Archives by: Gary Hoag

For his anger lasts only a brief moment, and his good favor restores one’s life. One may experience sorrow during the night, but joy arrives in the morning. Psalm 30:5

“Joys are hidden in sorrows! I know this from my own times of depression. I know it from my living with people with mental handicaps. I know it from looking into the eyes of patients, and from being with the poorest of the poor. We keep forgetting this truth and become overwhelmed by our own darkness. We easily lose sight of our joys and speak of our sorrows as the only reality there is.

We need to remind each other that the cup of sorrow is also the cup of joy, that precisely what causes us sadness can become the fertile ground for gladness. Indeed, we need to be angels for each other, to give each other strength and consolation. Because only when we fully realize that the cup of life is not only a cup of sorrow but also a cup of joy will we be able to drink it.”

Henri Nouwen in Can You Drink The Cup? (Notre Dame: Ave Maria, 2006) 56.

These words seem to echo in my mind: “give each other strength and consolation”…”give each other strength and consolation.”

If you are like me, it seems like there is depression, poverty, darkness, sadness, and sorrow all around me. It’s hard to know how to respond.

My tendency is either to try to fix things or to try to avoid this cup. I am learning that the cup of sorrow and the cup of joy are the same cup.

I need to drink from it. And, as I go, I am finding that people need the gifts of strength and consolation more than anything, more than ever right now.

God, help us move generously toward those who suffer. Teach us to drink from the cup of sorrow knowing that joy will come in the morning. Amen.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. The righteous person may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all. Psalm 34:18-19

“Somehow my life at Daybreak has given me eyes to discover joy where many others see only sorrow. Talking with a homeless man on a Toronto street doesn’t feel so frightening anymore. Soon money is not the main issue. It becomes: “Where are you from? Who are your friends? What is happening in your life?” Eyes meet, hands touch, and there is–yes, often completely unexpected–a smile, a burst of laughter, and a true moment of joy. The sorrow is still there, but something has changed by my no longer standing in front of others by sitting with them and sharing a moment of togetherness.

And the immense suffering of the world? How can there be joy among the dying, the hungry, the prostitutes, the refugees, and the prisoners? How does anyone dare to speak about joy in the face of the unspeakable human sorrows surrounding us? And yet, there is! For anyone who has the courage to enter human sorrows deeply, there is a revelation of joy, hidden like a precious stone in the wall of a dark cave.”

Henri Nouwen in Can You Drink The Cup? (Notre Dame: Ave Maria, 2006) 49-50.

What Jesus had with people like the woman at the well or what Henri had with this homeless man on a Toronto Street is aptly described as a “moment of togetherness.” We serve a God that draws near to us.

When, like our Lord, we draw near to others, especially the brokenhearted and crushed, something happens in us. We discover unspeakable, unexpected, and pure joy.

I wrestle with the knowledge I carry that of so many people who are suffering in this world. I was just talking about this with my brothers at the Pinehurst Bible Study yesterday.

Then I read this hours later. It inspired me to move toward the broken. Engage with them in moments of togetherness, and therein I will find the joy to replace the sorrow.

I am confident I will find Christ there in unimaginable ways. And this relates to generosity because it’s my gift to the person and the joy I receive is God’s gift to me.

But very truly I tell you, it is for your good that I am going away. Unless I go away, the Advocate will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you. John 16:7

“Let me start with your own observation, which you have often made since mother’s death, namely, that she lived her life for others. The more you reflected on her life, looked at her portraits, read her letters, and listened to what others said about her, the more you realized how her whole life was lived in the service of other people. I too am increasingly impressed by her attentiveness to the needs of others. This attitude was so much a part of her that it hardly seems remarkable. Only now can we see its full power and beauty. She rarely asked attention for herself. Her interest and attention went out to the needs and concerns of others. She was open to those who came to her. Many found it easy to talk with her about them- selves and remarked how much at ease they had felt in her presence…

What I want to say now, however, is that she who lived for others also died for others. Her death should not be seen as a sudden end to all her care, as a great halt to her receptivity to others. There are people who experience the death of someone they love as a betrayal. They feel rejected, left alone, and even fooled. They seem to say to their husband, wife, or friend, “How could you do this to me? Why did you leave me behind in this way? I never bargained for this!” Sometimes people even feel angry toward those who die, and express this by a paralyzing grief, by a regression to a state of total dependence, by all sorts of illnesses and complaints, and even by dying themselves.

If, however, mother’s life was indeed a life lived for us, we must be willing to accept her death as a death for us, a death that is not meant to paralyze us, make us totally dependent, or provide an excuse for all sorts of complaints, but a death that should make us stronger, freer, and more mature. To say it even more drastically: we must have the courage to believe that her death was good for us and that she died so that we might live. This is quite a radical viewpoint and it might offend the sensitivities of some people. Why? Because, in fact, I am saying, “It is good for us that she left us, and to the extent that we do not accept this we have not yet fully understood the meaning of her life.” This might sound harsh and even offensive, but I believe deeply that it is true. Indeed, I believe even more deeply that we will come to experience this ourselves.”

