The story of Mary Magdalene meeting Jesus at the empty tomb is found only in John’s Gospel. Everything about it corresponds to human nature as we know it. A weeping woman lingers by an empty tomb, wondering what has happened to the body of the one she loved. When Jesus appears on site, she doesn’t recognize that it’s him. After she does realize it’s the Lord, she grips his feet so tightly that he needs to tell her to let him go. The scene ends with the mourner becoming a missionary—running to tell others that she has seen Jesus alive.
In many ways, Mary represents all of us. The risen Christ cares about our pain. He’s present even in our darkest hour, and he doesn’t let our despair go unchallenged. The risen Christ also knows us personally. He calls us by name and always gives us what we need the most, including hope beyond the grave. Finally, the risen Christ redirects our priorities. He wants us to share him with others, not keep him to ourselves. He also cares more about grace than our status in the world.
It’s often been said that Mary Magdalene was last at the cross and first at the tomb. That’s a high honor that can’t be said about any of the men who followed Jesus. She was the first to see Jesus alive and the first to hear his voice, thus becoming an apostle to the apostles. A formerly demonized woman, Mary had been changed by Jesus. You can be, too. Indeed, the story of the risen Christ can change your story—forever.
My son Andrew is getting married two months from today. It’s been a joy having him live with us for the past couple years as he was rebooting his life from photojournalism to tech support for Christian musical theater. Not only is he enjoying his career at Sight & Sound, but he met his fiancé there as well. He also appeared in their second film, A Great Awakening. So, it’s a time of much joy as we celebrate God’s goodness to him and prepare for the big day.
Since Drew will be leaving us soon, I decided to do this year’s Easter opening entirely myself. I’ve been far too dependent on him over the years for video generation and editing. So, I forced myself to learn three new apps for making soundtracks, storyboards, and video compilations. This year’s production is based on the Akedah, the Binding of Isaac in Genesis 22. It’s a heartrending story that leads to Jesus, and my well of tears has been thoroughly drained during the preparations. Drew said, “Now you know how hard it is to edit through tears.” Exactly right.
Let’s just say I have a newfound respect for my son’s skills in this area. He really has a gift. The last two weeks have been nonstop and intense. Part of the challenge has been learning the software and then using it for editing video clips and audio tracks—something I’ve never done until now. I can usually craft a story and conceive the look I am aiming for, but Drew has always been the one to bring it to life. This time I flew solo.
So, I was eager to get his feedback on my first project. He loved it! He said I have some good editing instincts and conveyed the message well. Were he to give me a grade, he said it would be about a 92-95. Not bad for the first try! Since he has a Film and Media Arts degree from Temple University, I really value his feedback. He gave me a few ideas for tightening up the final edit, and I’ll be doing those over the next few days. I’ll post the final version here after the Easter Sunday worship service.
He’s still my beloved son in whom I am well pleased. That’s one of the reasons it’s been such an emotional month. As I’ve pondered Genesis 22 for the Good Friday service and Easter Sunday opening, I’ve been wrecked afresh by the deep and profound love that God has for his creation. For you. For me. For all of us. The hardest thing God could ever ask of us is the very thing he did for us—he gave us his only son. “I scarce can take it in.”
Drew promises to come back for our weekly movie night. (He’s only moving an hour away.) In fact, right now we’re watching Galaxy Quest because we wanted to watch something campy and fun. The cast is quite good—Tim Allen, Sigourney Weaver, Alan Rickman, and Tony Shalhoub. But the company is better. Thanks for being my movie man, Drew. You will always be loved.
His Only Son
An Original Production by Christ Community Church
Written by Tim Valentino
Narrated by Ken Hunkins
Produced and Edited by Tim Valentino
Artwork by Maureen Logan
Choir Directors Sonya Valentino Shirley Long
Processional Christ Community Church Easter Choir
—
Music by
“Adagio for Strings,” String Quartet, Op. 11 by Samuel Barber, performed by the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by Leonard Bernstein, Sony Music, 1971.
“Prelude” by Scott Brasher and J. A. C. Redford on Unveiled Hope by Michael Card, performed by the London Session Orchestra, featuring Hunter Lee, conducted by J. A. C. Redford, Myrrh, 1977.
“Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee,” lyrics by Henry Van Dyke, music by Ludwig van Beethoven, Ode to Joy: from Symphony No. 9, performed by the Grace Community Church Orchestra, Sun Valley, CA, 2024.
Video by
His Only Son, directed by David Helling, starring Nicolas Mouawad as Abraham, Sara Seyed as Sarah, Edaan Moskowitz as Isaac, and Dan da Silva as the Lord, Angel Studios, 2023.
Jesus of Nazareth, directed by Franco Zeffirelli, starring Robert Powell as Jesus, Olivia Hussey as Mary, Yorgo Voyagis as Joseph, and Michael York as John the Baptist, ITC Entertainment, 1977.
The Passion of the Christ, directed by Mel Gibson, starring Jim Caviezel as Jesus, Icon Productions/Newmarket Films, 2004.
Risen, directed by Kevin Reynolds, starring Joseph Fiennes as Clavius Aquila Valerius Niger, Antonio Gil as Joseph of Arimathea, and Victor Trapani as Nicodemus, Affirm Films/Columbia Pictures, 2016.
Licensed By
Christian Copyright Licensing International No. 21229380
Christian Video Licensing International No. 21-03851831
For years now, I’ve been creating “dark-to-light” media presentations to open the Easter services at the churches I’ve been privileged to serve. Past presentations have included: “The Passion & the Glory”; “On My Cross”; “Shine, Jesus, Shine”; “Sunday’s Coming;” “After Darkness, Light”; and several others. Some years they’re tied to the Lenten sermon series we just completed. Other years they’re stand-alone presentations simply designed to fit the occasion.
This morning’s presentation was called, “Three Hearts on Calvary,” based on the story of the repentant thief on the cross next to Jesus. It features Don Francisco’s story-song, “Too Small a Price.” I’ve been wanting to do this one for a couple decades, but I never had the right tools or technology. Thankfully, this year I was able to take the plunge. I must have cried a river of tears pulling it together. It was an exhausting but exhilarating labor of love.
Two things made this year’s presentation extra special for me, personally. First, Francisco came to do a concert for the Fellowship of Christian Athletes at West Virginia University back when I was a student on campus. That was right around the time God was awakening me to his gospel of grace in Christ, and Don was instrumental in my own conversion. (That may explain the river of tears during the creative process.) Second, our Easter Choir processed into the sanctuary during the choral climax of the song, triumphantly singing along with Francisco, which sent our spirits soaring:
Jesus is the Lord of all! Jesus is the Lord of all! Jesus is the Lord of all! We have been redeemed!
Jesus is the Lord of all! Jesus is the Lord of all! Jesus is the Lord of all! We have been redeemed!
Joy! Joy! Joy!
Jesus is the Lord of all! Jesus is the Lord of all! Jesus is the Lord of all! We have been redeemed!
We then declared in unison, as believers all over the world are doing today, “Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!” After that we worshiped the Lord with Charles Wesley’s “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today,” and then we continued with the rest of the worship service.
I hope you enjoy “Three Hearts on Calvary,” and I hope you have a triumphant Easter as well. Shoot me a note if you’d like to talk about the risen Christ and what he’s come to do for you.
Three friends were talking in a restaurant one day when the conversation turned to dying. They asked each other what they would like said about them at their funerals. The first man said, “I’d like someone to talk about my career success and all the good things I did for people during my life.” The second man said, “I’d like someone to talk about what a great husband and father I was, and how much I loved my family and took care of them.” The third man said, “I’d like someone to say, ‘Look! He’s moving!’”
That’s the story of Easter. Jesus was dead on Friday, but on Sunday morning he was moving again. In fact, the Greek word for resurrection is anastasia, which literally means “to stand again.” Unfortunately, it’s sometimes hard to see what’s right in front of our face. That’s the story of the women who come to Jesus’s tomb on that first Easter Sunday. There’s a vitally important truth staring them in the face, but they can’t see it yet. We might not have seen it, either.
The women come on Sunday morning to finish the burial they had started Friday afternoon. The Sabbath was approaching, so they had to cut short their preparations. Consequently, they come back the following day to finish the job. When they get there, they find that the stone had been rolled away, and the tomb is now empty. Jesus’ body is gone. Verse 4 tells us they started “wondering” about this. (Who wouldn’t have?)
