The Planned Experience

W. Carl Ketcherside

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     "We want our transitory life to be absorbed into the life that is eternal. Now the power that has planned this experience for us is God, and he has given us his spirit as a guarantee of its truth" (2 Corinthians 5:4, 5).

     There are some thrilling bits of literature, both ancient and modern, which deal with the meaning of death, but for sheer beauty of expression and encouragement to hope, none of them can hold a candle to the words of Paul as written to the former pagans at Corinth. Probably I am impressed by them because I am aware of what a change they wrought in the lives of those who were slaves to superstition. But they are timeless words and they also penetrate my consciousness like a stray sunbeam in an attic.

     To wonder about pain and suffering, and of what lies beyond their reach is as universal as death itself. If death is all there is, if it is the ultimate, the end, then there is no sense at all to existence. It is a nightmare which ends not in an awakening, but in oblivion. But if suffering and death are part of a plan leading to a transcendent experience, they are at least understandable. And that is the thesis of the apostle.

     Paul begins by saying, "We wish you could see how all this is working out for your benefit," and immediately involves God's grace in the whole scheme of things. He affirms that, "This is the reason we never collapse." It seems evident that if one can grasp the significance of grace and come to rely upon it, he has a foundation for a sane evaluation of self and destiny. Grace supports us in every trial and the greater the suffering, the more grace God gives.

     One must not be naive, nor should he generalize beyond reason, but is it possible that one reason why there are so many who fold up under the strain and tension is because there is so little comprehension of grace? Has our legalistic approach which makes God a police judge instead of a Father, unfitted us for a life free from worry and concern for self? Are we moving about with inner doubts and fears until we are actually "haunted houses?" Do the ghosts of our past transgressions pour out of the darkened crannies of our hearts?

     Grace frees us from inner dread. It also enables us to endure suffering, to be reconciled to a life of pain. And it all comes about because we are empowered to see the things that are invisible. This is the secret of abounding Joy. If one sees only the things that are visible--poverty, dirt, filth, squalor, crime, wounds, and putrefying sores--he may actually lose his balance. If he envisions war, agony, lacerated flesh, and the pallor of death, he will grow bitter and become disillusioned.

     But if he sees beyond these into the unseen, he will be strengthened with might in the inner man to press on untiringly. Somewhere there is a place where the rivers are not polluted but a clear stream flows pure as crystal. Somewhere there is a city whose heart is not a decaying ghetto and where sin cannot corrupt. Somewhere there is a fadeless day and the sun does not go down by night, because the glory of God is the light. If one believes this he can then freely admit that he lives on earth as an exile and foreigner. And the things that happen to him are natural for one who is not in his native land.

     Of course, we can always get hooked on the problem of whether this is literal or figurative, but this does not bother me one bit. I am not always sure of what I can see, when it comes to classification

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and interpretation. A few generations ago what was classed as science fiction is now known as reality by every schoolboy. With faith in God I can proceed in hope and allow him to work out the details. It is only when I am tempted to play God and get everything on the shelf and properly labeled that I get into difficulty. Not everything in the universe fits the labels prepared in advance and handed out by science.

     So "these little troubles (which are really so transitory) are winning for us a permanent, glorious and solid reward out of all proportion to our pain." One may even choose pain if he realizes that it is the road to a better life. Thus, a cripple with a twisted foot is willing to subject himself to surgery and weeks of discomfort if he knows that at the end he will be able to walk straight. Pain is only intolerable when it seems aimless and pointless. One who would never enter a tunnel when it is endless has no reluctance to enter one which terminates in a bright and beautiful valley on the other side of the mountain.

     Life on earth is likened to living in a tent. This is an apt figure, because such a dwelling is adapted to a nomadic existence. But we have the promise that when the tent is taken down, we have a permanent house in heaven, made by God. Death actually does the Christian a favor, freeing him from a body of pain, and preparing him for a life of closeness with Christ. A Christian does not leave home when he dies, he goes home!

     I am a believer! I believe that this transitory life will be absorbed into eternal life. I believe that this experience has been planned by God's power. I believe that the Holy Spirit personally dwells in me as a guarantee that the divine purpose will be carried out. I'm standing on the promises. I'm resting on his grace. I'm leaning on the everlasting arms. And that's the reason I can say with the apostle, "This makes us confident, whatever happens."

     In distinguishing between security and joy, C. S. Lewis writes, "The security we crave would teach us to rest our hearts in this world and oppose an obstacle to our return to God: a few moments of happy love, a landscape, a symphony, a merry meeting with our friends, a bathe or a football match, have no such tendency. Our Father refreshes us on the journey with some pleasant inns, but will not encourage us to mistake them for home."