Henri Nouwen in A Letter of Consolation (New York: HarperOne, 2009) 54-57. Let me know if you want this PDF. It’s a must-read for those who mourn or are struggling with difficult circumstances in life. It’s also a must-share for anyone you sense needing consolation.

I have a friend whose health is declining. Death may be near. Today I felt filled with peace after reading this that if and when he passes, though I dread the day, it will be a good day. Good because he lived for me and because, crazy as it sounds, he died for me.

Think about that for a minute. It’s the ultimate act of generosity.

We have people in our lives that teach us things. Then they give us more responsibility. Soon they delegate authority. And just when we want them to stay around forever, they hand us the proverbial baton. And when they depart in death we discover the gift of their life. Absence teachings us this.

They gave their lives to serve us. Then they died so we might live.

I am not being morbid here but entirely serious. And ponder the place of the dying person. What gift will you give those you serve? Will you become increasingly selfish and store up wealth for yourself like the rich fool or radically generous like the poor widow?

Remember whose giving Jesus called “foolish” and whose giving He celebrated as good.

Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go. John 21:18

“We have both seen how some of our friends could not accept unforeseen changes in their lives and were unable to deal with an unknown future. When things went differently than they had expected or took a drastic turn, they did not know how to adjust to the new situation. Sometimes they became bitter and sour. Often they clung to familiar patterns of living that were no longer adequate and kept repeating what once made sense but no longer could speak to the real circumstances of the moment.

Death has often affected people in this way, as we know too well. The death of husband, wife, child, or friend can cause people to stop living toward the unknown future and make them withdraw into the familiar past. They keep holding on to a few precious memories and customs and see their lives as having come to a standstill. They start to live as if they were thinking, “For me it is all over. There is nothing more to expect from life.” As you can see, here the opposite of detachment is taking place; here is a reattachment that makes life stale and takes all vitality out of existence. It is a life in which hope no longer exists.

If mother’s death were to lead us onto that road, her death would have no real meaning for us. Her death would be or become for us a death that closes the future and makes us live the rest of our lives in the enclosure of our own past. Then, our experience of powerlessness would not give us the freedom to detach ourselves from the past, but would imprison us in our own memories and immobilize us. Thus we would also lose the autonomy you have always held so dear.

I think there is a much more human option. It is the option to re-evaluate the past as a continuing challenge to surrender ourselves to an unknown future. It is the option to understand our experience of powerlessness as an experience of being guided, even when we do not know exactly where. Remember what Jesus said to Peter when he appeared to him after his resurrection: “When you were young you put on your own belt and walked where you liked; but when you grow old you will stretch out your hands, and somebody else will put a belt round you and take you where you would rather not go.”

Jesus said this immediately after he had told Peter three times to look after his sheep. Here we can see that a growing surrender to the unknown is a sign of spiritual maturity and does not take away autonomy. Mother’s death is indeed an invitation to surrender ourselves more freely to the future, in the conviction that one of the most important parts of our lives may still be ahead of us and that mother’s life and death were meant to make this possible. Do not forget that only after Jesus’ death could his disciples fulfill their vocation.”

Henri Nouwen in A Letter of Consolation (New York: HarperOne, 2009) 49. Let me know if you want this PDF. It’s a must-read for those who mourn or are struggling with difficult circumstances in life. It’s also a must-share for anyone you sense needing consolation.

If you wonder why this exploration of consolation, then let me report that these posts have touched me and many others deeply.

They have helped us revisit losses to see how God might use them for gain. It has taught us not to allow death to immobilize us but move us.

And the idea of being “guided” is so powerful. God will take us places (often out of our comfort zone) for our good and His glory.

So, in hard times like the ones we find ourselves, let us be people whose generosity reminds people that through surrender we find new life.

For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me and for the gospel will save it. Mark 8:35

“Things that made us worry greatly later prove to be quite insignificant, and things to which we hardly gave a thought before they took place turn our lives around. Thus our autonomy is rooted in unknown soil. This constitutes the great challenge: to be so free that we can be obedient, to be so autonomous that we can be dependent, to be so in control that we can surrender ourselves. Here we touch the great paradox in life: to live in order to be able to die. That is what detachment is all about. Detachment is not the opposite of autonomy but its fruit.”

Henri Nouwen in A Letter of Consolation (New York: HarperOne, 2009) 49. Let me know if you want this PDF. It’s powerful.

Got to see a dear Aussie mate, Tim Macready, this weekend. He was visiting Denver and plans to move here with his family in a few months.

