When Faith Feels Fragile

 When Faith Feels Fragile

“A bruised reed He will not break, and a smoldering wick He will not snuff out…” — Matthew 12:20

      A few years ago Tiffanie was updating our kitchen and she ordered new dishes.  She was so excited to get them in the mail.  She tracked that package for days.  When it arrived the outside of the box had the word "FRAGILE" in bold red letters.  As soon as we picked up the package we were aware that someone clearly didn't read the box or didn't quite understand what the word fragile meant.  The majority of the dishes were shattered into pieces.  We couldn't tell what was a dinner plate, dessert plate, bowl, or mug.  Fragile things are easily broken and need to be handled with great care.

      Grief often causes a tension in our lives.  It causes our faith to be pulled in two different directions.  It's like a proverbial tug of war that each griever feels.  Some of you can probably remember your elementary school days.  The gym teacher would bring out the rope that seemed older than time itself.  Thousands of children had touched that rope.  It was coarse, it would cut into your hand.  Each side would dig in trying to pull the other to their side.  The strongest kid would be the anchor.  Needless to say, tug of war day wasn't my favorite day.  Grief days aren't my favorite either.  On one side grief pulls our faith closer to God, knowing that He stands with us in each and every storm.  But other times grief pulls our faith more toward fear, anxiety, a feeling of utter hopelessness.  Our faith is literally being stretched and pulled.  The rope is taut. It is utterly exhausting.  There are days when faith feels strong—when hope lifts the heart and I can see God’s hand even in the middle of my grief. But then there are days when faith feels fragile. Days when the silence in the house feels louder than any song of worship I could listen to. Days when prayer feels like speaking into an empty room.  Days when my devotions with God feel more like running through habits versus seeking His divine favor.  Days when the loss of my spouse still stings so sharply that I wonder how I’ll keep walking forward.  Days when I'm ready to embrace the future but grief reminds me of how uncertain the future can be.  It feels like the proverbial rug is being pulled out from under our feet.

      I used to think faith had to look bold and unshakable to be real. That I needed to be strong, unwavering, certain in every step.  My idea of strong faith has tramatically altered over the past almost two years.  Grief has taught me something different. Faith is not the absence of weakness.  Read that again.  Now read it again.  Sometimes faith is just a whisper in the darkness, “God, I still need You.” Sometimes it’s a tear-stained prayer, “Lord, hold me together because I can’t hold myself.”  That was probably one of my hardest lessons during grief.  I felt that faith meant faking it, acting like everything was ok and that I was ok.  But I quickly realized that was a lie.  I was lying to God, lying to others, and lying to myself.  I wasn't ok.  God knew the hurt and pain of my heart, so why shouldn't I tell Him about it.  One friend told me that God is big enough for your doubts.  And you know what, He's right.  My faith didn't grow when I told everyone, God included, that everything was ok.  That's not faith.  That is being fake.  My faith grew when I got angry at God, when I shook my fist at heaven, when I screamed, when I cried, when I pounded my chest, when I locked myself in the bathroom just to breath.  Those moments might not seem like faith, but they are.  My faith grew in those moments.  Maybe you are reading that and thinking that doesn't sound like faith.  My guess would be you haven't lost someone important to you if that is your response.  Either that or you weren't honest with yourself.  If you haven't lost someone special then praise the Lord that you don't understand.  If you have then you haven't been honest with God.  Faith isn't always standing, sometimes it's falling apart.

      Jesus spoke of the bruised reed and the smoldering wick. He is quoting the Prophet Isaiah.  The reed and the wick represented things that were worn, cracked, and fragile.  The smoldering wick seemed to be useless, as if no light would ever be reproduced from it.  These two elements showcase how the world views broken people, useless and beyond repair.  They were treated like outcasts, misunderstood, and undesirable.  Each griever has felt the same way.  We have felt useless, beyond repair......we have felt like a leper that other people see but have no idea how to interact with.  But Jesus came to restore those that are broken, not break them.  Praise the Lord!  This points to Jesus love for the lowest of the low, the most lonely and hopeless creatures.  Yes, the text talks about this in regards to sinners far from Christ, but I think the application can be used for those of us who are suffering grief.  Jesus doesn’t throw them away.  We are not cast aways or disposable.  He doesn’t rebuke them for their weakness. Instead, He gently tends to them—supporting, strengthening, breathing new life into what seems nearly gone. That’s how He holds me when my faith feels small.  And He doesn't stop holding me.

      If you, too, are walking through loss and your faith feels fragile, take comfort in this: God is not ashamed of your weakness. He meets you there. Fragile faith is still faith, and He honors even the smallest flicker that reaches for Him.  It doesn't have to be a burning blaze, the flame doesn't have to reach to the sky.  He is content to see our ambers burning low because He loves us.  Some days I have no idea how I'm going to make it through.  Sometimes my faith is smaller then a mustard seed.  But I trust Him even when my faith feels fragile, because He's the the only one I can trust with my fragility.