The Narrow Path to Joy
The truth is, these seasons of seeming deprivation are a part of the path to knowing the fullness of God.
There are a lot of things about the Christian faith that are attractive—that if I weren’t already a Christian, I would probably notice and think, “that’s so nice. That’s something I might want to be a part of.”
On one hand, these attractive ideas our faith promotes—ideas like generosity and kindness and compassion—are only a piece of the whole pizza pie of the Jesus way. There’s a flip side to Christianity that is so counter-cultural, so completely unattractive that Jesus said that very few will find it (Matthew 7:13-14). The path is so narrow, because only those who rigorously keep their eyes on Jesus will be able to practice the true version of our faith.
I’ve been thinking about that a lot since I’ve made my way back to Arkansas where my family lives. Arkansas feels like a spiritual wasteland to me. A place not known for a narrow path but for narrow-mindedness. I miss Los Angeles. I miss hiking in the golden hills of Kagel Canyon, the Baja-style taco trucks on every corner, the near perfect bookstores that I frequented, haunted by the most writerly of patrons. I miss my church, one of the most counter-cultural, narrow-path-following communities I’ve ever known. And I’ve been asking Jesus, “why the heck did I have to leave?”
Which led me to ask many more questions like, “Why did you let my heart break into a million pieces? Why did I lose everything I owned? Why did I have to give my beloved kitties to other people? Why am I not doing something important right now? Why am I living in my mother’s guest bedroom? Isn’t my life supposed to be better than this because I’m following You? ”
What I really mean is, what’s in it for me? Did I go through all that for nothing?
But when your life is stripped of everything material and everything you’ve depended on for comfort or security, you’re forced to re-evaluate what really feeds your soul. You’re forced to redirect your gaze to what is truly life-giving.
Yesterday morning, I felt the emptying out of this season. I felt the weight of losing everything I could prop myself against, and I knew it was part of this narrow path He was teaching me to follow. The narrow path that I’d tried to plow a bit wider over and over only to have Him nudge me back to the toe-to-toe center.
I think about how Jesus reacted to the suffering around Him. When Lazarus died, Jesus didn’t antagonize his bereaved sisters for their doubt, even letting Mary blame Him for the death of her brother: “If you had been here, my brother would not have died” (John 11:32). Instead, Jesus joins her in her weeping (v. 35), choosing to take part in her suffering. It is a moment of intimacy with Jesus Mary would have never experienced if it hadn’t been for the deep grief and disillusionment of losing Lazarus. Without this moment of despondency, she would have never known this very human, vulnerable side of Jesus—one who is acquainted with our grief (Isaiah 53:3).
The truth is, these seasons of seeming deprivation are a part of the path to knowing the fullness of God. They are a training ground of testing, not just so we can receive a greater measure of responsibility and authority but so we can know Him better. And when we know Him better, we find joy that we can never be robbed of—even in the midst of trial and suffering (Colossians 1:24; Romans 5:3-4; 1 Peter 1:6-7; 2 Corinthians 6:10; Philippians 1:21; and John 16:22).
Meanwhile tens of millions of American Christian true believers are more than pleased that Orange Jesus (aka Donald Trump) has been re-elected as US President. They even pretend that he is "god's" chosen vehicle to re-Christianize America.