Just Keep Going

We do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. 2 Corinthians 4.18a

Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory, while we do not look at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal.

2 Corinthians 4.17–18

Our suffering isn’t meaningless. It has a purpose. It is preparing us (by cleansing, purifying and refining us) for an exceeding and eternal weight of glory (2 Corinthians 4.17). The preparation for the glory of eternity is fire: Behold, I have refined you, but not as silver; I have tested you in the furnace of affliction (Isaiah 48.10).

Although we might feel like the furnace of our afflictions is going to burn us to death, Christ is drawing near to us to remind us that the ultimate purpose of His refining fire is to make us fully alive. Through death comes resurrection. In the fiery furnace of His love, our minds our purified, our hearts are tested and our souls are sanctified:

In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while, if need be, you have been grieved by various trials, that the genuineness of your faith, being much more precious than gold that perishes, though it is tested by fire, may be found to praise, honor, and glory at the revelation of Jesus Christ (1 Peter 1.6–7).

Although (very) real, the suffering that we are currently enduring is temporary: The things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal (2 Corinthians 4.18b). There will come a point at which the suffering will end. Our eternity, however, will not.

Nevertheless, during times at which the suffering is so acute that we are pushed to the point of psychological paralysis, the promise of eternity is not always a strong enough antidote to counteract the pain in which we find ourselves imprisoned. It is too far away, distant and, even, abstract. And although the potent love of Christ is anything but abstract—it is personal, immediate, forceful, moving, real—there are times (dark times) when even this feels out of reach. We know that it is there (in theory), but we can’t actually feel it.

Although the sense of being disconnected from God’s love is an extremely challenging spiritual experience, it, like everything else in Christ, bears a mystery. Although difficult to digest, this mystery is as follows: we live by faith not feelings.

The more that we practice our faith during these times of apparent alienation from God, by refusing to give up, the more that our hearts are enlarged and the more that Christ can, as a result, pour His divine love out into them: Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us (Romans 5.5).

When Christ's love is poured out into our hearts, it touches every area of our lives—our circumstances, our relationships, our walk with God—transforming them and transforming our inner depths.

During the testing times (the times of refinement) that lead up to the manifestation of this glorious reality, however, the spiritual oppression can be so severe that the only thing that we have the ability to do is to, simply, keep going. What is so amazing about Christ, is that the only thing that we can do, is also the only thing that we have to do, because His strength is made perfect in our weakness: He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12.9a).

It is as if He is saying to us: Just keep going. Just keep moving forward. Don’t give up. Don’t turn back. We just have to be willing to continue with Him. He will take care of the rest. Our discipline, therefore, is to keep pushing through the spiritual blockages, hindrances and times of dryness, torment or overwhelming inner upheaval.

This is our obedience: to—despite the opposition—keep walking with Him, holding onto both Him and the eternity to which He is leading us. The more that we do, the more data we will accrue that reminds us that although everything is terrible now it will soon get better.

If we keep going, the moment at which we are filled to the point of overflowing with His divine love will soon become our immediate reality, and the pain and the suffering through which we are currently persevering, a mere memory that grows fainter and fainter by the day: Because you would forget your misery, and remember it as waters that have passed away, and your life would be brighter than noonday. Though you were dark, you would be like the morning (Job 11.16-17).

Amen +

Author of You Are Mine and Apocalypse, Sister Anastasia writes on the role of the ancient, ascetic Church in a rapidly changing, modern world.

Photo by Allan Slade on Unsplash