He reported that packing up his home in Sydney into a shipping crate has been hard because they have accumulated so many things. As a shrewd steward, he added that while most of the things they possess they acquired for little or no money, the stewardship of them was still a burden.

Things. Notice what Henri writes about things.

“Things that made us worry greatly later prove to be quite insignificant, and things to which we hardly gave a thought before they took place turn our lives around.” The reason for detachment from things is it positions us to take hold of what really matters.

So, what worries you greatly today?

Tim is realizing that downsizing will allow him to travel through life with less burdens. It will free him to live, give, serve, and love more generously.

What about you? Are there things from which it is time to detach?

When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy. Psalm 94:19

“Consolation is a beautiful word. It means “to be” (con-) “with the lonely one” (solus). To offer consolation is one of the most important ways to care. Life is so full of pain, sadness, and loneliness that we often wonder what we can do to alleviate the immense suffering we see. We can and must offer consolation. We can and must console the mother who lost her child, the young person with AIDS, the family whose house burned down, the soldier who was wounded, the teenager who con- templates suicide, the old man who wonders why he should stay alive. To console does not mean to take away the pain but rather to be there and say, “You are not alone, I am with you. Together we can carry the burden. Don’t be afraid. I am here.” That is consolation. We all need to give it as well as to receive it.”

Henri Nouwen in Bread For The Journey (New York: HarperOne, 2006) reading for 9 February. This is a daily devotional that I located in PDF form. Let me know if you’d like a free copy.

Notice the last sentence. It’s worth repeating.

“We all need to give it as well as to receive [consolation].” It’s not taking away but drawing near the brokenhearted. Saying “I am with you with our words and our actions.”

I am learning to do this.

It’s a vital aspect of our generosity, especially for people enduring hard times. We need to come alongside them, to help carry their burden. And how do we get the strength to do this?

The psalmist teaches us.

When we have pain and challenges, anxieties and stress, we find consolation in God. This refreshes and renews us to aid others. It positions us to lift their gaze heavenward.

I have a quick story about this.

We had our catalytic converters stolen from our Toyota Sequoia. Jenni shared this in a recent Spigot post and a friend came alongside her, encouraged her and pointed to a place that could help.

We had $3,732 in our tax refund and were asking God what to do with it.

The first bid was going to be $6,060 to fix them. We prayed. This friend offered us consolation and help. The place she pointed us to fixed them for almost exactly what we had: $3,670.

Why tell this story? It’s a story of consolation.

We came on hard times. We cried out to God. We had peace but still suffered. A friend drew near to us. Listened. Helped. God filled us with peace and provided for our needs and sent a friend to journey with us.

Consolation. We all need to give it as well as receive it.

And the place we can find and unlimited supply is the God of all hope who fills us with joy and peace when we put our trust in Him.

Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. John 12:24

“When Jesus said that if a grain of wheat dies it will yield a rich harvest, he not only spoke about his own death but indicated the new meaning he would give to our death. So we have to ask ourselves, “Where do we see the harvest of mother’s death?” There is no doubt in my mind that this harvest is becoming visible first of all in those who loved her most. Our deep love for her allows us to be the first to reap the harvest and to share with others the gifts of her death.

Isn’t it here that we have to start if we want to discover the meaning of mother’s death? Before anything else, we have to come into touch with—yes, even claim—the mysterious reality of new life in ourselves. Others might see it, feel it, and enjoy it before we do. That is why I am writing to you about it. We may help each other to see this new life. That would be true consolation.

It would make us experience in the center of our beings that the pain mother’s death caused us has led us to a new way of being, in which the distance between mother, father, or child slowly dissolves. Thus our separation from mother brings us to a new inner unity and invites us to make that new unity a source of joy and hope for each other and for others as well.”

Henri Nouwen in A Letter of Consolation (New York: HarperOne, 2009) 26-27. Let me know if you want this PDF. It’s powerful.

I titled today’s post “share unexpected gifts with others” because Nouwen brought to my attention the gifts of death, which at least to me, were quite unexpected.

If we move toward the pain of loss we discover new life and true consolation. My proclivity is to stuff my feelings, to deny or ignore pain, or to avoid it. In so doing, I miss the gifts.

But now as I think about this process that Henri suggests it helps me see the purpose, the blessing, the gifts of a person’s life to me for myself and for others.

Also, I can see how this would bring us as people, closer together, and cause the blessings of the deceased to spread. This is generosity at a deep and unexpected level.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39

“Real grief is not healed by time. It is false to think that the passing of time will slowly make us forget her and take away our pain. I really want to console you in this letter, but not by suggesting that time will take away your pain, and that in one, two, three, or more years you will not miss her so much anymore.

I would not only be telling a lie, I would be diminishing the importance of mother’s life, underestimating the depth of your grief, and mistakenly relativizing the power of the love that has bound mother and you together for forty-seven years. If time does anything, it deepens our grief. The longer we live, the more fully we become aware of who she was for us, and the more intimately we experience what her love meant for us.

