Faithfully Faithless: Christ in the Crisis by Brandi J. Ray

 

My husband and I struggled to go to Miami for his 30th birthday. Although we were excited to have our first vacation as husband and wife since the pandemic, our hearts were burdened with the uncertainty of what we were leaving back home. Our friend and brother was hospitalized, and we were among the many diligently praying for his healing. Was a vacation worth attending when illness was lurking amongst our own?

Upon returning home, we spent the next few days receiving status updates about our friend. Until April 21st. I was napping when my husband came to my bedside and said, “I have bad news.” Immediately, my heart sank – knowing that our brother had passed on into the hands of God. 

When I reached out to my sister, his wife, and offered my condolences – to my surprise, God led her to task me with the honor of writing a poem for the funeral service. What exactly was I supposed to say?

The human flesh in me did not want to say to her, the family, and our friends, “It’ll be okay. God’s going to provide,” because for us, the living, we don’t find glory in death. We all were praying and hoping that he’d pull through; we thanked God in advance for the testimony that D was going to be able to tell. So, I felt burdened and conflicted on worshipping God when I was still grappling with D’s departure. Nonetheless, I still had a promise to deliver to his wife and set on to write.

In my writing process, two gospel songs specifically spoke to my heart. The first night, I listened to James Fortune, “I Trust You.” It was here when I came across an important revelation – I had faith, but I didn’t have trust. On the second day, I played “Healing” by Richard Smallwood. At this moment, I knew that the only message God was moving me to write was to place our total dependence on Him even when this season was convincing us to do the total opposite. So, I began writing. The poem opens,

“When we stumble upon moments like this:

Where we feel that God has forsaken us,

And there may be a lapse in our faith,

Can you find the courage to muster up the seed

To plant yourself firmly,

And still, entrust yourself in His care?”

I strive to be honest and transparent about my walk in Christ. Although I’m tasked with ministry and am currently in school for theology, the reality is that even the highest of those called wrestle with the faith. No matter our titles and positions, our schoolings, and our teachings, we all stumble across obstacles that cause a lapse in our faith from one season to another. As I wrote this poem, I remained honest and transparent with myself. This moment and revelation was no longer about the Cooper family but rather how God wanted me to mature in my walk. 

As I continued to write, I began to pull on what D’Angelo’s life taught us. In which, I said, “He was faithful to a God that was faithful to him, that is faithful to us even when our faith isn’t full.”

In the earlier parts of 2021, I had hit a roadblock in my faith. Out of random, the scripture John 11 spoke to me and has been speaking ever since.

As the chapter develops, verses 14-15 say, “So then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead. And for your sake, I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.”

The privilege we have in reading this text is already knowing that Christ is about to transform this crisis. Unfortunately, on the other hand, the disciples are reflective of our posture when crises come upon us. Leading up to Jesus’ declaration in verses 14-15, the disciples, just like us, the family and friends of D’Angelo, were urging Christ to move relatively quickly to spare Lazarus’ life. And when the time came that the disciples learned of Lazarus’ death, only then did Christ began to move. To which, He informs the disciples, “For your sake, I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe.” If the disciples weren’t caught up in their grief, they would’ve caught how Jesus was foreshadowing a miracle. But frequently, we miss the word from Christ in our grief, tribulations, and in the darkness of our seasons because we are following blindly. And let’s talk about blind faith.

In Hebrews 6:1, the author writes, “Therefore let us get past the elementary stage in the teachings about the Christ, advancing on to maturity and perfection and spiritual completeness, [doing this] without laying again a foundation of repentance from dead works and of faith toward God.” When the author of Hebrews talks to the Church in this passage, he’s instructing us to expand our faith. You see, what I mean by this, is that the author understood that sometimes our faith needs the “Faith-for-Dummies” version. 

We wholeheartedly know about Christ. We know what a life in Christ promises, and we have seen the marvel and glory of those promises in our lives. And as such, we take it for granted. We get comfortable knowing that Christ is going to move and that He’s going to shift whatever season we find ourselves in. That is called faith – we have the confident expectation that God is. This is why in John 11:21, Martha says to Christ, “Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.” Because she and the disciples knew that God has the power to overturn anything we bring to Him. 