The good news is they don’t stay in the dark very long. God tells them directly what happened. Two men in radiant garments give them the explanation. According to the other gospels, these men are “angels” or “messengers” from God. The whole scene reminds us that Christian faith rests entirely on hearing, believing, and resting in what God has spoken.
Without divine revelation, these women would have stared at the empty tomb for hours and debated what it could possibly mean. That’s what happens when we think Jesus is still dead. We miss it completely. Specifically, there are three things these women miss—and they’re the same things people often miss today. They miss the miracle of the resurrection; they miss the meaning of the resurrection; and they miss the marvel of the resurrection. They make three “grave errors,” but in all three cases, the gift of divine revelation gets them back on track. Specifically:
They see Jesus as a good man but not the God-man.
They see Jesus as a prophet but not the fulfillment of prophecy.
They see Jesus as a religious duty but not a real-life delight.
In love, God corrects their fuzzy vision with lenses of truth. In time, they come to see the grand reality that the resurrection of Jesus changes everything—from here to eternity. They come to see that Easter really happened, Easter really matters, and Easter really transforms. We can see it, too, for Christ is risen. He is risen indeed.
Yesterday I forbade any reference to—or celebration of—my birthday in the morning. It was the Lord’s Day, not mine. More than that, it was Easter Sunday. I wanted the focus to be completely on Jesus and what he did for us on that most central day in the church calendar.
My family and church family mostly followed that counsel. During the pre-service church breakfast, somebody started a spontaneous round of “Happy Birthday.” I’m told they just couldn’t help themselves. After breakfast, we went to the sanctuary and had a truly special time of celebrating the resurrection of Christ with a whole lot of people in attendance—more than ever before in our church’s history. But it was moving to be there and rejoice in the empty tomb regardless of how many came.
Fought the fight, the battle won. Alleluia—the line we were singing as my mother-in-law went home to be with the Lord last December. It was tough to sing those beautiful words this year during the Easter service.
Anyway, not to be outdone, Samuel wanted to sing “Happy Birthday” to me, too, and his mommy caught part of his rendition on video. I was charmed, to say the least. We had a nice relaxing birthday celebration with family (and some friends who stopped by) early evening and into the night.
Given the precarious situation involving my conception and delivery, I’m just glad I was ever born at all. And because of Easter, I was born again.
A Few GoodMen is ranked as one of top 100 movies of all time. It’s a military courtroom drama starring Tom Cruise, Jack Nicholson, Demi Moore, and Kevin Bacon. One of the memorable lines of the movie comes from Lieutenant Kaffee, played by Tom Cruise. He’s the lead defense attorney, and his case against the colonel isn’t going well. After a series of deep frustrations with his co-counsel, Lieutenant Galloway, played by Demi Moore, Kaffee blurts out, “And the hits just keep on coming!” It’s an expression that basically means, “Here we go again!” or “If it’s not one thing, it’s another!”
By the time we meet up with Elijah in 1 Kings 17:17-24, it’s hard not to think of this line, “And the hist just keep on coming!” He’s already had a hard and adventuresome life as a prophet, but we’re just getting started. After several miracles and death-defying adventures, the son of the widow he just rescued becomes deathly ill. Elijah watches his little friend go through the dying process. A few months ago, he saw the brook dry up, and now he sees a young boy’s life dry up, too. Now what? Surprisingly, the widow blames the prophet for her son’s death. For Elijah, the hits just keep on coming.
How do we respond when we get a tongue lashing we don’t deserve? Step into lawyer mode? Defense mode? Return the verbal garbage with garbage of our own? Hurt people tend to hurt people, and Elijah gets wounded here. But he doesn’t seek to wound back. He offers no argument, no rebuke, and no explanation. He does speak, but not to the woman’s tortured logic and agonized questions. Rather, he offers her gentle service and simple burden sharing. Then he gets alone with God and cries out to him for help (1 Kings 17:20), offering up an impossible prayer: “O Lord my God, let this boy’s life return to him!” (1 Kings 17:21b).
