The older I get, the more I miss some of the more stabilizing influences of my past. Perhaps you can relate. When there’s no running water in the hospital in Jackson, Mississippi … and when Russia’s being Russia and China’s being China … and when political turmoil in America seems more normative than back-to-school photos … even I can recognize that I’m in need of a firm foundation. A long cup of coffee with Elisabeth Elliot sounds nice about right now.
Once in Orlando, Eileen and I were privileged to hear Elisabeth address a roomful of people who were interested in the connections between theology and culture. Then married to Lars Gren, Elisabeth Gren met our expectations and more. She was simply full of light! Have you known some people like that? Elisabeth walked so closely with Jesus that His light seemed simply to bubble out and bubble over every time she opened her mouth. At least that was my take on it. Not to mention the fact that Elisabeth evidenced this marvelous command of the English language that is highly admirable from the vantage point of an amateur wordsmith like me.
But you may remember her as Elisabeth Elliot. So do I. That will always be her name in my heart. That’s because Elisabeth’s first husband, Jim Elliot, was ambushed and killed in 1956 while he was attempting a Christian mission to the Auca/Quichua people (now you will often see them referred to as the “Huaorani”) of remote eastern Ecuador. Jim left behind Elisabeth and their 10-month-old daughter, Valerie. But the most remarkable part of the story is that Elisabeth was so committed to the cause of Christ that she – after her husband’s murder by the Auca – went back to live among and serve the members of the same tribe who had speared her husband to death. Anytime you hear of love like that, it never leaves you. You know it must be God’s love. Supernatural love. Love beyond measure. And Elisabeth’s story has never left me. She went on to write widely, and to serve for a season as an adjunct professor at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary in Massachusetts.
There are so many nuggets of wisdom from Elisabeth Elliot which I could share with you. I could paste large sections from Through Gates of Splendor … or reproduce some of her highly practical insight into the faithful perseverance which the gospel call requires. But this morning I’m choosing just one simple quote from Elisabeth Elliot: “God never did anything to me that wasn’t for me.” Just let that sink in for a second …
We can barely keep up with this world and all its messes. Add to that the messes that we make. Sometimes we want to pull the covers over our head and go back to bed. But – then we remember– the Lord still reigns on high! It’s no accident that we’re alive, here and now. And, regardless of today’s headlines, we are never alone. You and I can trust God with the breaking news.
And then we experience yet another personal disappointment. “Lord, have You forgotten me?” No, we remember, He has not. He’s right here. Right now. Fully in charge. Fully capable. Full of love for you and for me. And He’s full of a love that we never deserved. Even when there are waves of sadness in our lives, He loves us. Waves of turmoil. Waves of grief. He still loves us. He may be refining us by fire, but “God never did anything to me that wasn’t for me.” You and I can trust God with the breaking waves.
Sometimes we feel like we’re sinking. “I just can’t take it anymore!” And it’s as if we hear a whisper so soft but yet so strong: “No, you can’t take it, but I can. Trust Me.” And we remember the storms of yesterday, and we recall His remarkable deliverance. Over and over again. Let’s face it: we’ve been rescued from Egypt more than once. You and I can trust God at our breaking point.
“But they hurt me again! They stabbed me in the back all over again!” Sometimes that sting never stops stinging, does it? Some rejections never cease to hurt. Some personal wounds never cease to make us feel more alone than pre-Eve Adam. Even in the body of Christ, sometimes the Lord allows us to walk through valleys in which it seems that nobody really understands what we’re going through. But – please hear me out – we are in fact deeply understood by the only one whose understanding matters most. You and I can trust God with our breaking heart.
When Elisabeth was in her late seventies, dementia struck with a vengeance. She had to cling to so many of the same unshakable promises of God in which she had helped others find hope throughout her lifetime. When she died at the age of 88, Steve Saint (the son of Nate Saint, another missionary who had been killed alongside Jim) testified of Elisabeth’s ultimate victory over “the disease which robbed her of her greatest gift.” While she could still remember, I wonder how many times Elisabeth had to recall and apply that one quote which I shared here with you.
I’ve already told you, Green Hills Family, that I have an “I don’t understand” file. It’s a file deep in my soul in which I place things that I simply can’t square with what I know to be true of God. When I get to heaven, one of two things will happen. I’ll either sit down with Jesus and open my file so that He can straighten me out (I’m sure I’ll need it), or I’ll realize instantaneously that my file doesn’t matter anymore. In all honesty, I more suspect the latter. But, in any event, Elisabeth’s battle with dementia is in my file – at least for now.
But I remember Elisabeth, and I am abundantly grateful for her life and ministry.
What’s in your “I don’t understand” file, friends? Maybe it’s getting fuller by the day. I certainly can’t help you with all of the answers, but I can point you to the One whose sovereignty and grace never fail.
I’ll close with a line which some of you will remember: “You are loved with an everlasting love – that’s what the Bible says – and underneath are the everlasting arms.”
Pastor Charles
Leave a Reply