On Being Coddled
“Coddled people will not be good listeners when their world collapses. They will be numb with confusion and rage at the God who wasn’t supposed to allow this. ‘If this is the way God is, why didn’t someone tell us?’ [My aim] is not to meet felt needs, but to awaken needs that will soon be felt, and then to save your faith and strengthen your courage when evil prevails. These are big, deep, weighty, strong truths. Truths for pestilence and war and personal calamity. These truths are made of steel. I know that a tire iron cannot caress a bruised heart, but if your car is rolling over on you and about to crush you, a cold, steel, perpendicular tire iron might save your life.”
- John Piper, Spectacular Sins
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I was a coddled person. I don’t think it was anybody's intention or fault necessarily but more a product of being raised in America and having a pretty view of the world. Nobody taught me about war because there wasn’t one. Nobody taught me about sickness because nobody was sick. Nobody taught me about genocide because there wasn’t genocide in America.
By living in such a privileged society where war, mass disease, and genocide are mere news articles, I’m afraid we have missed out on a major facet of our faith. Not that I want these things to become more prevalent by any means but I want, I must have, a theology of God that can withstand them. If my vision of God cannot withstand the horrors of the world, it is too small. Mine was, and probably still is, too small.
Being a coddled person, I did not make a good listener when I was shown a sliver of suffering. How could I have followed God my whole life and not have known that he allowed war to happen? I mean, of course I knew war happened - but I didn’t know what war was. Why did no one tell me? Why didn’t someone shove this truth in my face and force me to deal with it?
It is a massive overlook to not deal with a theology of suffering simply because we haven't suffered. Because, the truth is, we will suffer in this life. If not today, give it a year or two. And when that day comes, there is no backtracking to build a foundation. On that day, you’ll be working with what you’ve got - and if what you've got is an empty tool box, you either have a long road ahead or an easy door slam on your faith.
My tool box was light but not empty. I was able to pull out four or five years of intimacy with Jesus. I looked in my tool box and didn’t yet have a theology of suffering but I did have a foundation of relationship and that was a good place to start. It kept me walking. As I walked and wrestled, Jesus added a few more tools to my box and we fixed the shattered parts of my foundation. Where there was sand that said, “God keeps us safe from harm”, we replaced with rock that says, “God is worthy to be trusted with suffering”. Where there was a crack that said, “God does what we ask in prayer because he loves us”, we filled in with, “God does what is right and just as the Judge and he loves us deeply.”
We’re still filling in holes and finding new sandy spots in my foundation but the labor is light when I get to do it with my friend. Plus, my tool box has a few more reliable tools in it now. I’m sure I'll turn a new corner in my life and realize I’m missing just the tool I need again but at least I’m not standing there stupidly alone and empty handed. The Master Craftsman is actually really good at making the exact tool I’ll need.