It’s one thing to pray for the weather, as Elijah has recently done. It’s another thing to pray for the restoration of life to a dead body. That’s something new. But not only does Elijah pray the impossible prayer, he’s willing to be ceremonially “unclean” in the process by stretching himself out on the boy three times (1 Kings 17:21a). It was a form of sacrificial intercession in the face of a desperate situation. Happily, the Lord heard Elijah’s cry, and the boy’s life returned to him (1 Kings 17:22). It’s the first resurrection of Scripture. Thankfully, it’s not the last.
How do we face an impossible situation today? Like Elijah, we can get alone with God. We can pour out our problems to the Lord. We can strive for patient endurance and calm assurance amid the hits. And we can wait for God to act, receiving his deliverance in due course. Like Elijah, we can be fully persuaded that hope never dies because the God of the impossible lives. Patient endurance, then, is well founded. Teresa of Avila was a Carmelite nun who lived in the 1500s. She wrote a verse that John Michael Talbot made into a song in our day:
Let nothing trouble you. Let nothing frighten you. For everything passes but God will never change. Patient endurance will obtain everything Whoever has God, wants for nothing at all. God alone is enough. God alone is enough. Whoever has God, wants for nothing at all.
One day the hits will stop coming. Jesus made sure of that. On the cross, he was willing to become truly “unclean” for us, dying for our sin. But on the third day, he rose again from the dead, having told his followers, “Because I live, you also will live” (John 14:19). Today he puts his infinite resources at the disposal of those who, like Elijah, pray in righteousness and faith. That’s how we hit back at the hits.
Below for your encouragement is a slide presentation called, “Disability, Dying, and Death: Relational Theology and the Gift of Hope for Life’s Descending Triad.” It comes from a seminar I did a while back with two other colleagues and may be turned into a small book someday. Even without the presentation script—which awaits another round of editing—you might be able to find some encouragement here for whatever challenges you may be facing these days.
What is relational theology? The God of Scripture (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit) is thoroughly relational; hence the field of relational theology, as distinct from systematic theology, contextual theology, etc. As I’ve written before, the Holy Trinity is not a math puzzle (1 + 1 + 1 = 1), it’s a clue to the relational heart of the universe. That clue is precious to believers because the prime reality of existence is not matter. It’s not energy. It’s not quarks. It’s a divine relationship. Specifically, it’s an eternal reciprocating relationship of personal diversity and unbreakable unity. As the well-known hymn puts it, “God in three Persons, blessed Trinity.”
Human persons made imago Dei—in the image of God—are therefore relational beings, much like their Creator. Even introverts are aware of their interrelatedness with others! This connectional dynamic has much to say to us in a broken world marked by disability, dying, and death. It also has much to say to us in a world marked by the risen Christ, who knows firsthand what it’s like to feel disabled, go through the dying process, and then eventually taste death itself.
May the Lord enable you to revel in the gift of hope, even if through tears.
Matthew’s account of Jesus’s resurrection is filled with sarcasm, culminating in the order Pontius Pilate gave: “Take a guard. Go, make the tomb as secure as you know how” (Matt 27:65). How did that work out for you, governor? Jesus rose from the dead, and the guards had no power to stop it.
But Pilate’s order represents what most people are trying to accomplish these days—making things as secure as they can. We lock our doors, buckle our seatbelts, password-protect our computers, wear helmets while biking, go through TSA stations at the airport, and purchase all kinds of warranties and insurance policies. But the resurrection account reminds us that real security is found in the risen Savior.
That’s the point of Matthew’s sarcasm. Sarcasm in this context means a holy defiance against the lies and pretense of this world, and humanity’s vain attempts to destroy the work of God. It’s a sacred sneering at all the obstacles and injustice in our society that keep people from flourishing as God wants them to flourish. It’s an attitude that faces the difficulties and challenges of life and says, “Bring it on.”
Why? Because the empty tomb means believers can’t lose in the end. Indeed, our own impending resurrection gives us a holy defiance against our fears and final enemy, death itself. Therefore, we can have a healthy suspicion of all our own attempts to keep ourselves secure, and a bold embrace of God’s incredible adventure for our lives—whatever that may entail. Make the tomb as secure as you can? You might as well try to kill an elephant with spitballs. Jesus Christ—risen from the dead—is Lord of all.
“Though the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there is a magic deeper still which she did not know. Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness and the darkness before Time dawned, she would have read there a different incantation. She would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backward.”
