The Gospel to the Poor

Luke 4:18-19

The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me,
Because He has anointed me
To preach the gospel to the poor.
He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted,
To proclaim liberty to the captives,
And recovery of sight to the blind,
To set at liberty those who are oppressed;
To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord.

To read the Gospels is to know that Jesus had a special burden for the poor. For most of us "the poor" means simply the financially destitute or economically disadvantaged. But Jesus also promised a blessedness upon the "poor in spirit" along with "those who mourn" – i.e., the emotionally wounded. So it is with Luke's account of Christ announcing his ministry. "The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me," said Jesus, "because He has anointed Me to preach the gospel to the poor." He then describes these poor souls: the brokenhearted, the captives, the blind, the oppressed.

As one well acquainted with the anguish of clinical depression and other painful experiences, this speaks to me. After all, depression can be accurately described as both brokenheartedness and captivity, a sheer inability to think clearly or experience any appreciable peace or joy. And the frustrating elusiveness of perspective and truth during a depression equally signals a "blindness" of sorts. Of all these terms "oppression" may best describe the relentless, terrifying onslaught that is a depressive episode. Yet Jesus announces that he has "good news" for all of us. Can there really be any good news during a depression or other severe hardship? I think so.

For one thing, Jesus seems to make ministry to depressives – and others struggling with emotional handicaps like PTSD, or anxiety, or even raw discouragement in the face of life's hardships – a priority in his gospel. Right away, that tells me that Jesus is on a mission to help and heal broken, wounded people, including of course his own. Any believer susceptible to shame or condemnation during a round of depression can take some comfort in this. God has nothing but compassion and mercy for his children as they cry out for help and deliverance, though sometimes he "bears long with them." Does any father not feel – if possible – even greater love for his children when they are sick and struggling than when they are happy and well? He certainly does not love them less! To emphasize the point, Jesus calls this new era "the acceptable year of the Lord." God accepts those who come to him, even the most weary and broken, just as they are.

Better still, Jesus promises that he will heal these terrible and painful afflictions. So experience bears out what Jesus here declares. As is true of any trial or hardship Christians must sometimes endure, depressions do not in fact last forever – though it often seems otherwise. A typical depression episode lasts some 26 weeks. For some it will be longer, for others not as long, but depression will eventually fade out and normal moods and cognitive functioning will return. As William Styron wrote in his memoir of depression, Darkness Visible, "Even those for whom any kind of therapy is a futile exercise can look forward to the eventual passing of the storm." Archibald Hart agrees: "Even a severe depression will eventually lift." And so it is with any difficult circumstance.

Finally, there is the reward promised for those who endure. Again and again Jesus and the apostles spoke of crowns and honor and blessings awaiting those who patiently suffer for Christ on earth. Now some would suggest that since I am not being persecuted for preaching the gospel, my suffering doesn't count. I disagree. Paul the Apostle counted his sicknesses, fears and sleepless nights as legitimate trials of faith. Job, who suffered more than most, experienced no trouble from unbelievers during his long depressive trial, yet the apostle James held him up as the model of Christlike perseverance.

In Scripture this life is consistently described as fleeting, transitory, quickly passing. We are nowhere promised any certain level of  happiness in this life, but we are repeatedly assured of unlimited bliss in the presence of God – the very source of all good things – in heaven. We are thus described as pilgrims momentarily passing through this world on a journey to the next. Paul accordingly lumps together all forms of suffering – depression included – as "light affliction, which is for a moment." Our hope lies well beyond the perils and pains of this sin-scarred life. So we wait on the Lord, our Great Shepherd, "for now is our salvation nearer than when we first believed" (Rom. 13:11).

Stirred, Not Shaken

Not long ago my wife was cleaning out the closet and came upon my grandfather's old army helmet, given to me when I was a young boy. For many years I thought it was just an old enlisted man's helmet – "standard issue"—and nothing more. Then I learned a bit of its history from my mother and my grandmother. It turns out my grandfather had volunteered for service in WWII, had been sent to Europe with the 2nd Infantry "Indianhead" division, had landed at Normandy, had fought in the Battle of the Bulge, had somewhere along the way been promoted to Captain, and had won a Purple Heart. One other detail they mentioned: My grandfather had left for the war with very dark, almost black hair, and had returned with white hair. That last part intrigued me. Here was a man of great courage, and yet a man who clearly had experienced the deepest horrors of war.