We call on Christ because we know that Christ is more than capable. Easily, we all can quote one or two scriptures on how Christ will bring us through the crisis. But what happens when God is delayed? When there seems to be a pause between your prayer and His presence? Your posture begins to change and shift in the impatience. Your faith still tells you that God will show up, but your impatience makes you begin to worry. Your impatience leaves a window open in the back of your mind for distrust and doubt to begin to sow. You start thinking, “Lord, okay the gig is up. Show up. I’ve been calling on you, will you ever get to me?” And what we see with Martha and Mary, even when Christ shows up – they still had the audacity to tell Him, “Lord, had you been here.” 

I find that scene so ironic because they told the Lord, face to face, that had He been there earlier, their grief and their season wouldn’t exist. Had you shown up when I asked you to God, we wouldn’t be in this mess. I don’t think you understand where I’m getting at. They told God to His face, while in His presence, had you been here, my brother would not have died. And that’s what we’re talking about today – being faithfully faithless. 

We’re so full of faith that even when Christ does arrive, even when He comes when we think He’s a second too late – we have the nerve to tell Him what He could have done and ignore the fact that He’s here and is about to do something now. 

Martha and Jesus go back and forth about her faith – about that elementary faith of knowing the possibilities of what God can and will do that she’s ignoring what God is telling her that He’s about to do. He tells her plainly in verse 23 that Lazarus will rise again, and she tells Him, “yeah, I know.” Sis, this is why Hebrews 6 tells us to move past the elementary teachings of Christ. This is why Christ told the disciples, for your sake, I am glad that he died. Because we become know-it-alls in our faith that Christ has to remind you that you don’t know it all.

Just when you think that you have Christ down-packed and you feel that you have already witnessed all of His glory – Christ seemingly still has to remind you that it was Him that died on the cross. It is Him that sits on the right side of God and, Him that will remind you that even in the crisis, even when you think its final, even when you think that death has the final say so, that He is God. He is God without our help, without needing our approval, and that He will remove that stone from your heart, and you will see, firsthand, that there is nothing in this world that He cannot overcome. 

Before I close, I just have to tag on these last two pieces. When Martha went to get Mary and Mary ran out of the house, the text said those who came to comfort the sisters came running behind Mary, thinking that she would grieve elsewhere. When Mary meets Jesus, she has the same approach as Martha, “Lord, had you been here.” When Jesus heard Mary’s cries, verse 35 says that Jesus wept. 

Let me tell you something – if this scripture doesn’t point to a compassionate and merciful God, I’m not sure what other lessons God can teach to remind you about His love. Even as Christ knew His own plans, even when He told Martha moments ago that He was going to raise Lazarus from the dead – the pain that Mary and Martha had, moved Christ to compassion to the point that He even wept. Their earnest need for Christ and never to stop seeking Him – moved Christ deeply. I say this to you to say that even when you think your tears are falling on deaf ears, that even in the delay of Christ making His way to you, He wholeheartedly feels your agony and your sorrow. Not only is He a God that changes the narrative, but He’s a God that has enough compassion to comfort you in your waiting.

But that wasn’t the final lesson in this scripture. The final lesson in this scripture is that this miracle had nothing to do with Lazarus, Martha, Mary, or the disciples but rather, those who snickered in the background talking about, “Could not this Man, who opened the blind man’s eyes, have kept this man from dying?” Often, your storm isn’t even about you. Most times, God is positioning those around you, those who don’t believe, to have the front row seats to witness Him in action. Because while you get complacent in your faith, there are people surrounding you who don’t even have an ounce of faith. God entrusted you to carry this burden and endure your storm because you would bear the burden, and you would endure the storm. Even if your faith was basic to only have the knowledge of who God is, He knew that you would not lose sight of Him. And there are people standing around you that can’t even recognize Him or call Him by name. 

For their sake, I am glad. Because as you journey in this crisis, Christ is making His way to you – not just to transform your situation but to also transform their hearts.

As I closed the poem, “There are no words which can comfort us in the absence of D’Angelo, But there is a name, And it’s something about that name, Jesus.” 

I hope you know Him as He knows you – a Christ in the crisis that will remain faithful to you even when your faith isn’t full.

 

May you be kind to yourself, 

Mrs. Brandi J. Ray