There are times when I wonder why my parents didn’t send me back to the manufacturer for some of the stupid things I did in my youth. Many years ago, when this fearless author was but a wee lad, I returned home from a church event with my brother, both of us in possession of a roll of Starburst (high prize to be had in those days). I can’t recall how it happened but shortly after returning home, I managed to destroy — not chip or merely damage, mind you — absolutely pulverize an 80-year-old glass bowl I set the Starburst down in. My father, ever the public servant set about the task of cleaning it up and throwing away the Starburst (interspersed with glass) while I persisted in misty-eyed bawling off to the side. Eventually, a sufficient level of lip quivering and guttural wailing prodded him to inquire as to my continuing state of distress. Some glass in the hand perhaps? Guilt about destroying the bowl? Just a crummy day that this was the capper too? Oh heavens no, my logic was far more impeccable than that. And I quote my cranially underdeveloped former self:

“Jordan’s [my brother] going to get more candy than me now.”

Slow claps in the background. Brilliant, Holmes…brilliant. While it wasn’t quite spilled milk, the analogy is good enough for government work. I’d like to think I’ve moved past that point of moral (im)maturity with the help of the Holy Spirit and various physiological changes. Much of wisdom consists of learning to match our actions to the circumstances, a necessity in a world without exact instructions for every situation. My lament over spilled Starburst was not wise. Lament over the broken things of this world is far more appropriate and, frankly, Biblical as we see in much of Scripture. How lovely that we serve a God who welcomes and responds to our lament and suffering.

Something that has struck me, though, about our world is the degree to which suffering grants moral heft to the sufferer. The moral high ground very often falls to the most miserable person in the room. It would be utterly imprudent to cancel dinner reservations with someone at the last moment, that is unless, say, a family member has been rushed to the hospital. The normal rules of social niceties don’t apply in that case. Moreover, someone in that position will likely find themselves the sudden beneficiary of all kinds of gifts, services, and well wishes they could not have dreamed of receiving on any other hum-drum day. They may even, for a brief moment, find enemies turned into friends. Suffering lends itself to receiving certain accommodations.

That, however, is the very place where a twisted opening appears. I see no harm in making accommodations for those who suffer. I do, however, see a grand danger in suffering manufacturing its own claims to accommodation. You can imagine the shock you might feel if that same person with the infirmed family member came to you one day and said, “Ya know, I’ve been sitting around, thinking about how crummy life is for me right now…and I’ve come to the conclusion that you owe me $5,000 for the trouble of it all.” In general, most people would never be this blunt or patently absurd. Yet, we do this all the time in subtler ways, often I suspect through shirking responsibilities or engendering feelings of resentment. And why? Well, because we deserve it, darn it! Don’t they know how hard I have it? Don’t they understand my angst? Can’t they see how deserving I am of a break? Can’t He see how deserving I am of a miracle?

Three things may be noted here. First, I don’t want to give the impression that we should not care and lament with those who suffer. We should. There is such a thing as being an enabler, but that’s not my focus here. Rather, this is about you and me, and how we conceive of our lot in life. More intrusively, this is about you, I, and God. While genuine suffering exists, there comes a point where we can start using it to post a claim on the Creator and His actions. We may not say it, but I know I’ve certainly thought before, “God, you owe me one for what you’ve put me through.” But He doesn’t. The very thought contains a contention for His throne. Call it whatever you want, but it’s just pride at the end of the day.

Second, we may consider anew the role that gratitude plays in combatting this distortion of lament and suffering.* Why is it that in a world of such material blessing as ours, we can find ourselves so reluctant to be grateful? I propose that a piece of that puzzle is wrapped up in the fact that gratitude forms a natural barrier against excess. It strikes a direct blow against disproportionality and shatters any sense of entitlement. Moreover, gratitude keeps to its station and is not troubled by comparing itself to others. No wonder then why our flesh resists it and prefers to wallow in suffering. If gratitude truly enters the house, our claims on God will have to leave, and that will be one more piece of our pride done in by His refining work. My brother is fond of telling of a lady he met in Lithuania who exemplified this immensely well. She had grown up in Eastern Ukraine, listening to government and separatist forces shelling one another up the beach, and yet was one of the most joyful and grateful people one could meet. And, as he puts it, “She was one of the most genuinely joyful people I have ever met… She was undeniably sad, but her joy shone right through it. She had the real thing.”

Finally, Christians should refrain from making suffering a litmus test for truth, reality, or genuineness. I think we often take Christ’s words—”in this life, you will have trouble”—and go looking for suffering as a result. Particularly in an affluent society, we are doubly prone to wondering if we’re walking the good Christian walk if we’re not suffering like we think we ought to be. But this is simply a lie; wicked people suffer too, and the righteous are often painted as blessed in Scripture. We ignore this to our detriment. You may suffer for speaking and pursuing truth, but it’s not a given. You may find reality to be a cruel thing, but don’t mistake that cruelty for the whole thing. Your genuine witness may land you in hot water, but don’t go looking for a boiling pot to jump in. We are called to pursue these good things and, ultimately, to pursue Christ regardless of what trials we do or don’t meet along the way. To that end, may we hold our lives in open hands, ready to accept whatever the Father places into or removes from them.

* While out driving the other day, I had a very “Belshazzar’s feast” type of moment while considering this point. As I was thinking these thoughts, I looked up suddenly at the back of a semi-truck and saw “Thank God” scrawled in the dusty posterior of the container. It was a cool moment, but a little eerie for this natural cynic. Ah well, the cynicism may have to go too at some point…