you cannot erase, carrying disadvantages that were unfairly handed to you, and wrestling with a pain that feels like a permanent, uninvited resident in your own mind. It is utterly exhausting to live at that altitude of grief, walking back from the scene of your shattered hopes, feeling like the story is over.
I want to take you to a dusty road outside a no-name village called Nain. There was a mother there who had lost absolutely everything. She was already a widow, stripped of her husband and her security in a culture that offered no safety net for women without men. And now, she was burying her only son. She was not looking for a miracle; she was simply fulfilling the tragic, heavy duty of her grim reality. She was walking with the dead, surrounded by a crowd of mourners who could offer tears but no real salvation. How many of us are walking in that exact same procession today? We are surrounded by well-meaning people who can sympathize with our hard seasons, but they cannot raise what has died inside of us.
But then, Jesus walked up. He did not send a letter of condolence from heaven. He did not shout a theological platitude from a safe, sterile distance. The Savior of the world walked directly into her procession of pain. He looked at a woman who had run out of tears, run out of hope, and run out of options, and He was moved with absolute, visceral compassion. He didn't avoid the uncomfortable, horror-filled reality of her life. He touched the very wood of the bier that carried her grief. When Jesus intercepts your life, He doesn't always explain the pain immediately, but He always brings His presence. He touches the dead thing. He brings the procession of despair to a grinding halt, proving that He is not afraid of your mess, your mourning, or your brokenness.
And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her, and said unto her, Weep not. And he came and touched the bier: and they that bare him stood still. And he said, Young man, I say unto thee, Arise.— Luke 7:13-14, KJV
The Roots That Only Grow in the Scorching Sun
When you are suffering in faith, the most agonizing question is rarely 'Why did this happen?'—it is usually 'Why is this taking so long?' You pray, you fast, you stand on the Word of God, yet the heat of the trial only seems to intensify with every passing day. It is incredibly tempting in these moments to look for an escape hatch. We want to mount up on wings like eagles and fly far away from the crushing pressure, the horrible diagnosis, the financial ruin, or the relational betrayal. We want the glory of the mountaintop without the agonizing crawl through the valley. But God is doing something underground in the dark soil of your life that you cannot see.
Jesus warned us about the subtle, quiet danger of a shallow faith. He spoke of seeds that spring up quickly, looking vibrant and successful on the surface, but possessing no deepness of earth. We love the springing up. We love the visible growth. But Jesus pointed out that when the sun rises—when the pressure mounts, when the rumors spread, when the bank account is empty—that shallow faith is scorched. The heat of your current trial is not a sign that God has abandoned you. The heat is a revealer. It is exposing exactly where your roots are planted. Are they planted in the temporary comfort of circumstance, or are they anchored in the eternal, unshakable Word of God?
The scorching sun is doing a necessary, albeit painful, work in your soul. It is burning away the superficial dependencies, the pride, and the self-reliance so that you are forced to draw your nourishment from Christ alone. Your suffering in faith is not an accident; it is the very environment where unbreakable resilience is forged. God is using the heat of this day to drive your roots so deep into His living water that when the next storm comes, you will not be moved. You are not withering; you are establishing a foundation that hell itself cannot uproot.
Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth: and forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth: And when the sun was up, they were scorched; and because they had no root, they withered away.— Matthew 13:5-6, KJV
The Angels He Chose Not to Call
Perhaps the most profound mystery of our walk with God is coming to the realization that He has the absolute power to instantly deliver us, yet sometimes He lovingly chooses not to. He could speak a single syllable and heal the sickness. He could snap His fingers and completely restore the shattered relationship. When He remains silent, when the deliverance is delayed, the enemy immediately whispers that God must not care, or worse, that God is punishing you. But to truly understand God's purpose in pain, we have to look away from our own circumstances and stare directly at the darkest night in human history. We have to look at Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane.
When the mob came in the middle of the night with swords and staves to arrest Him, Peter panicked. Peter pulled out his sword and started swinging because Peter wanted to fix the situation. Peter wanted to stop the suffering right then and there. How often do we swing our own swords, trying to hack our way out of a trial that God has ordained for our growth? But Jesus rebuked him. Jesus made a statement that should completely shatter our modern, comfort-obsessed theology. He reminded Peter that He was not a helpless victim of a corrupt political system. He had an entire, unstoppable army of heaven at His immediate disposal.
He could have called down more than twelve legions of angels to wipe out His enemies, end the ordeal, and step off the path to Calvary right there. But He didn't. He chose the betrayal. He chose the false witnesses. He chose the nails. He chose the agonizing asphyxiation of the cross. Why? Because He knew that the temporary pain was absolutely necessary for an eternal redemption. If Jesus was willing to endure the cross for the joy set before Him, we must trust that the angels He doesn't send to rescue us today are held back because He is working out a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. God's purpose in pain is always resurrection. He is not ignoring your cries; He is carefully orchestrating a victory that will outlast your lifetime.
Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then shall the scriptures be fulfilled, that thus it must be?— Matthew 26:53-54, KJV
You do not have to live your life at the altitude of defeat. You have one wing called the Word, and no word from God will ever fail. When the procession of your life feels dark, when the sun of your trial is scorching, and when the heavenly rescue feels agonizingly delayed, anchor your weary soul to the One who conquered the grave. He sees you walking the dusty road. He has deep, abiding compassion on your tears. He is working every single ounce of your sorrow into a breathtaking masterpiece of grace. Hold on to Him. The night is heavy, but Sunday morning is coming.