Reading the Apostle Paul's second epistle to Timothy the other day I was reminded again of my grandfather. Famously, Paul encouraged Timothy to "stir up the gift of God," and explained why Timothy did not have to shrink from that calling: "For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind" (2 Tim. 1:7). For most of my life as a Christian I, like most Christians, took that verse to mean this: "Don't allow fear a place in your heart, Timothy, because fear is not of God." During times when fear gripped my heart I would read that verse and find not encouragement but condemnation. Try as might, I simply could not make the feeling of fear go away at such times, not even by commanding it to flee in the name of Jesus. Why can't I shake these anxieties and fears? What's wrong with me?, I would ask myself. Then reflecting on my grandfather's indisputable bravery on the battlefield I realized something: The experience of fear is not a sin. Indeed, Paul knew that as well as anyone.

Why do I say this? Well for starters, Paul openly confessed that he was occasionally fearful: "I was with you in weakness, and fear, and much trembling" (1 Cor. 2:3). In Second Corinthians Paul points out that the hardships he endured in Asia were so intense that he "despaired even of life" (2 Cor. 1:8). In Macedonia, he continues in Chapter 7, "we were troubled on every side. Outside were conflicts, inside were fears" (v. 5). Clearly, Paul experienced fear. Furthermore he mentions this fact not in the context of confessing his sins, but of defending his apostleship. To say that feeling anxious or fearful is a sin amounts to saying that soldiers like my grandfather, who visibly tremble and quake as bullets scream past their heads, are actually more guilty of cowardice than the average civilian enjoying an evening at home with his family. But that doesn't really make sense.

Here's what I believe Paul is saying: "You may be experiencing fear, Timothy, but that's not from God himself -- not what God desires for you, and not who God made you." The difference is subtle, but important. Fear is something God allows us to feel and experience, but not something at the heart of God's will. That doesn't make it sinful, but simply undesirable. In much the same way, it is not God's will for my house to get robbed, but I certainly have not sinned if my house gets robbed nonetheless. My job is to manage and respond to each situation – whether having my house robbed or having feelings of fear rise up within me –the best I can in obedience to God. So Paul continues in verse 8 of 2 Timothy, "Therefore do not be ashamed of the testimony of our Lord, nor of me his prisoner, but share with me in the sufferings for the gospel according to the power of God." In other words, fear cannot be allowed to compromise our testimony of obedience to Christ. All this suggests that the power, love and sound-mindedness of God enable us to carry out our responsibilities even in the face of present fears.

Now it should be obvious that if believing that God has given us a spirit of power, love and a sound mind results in a state of perfect peace, then there would be no suffering. Suffering by definition involves a lack of peace. But Paul connects the assurance of one with the assurance of the other. The suffering to which Paul invites Timothy to share includes often, or at least sometimes, a measure of fear itself – the very sorts of fears my grandfather faced on the battlefield. But as Paul argues, a Christian obeys God despite those fears. "You therefore must endure hardship as a good soldier of Jesus Christ" (2 Tim. 2:3).

The Unchained Word

If I had to name one book in the Bible that is my "favorite," 2 Timothy would have to win the prize simply for frequency of readings. In my twenty-seven years of being a follower of Christ, I have read the entire Bible some twenty-five times (roughly once a year), but 2 Timothy probably forty times or more. To say why I have such a deep connection to this particular book I have to briefly disclose some not always flattering aspects of my own personality.

Written by Paul the Apostle just prior to his own execution under the authority of Nero in Rome around 64 AD, the second epistle to Timothy speaks words designed to equally challenge and comfort a young pastor overseeing a growing church body in Ephesus. Timothy by all accounts was a good man -- diligent, dedicated, a loyal and reliable friend. But he was also timid by nature, easily discouraged, and given to obsessing and disputing about things that don't matter. Sounds familiar.

In the process of encouraging a temporarily unconfident, struggling Timothy to "stir up the gift" of faith within him (and others like him in our own day), Paul mentions the fact that he has problems of his own. He has been suffering persecution, many of his closest friends have betrayed him, and as a result he is languishing in prison awating execution. On top of all that, even mature believers in the churches are afraid to visit him for fear of drawing the same kind of attention.

Paul then reminds Timothy of something powerful: "...that Jesus Christ, of the seed of David, was raised from the dead according to my gospel, for which I suffer trouble as an evildoer, even to the point of chains; but the word of God is not chained" (2:8, 9). That says to me basically this: Despite the pain and humiliation of being shackled with irons by hard-hearted men with seemingly unlimited power to control Paul's life, Jesus is still risen and God's word is just as true as it ever was. No amount of suffering can alter the promises of God to his people. "Therefore I endure all things," continues Paul, again because God is eternally reliable and faithful:

"If we are faithless, He remains faithful: He cannot deny Himself" (2 Tim. 2:13).

That's much of what this blog will be about: the faithfulness of God and the truth of his word. Feel free to comment or share how something here relates to your own testimony. Thanks for reading!