Real, deep love is, as you know, very unobtrusive, seemingly easy and obvious, and so present that we take it for granted. Therefore, it is often only in retrospect—or better, in memory—that we fully realize its power and depth. Yes, indeed, love often makes itself visible in pain.”

Henri Nouwen in A Letter of Consolation (New York: HarperOne, 2009) 16.

Henri wrote this letter to his father about six months after the death of his mother. He went on to publish it to help others who grieved to find consolation in Christ.

I located the PDF for sharing. Let me know if you want it. It seems like everyone I know is enduring grief and pain. Often, people say that time heals. Henri offers an alternative perspective.

While healing can take place over time, giving attention to pain is the pathway for finding love. So, avoiding or denying grief or pain is not the answer. But we need to make intentional effort here.

Henri admits early on in this book that he was busy when his mom died. We all are. Only when he took time to reflect and embrace the pain of his loss did he find the love he needed.

If you or someone you know has experienced loss. Encourage them to move toward the pain. There they will find love. In so doing, you will give them a gift that is precisely what they need most.

Today I honor my wife Jenni. It’s her birthday. As the Soulcare Anchoress, she helps move toward their pain and brokenness and discover the love of God in unfathomable ways. Happy Birthday Jenni!

For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ. If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer. And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort. 2 Corinthians 1:5-7

“Ministers are those who can make their search for au­thenticity possible, not by standing on the side as neutral screens or impartial observers, but as articulate witnesses of Christ, who put their own search at the disposal of oth­ers. This hospitality requires that ministers not only know where they stand and whom they stand for, it also requires that they allow others to enter into their lives, to come close to them, and to ask how their lives are connected with one another.

Nobody can predict where this will lead us, because every time hosts allow themselves to be influenced by their guests they take the risk of not knowing how their lives will be affected. But it is exactly in common searches and shared risks that new ideas are born, that new visions reveal themselves, and that new roads become visible.

We do not know where we will be two, ten, or twenty years from now. What we can know, however, is that hu­mans suffer and that a sharing of this suffering can help us move forward. Ministers are called to make this forward thrust credible to their many guests, so that they do not stay still, but have a growing desire to move on in the conviction that the full liberation of humankind is still to come.”

Henri Nouwen in The Wounded Healer: Ministry in a Contemporary Society (New York: Image, 1972) 105-106. This is a solid book. Reply if you want the PDF.

The role of ministers is to welcome others into their journey, to share their search, so that others may be aided, helped, and served. This shapes everyone in the process. It also impacts everyone involved in untold ways as we share both our risks and our suffering.

As I serve a global community of stewards in my role at GTP, I am exposed to challenges in Africa that I could not have imagined, touched by challenges in Asia I never dreamed, stretched by difficulties in Latin America to which I have not related.

It’s both complicated and transforming. Whether you work with people all over the world or from around your neighborhood, your lives shape each other. It’s impossible to chart where this will take you. But I am confident it is similar to what the Apostle Paul described linked to the Corinthians.

Today’s Scripture elaborates on the interconnectedness of suffering, comfort, and hope that we have both with Christ and with each other. This level of sharing has risks, that is, it’s messy, and rewards, it’s uplifting! Nouwen merely spells out what this looks like for us.

Generous ministers care about the searches of others and realize that in helping them, they too are helped.

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written: “For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.” No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:35-39

“When we are not afraid to journey into our own center, and to concentrate on the stirrings of our own souls, we come to know that being alive means being loved. This experience tells us that we can only love because we are born out of love, that we can only give because our life is a gift, and that we can only make others free because we are set free by the One whose heart is greater than our own. And when we have finally found the anchor place for our lives within our own center we can be free to let others enter into the space created for them, and allow them to dance their own dance, sing their own song, and speak their own language without fear. Then our presence is no longer threatening and demanding, but inviting and liberating.”

Henri Nouwen in The Wounded Healer: Ministry in a Contemporary Society (New York: Image, 1972) 97-98.

This is a powerful book. Again, reply if you want the PDF.

Basically Nouwen reminds ministers that we cannot save anyone. We cannot make their problems go away. And, while yesterday we discovered that we can help them find hope, today we learn that our role is to teach them to find their anchor place in the One who loves them and from whose love nothing can separate them.

It this place we realize that our life is the gift to them.

This creates space for them to dance and sing, to speak and move in peace with joy. This invites them to a new way of living rooted in knowing that they are loved. If this is deep stuff, too deep to ponder, then know this. As Richard Foster put it, the world does not need more smart people, but more deep people.

The people around us need us to locate this anchor place.

When we do, our life becomes the gift they need. I am not there yet, but I am understanding these profound truths so I can help those around me, those I serve, those I work with, to experience this love and the peace and joy it brings.