Preaching Butterfly

Someone recently asked me a question about brokenness, which I have not thought too much about. Here are a few thoughts.

Speaking strictly of the term, “brokenness,” it is interesting that the Bible never talks about “physical brokenness” (unless, rather ironically that not a bone of his body shall be broken). Brokenness is usually a picture of an awareness of a deep fragmentation that has happened inside. The clearest picture, I think, of the right kind of brokenness is in Psalm 51 in which David does something radical for his day, and declares that his sin has been so great that sacrifices will not cover his great offense. Instead of sacrifices, he substitutes his own heart:

“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; A broken and a contrite heart, O God, You will not despise.” (.17)

What does it mean for a heart to be “broken?” I think it is the opposite of proud, puffed up, and self-confident. David intuitively comes to the realization that the law points to something greater, and that only a heart broken by sin is a heart that can received God’s mercy. This them is later picked up in the prophets, "tear your hearts, not your garments"...

However, the Bible has much to say about physical weakness and pain—so much that it bucks crisp definitions and simple solutions.

For Miriam, she was sick so she would fear her leaders, and the God who appoints them. For Nahum, his sickness was healed that he might glorify the God of Israel. For Job his sickness endured (a painfully long time!) so Satan would know there was a man on the earth who would not curse God. For David, he was sick so he would rely on God’s word, without which he would have “gone astray.” For David’s son, he was “very sick” and then died to show David the gravity of sin. For Jeremiah, his “wound was incurable” because he had been chosen to see the depths of human sin. For Israel in Hosea’s day, she was tore by God so that God could heal and bind her up. For the woman in Luke, she was “bound by Satan eighteen years” until Jesus released her. For Trophimus, his illness meant he was left by Paul, “sick at Miletus.” For Paul his affliction endured so that “he might not trust in himself but in the God who raises the dead.” His thorn endured so he would rejoice in the sufficiency of grace. Others were afflicted so that it would be known they were men “of whom the world as not worthy.” In 1 Corinthians some are sick because they are improperly taking the Lord’s Supper. In Revelation, Jesus threatened to throw some onto a bed of sickness because they tolerate the teaching of Jezebel.

This briefly sampling shows to me that often our sicknesses are hard to interpret. Maybe God tells some of us, like he seemed to tell the Apostle Paul, what their purposes are for. For other, maybe he won’t, until it is healed (Job). After all, He's no tame lion.

But the good news, and what I find most encouraging, is that in every single one of those situations, God was doing something good for his people. Discipline, rebuke, growth in faith, a demonstration of his power to the “heavenly powers” or so that through healing people would glorify “the God of Israel.” None of it was what it might look like at first glance: a malicious God, a forgetful God, a God who does not really care. The Bible joyfully shatters such myths, and shows that indeed, "behind a frowning providence there hides a smiling face."

And where the present is cloudy, the future is not. When “God himself will be among us,” in that place, “there will no longer be any mourning, or crying, or pain.” Both our sickness and our healing (if it occurs) should be like a nail in our boot, urging us on to our eternal home.

Having said all that, I acknowledge that this is all fairly theoretical. I have not been “physically broken” (not even broken bone!). Amy Carmichael, who did endure much physical brokenness, noted that it was those who were well who were often most inept at encouraging those who were ill compared with encouragements from the ill themselves. She writes (quotes?):

"the toad beneath the harrow knows
exactly where each tooth-point goes;
the butterfly upon the road
preaches contentment to the toad"

That makes me a preaching butterfly. If you want to hear from another toad, I recommend her short book, A Rose from Brier.