But This I Know

Reflections on Psalm 31 & 35; Job 19:1–7, 14–27; Acts 13:13–25; and John 9:18–41

If the Psalms are the Jewish hymnbook, I think David could have made a pretty good country-and-western singer.

Many of his Psalms have all the ingredients of an old country song—trouble, enemies, loneliness, regret, sorrow, and more than a few tears.

In Psalm 31, David sings:

“I am dying from grief;
my years are shortened by sadness.”

He talks about being scorned by his enemies and forgotten by others. He cries out:

“Have mercy on me, LORD, for I am in distress.”

Then, in Psalm 35, David asks God to defend him from those who seek to harm him.

David doesn’t hide his feelings from God. He doesn’t pretend everything is fine when it isn’t. He laments. He complains. He cries.

But he keeps talking to God.

And eventually his lament becomes praise:

“Praise the LORD,
for he has shown me the wonders of his unfailing love.”

Maybe that’s the difference between despair and lament. Despair says nobody is listening. Lament keeps talking because somewhere underneath all the pain there remains a little bit of hope that God is still there.

And if David were looking for somebody to sing a duet with him, Job would be a pretty good choice.

David and Job Sing a Duet

Job has lost nearly everything.

When he answers Bildad, Job begins enumerating his losses. His family relationships have broken down. His acquaintances have forgotten him. His servants no longer respond to him. Even his close friends detest him.

Job doesn’t understand why any of this has happened.

His friends think they do.

They keep trying to explain his suffering by finding something Job must have done wrong. But Job knows their explanation doesn’t fit.

Then, right in the middle of this sad country song, Job sings one of the greatest lines in Scripture:

“But as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives.”

Everything Job can see tells him that his life is falling apart.

His body is failing.

His relationships are disappearing.

His friends have become his accusers.

He doesn’t understand what God is doing.

But as for me…

Those words change the song.

Job continues by declaring that even after his body has decayed, he knows that he will see God.

David sings, I am dying from grief.

Job sings, My friends have abandoned me.

And somehow they both arrive at the same chorus:

My help comes from God.

David had sinned and knew the pain and guilt that could accompany his choices.

Job suffered even though the book tells us that he was a righteous man.

Their stories remind us that suffering cannot always be explained by a simple formula. Sometimes we suffer because of our choices. Sometimes because of the choices of others. Sometimes things happen that nobody chose.

But both David and Job discover something beyond explanation.

God is still there.

And Job declares:

I know that my Redeemer lives.

I Am Not the Messiah

Then we travel with Paul and Barnabas on their missionary journey.

They arrive in Antioch and go to the synagogue. There they are invited to give a word of encouragement.

Paul begins telling the story.

God delivered Israel from slavery.

God led them through the wilderness.

God gave them the land of Canaan.

Then came the judges.

Then Samuel.

Then Saul.

Then David.

And from the descendants of David came Jesus.

Our reading ends as Paul recalls John the Baptist preparing the way.

John asks the people, in effect:

Who do you think I am?

Then he makes something perfectly clear.

I am not the Messiah.

Someone else is coming.

John even says he isn’t worthy to untie the sandals on his feet.

Maybe those are words we need to remember.

I am not the Messiah.

I don’t have to save the world.

I don’t have to understand everything.

I don’t have to have an answer for every question.

I don’t have to explain every mystery of God.

I am not God.

And neither are you.

That realization isn’t bad news.

It may actually be wonderfully freeing.

I Was Blind, But Now I See

Then we meet the man born blind again in John 9.

Jesus has healed him, but the religious leaders are still trying to discredit Jesus.

They question the man’s parents.

Then they call the healed man back for another interrogation.

They tell him that Jesus is a sinner.

The man gives them one of my favorite answers in Scripture:

“I don’t know whether he is a sinner. But I know this: I was blind, and now I can see!”

There it is again.

But I know this.

He doesn’t know enough theology to answer every question the religious leaders throw at him.

He cannot explain everything about Jesus.

He doesn’t even try.

He simply tells them what happened.

I was blind.

Now I see.

Those words eventually found their way into one of the great hymns of the Church:

Amazing grace…

I once was blind, but now I see.

That may be what witnessing to grace really looks like.

Not having all the answers.

Not winning every theological argument.

Not proving that our understanding of God is better than somebody else’s.

Simply saying:

This is what happened to me.

But This I Know

Maybe that’s what all these readings are telling this Curious Pilgrim today.

David doesn’t understand everything happening around him.

But he knows God’s unfailing love.

Job cannot explain his suffering.

But he knows his Redeemer lives.

John the Baptist knows he isn’t the Messiah.

And the man born blind cannot answer every theological question.

But he knows one thing:

I was blind, and now I see.

Maybe faith isn’t knowing all the answers.

Maybe faith is knowing whom we trust when there are no answers.

There have been plenty of places along my pilgrimage where I haven’t understood what God was doing.

There have been losses.

There have been mistakes.

There have been detours.

There have been questions for which I still don’t have answers.

And the longer I travel, the more comfortable I become saying:

I don’t know.

I don’t know why everything happens.

I don’t know why some prayers seem to be answered and others seem to disappear into silence.

I don’t know why some roads are easy and others are terribly difficult.

And I certainly don’t have God figured out.

I am not the Messiah.

I am just a pilgrim.

But like Job, there are some things I know.

I know my Redeemer lives.

And like the man who once sat beside the road unable to see:

I know something about amazing grace.

I was blind.

But now I see.

Maybe not everything.

Maybe not even very far down the road.

But enough light for the next step.

And for this Curious Pilgrim, today that is enough.

A Prayer

Lord Jesus Christ,

When I am grieving like David,
teach me to keep talking to you.

When I cannot understand my suffering like Job,
remind me that my Redeemer lives.

When I am tempted to believe I must have all the answers,
remind me that I am not the Messiah.

And when others ask me to explain mysteries beyond my understanding,
give me the humility of the man you healed:

I don’t know everything.

But this I know.

I was blind, and now I see.

Thank you for your amazing grace.

Keep giving me enough light
for the next step of the journey.

Amen.