– C. S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
I’ll take the “living hope” over the “little hope.”
Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a LIVING HOPE through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade—kept in heaven for you.
The post-resurrection appearances of Jesus can come across as elusive or even mysterious at times. Over the span of 40 days, the risen Christ shows up for a brief period, and then he’s gone without a trace. He appears in the flesh momentarily, but then he suddenly disappears. This dynamic raises the question, “Why does he linger?” We have 11 or 12 unique postmortem episodes recorded in the New Testament, but establishing a pattern or rationale for these “peek-a-boo” appearances can be a challenge. Their fleeting nature seems odd. Yet, upon closer examination, there are some clear indications of what Jesus may have been up to on this side of the empty tomb.
First, he appears to his friends, not his enemies. With the resurrection being the greatest “I told you so” in history, the rest of us may have been tempted to gloat in the presence of our enemies. Jesus’ character, however, does not allow for such a self-serving spectacle to take place. Second, he engages in conversation not just proclamation. With the resurrection being the greatest display of authority in history, we may have been inclined to do all the talking. Jesus certainly does some instruction, be he also gets other people talking, mostly about their hopes, fears, expectations, and disappointments. Indeed, he functions as a “Wonderful Counselor” (cf. Isa 9:6) after the resurrection. Third, he does what is needed on a case-by-case basis to help his friends believe in him. With the resurrection being the greatest display of power in history, we may have been predisposed toward belittling unbelief, but Jesus is “merciful to those who doubt” (Jude 22).
In Luke 24:36-49, Jesus labors to persuade his disciples that he really is back from the dead. He demonstrates that he is both a physical and a hyperphysical human being in his resurrection state. That is, there is both continuity and discontinuity between the body that went into the tomb and the body that came out. It really is Jesus, but now he’s a glorified Jesus. To convince the disciples of these realities, he eats in their presence and shows them his crucifixion wounds—something a spirit, ghost, or phantom would never be able to do. In his resurrected body, Jesus was scarred but healed, which provides an inspiring and hopeful lesson for us today: Like Jesus, believers can use their scars to advance the gospel. Because of the risen Christ, our mess can become our message, and our misery can become our ministry. Even our wounds can become trophies of his grace. In short, Jesus lingers because of love.
Jesus’ empty tomb sends people running on that first Easter Sunday. Everyone is dashing through the cemetery, but why? They’re running to find answers to their questions and help with their confusion. They don’t know why Jesus’ body is not where they had put it the day before. The confusion is understandable. If I were to go to the gravesite of my parents, and I saw nothing but a big hole in the ground with no vaults or caskets, I’d be asking questions, too.
So, the disciples are running around confused. Most of them are slow to believe in the resurrection—despite the fact that Jesus had said repeatedly it would happen. But here is the good news for them (and us): every time the risen Christ meets people after the resurrection, he helps them to believe in him. That’s amazing because the last time Jesus saw these guys in action, they were blowing it big time. They were denying and deserting him. But when Jesus finally appears to them face-to-face, there’s not a word of rebuke on his lips. Correction, yes, but not rebuke. Quite the opposite. He helps them believe.
In fact, the risen Christ deals with all of his followers personally and uniquely—according to their own needs, experiences, weaknesses, and hard-wiring. The attentiveness of Jesus to everyone in this story is remarkable. And what was true 2,000 years ago is still true today: Jesus gives people time and space to wrestle with—and then plenty of reasons to rest in—his resurrection from the dead. Consider the figures mentioned in John 20, and how Jesus interacts with them—both before and after his resurrection:
JOHN is the portrait of an EASY-COMING faith. His personal struggle seems to be, “I need significance in my life.” And John discovers that the risen Christ gives his people a new identity and purpose. PETER is the portrait of a GUILT-RIDDEN faith. His personal struggle seems to be, “I need forgiveness for my sins.” And Peter discovers that the risen Christ gives his people a new freedom and power.
MARY MAGDALENE is the portrait of a GRIEF-STRICKEN faith. Her personal struggle seems to be, “I need comfort for my despair.” And Mary discovers that the risen Christ gives his people a new intimacy and hope. THOMAS is the portrait of a SHOW-ME faith. His personal struggle seems to be, “I need irrefutable evidence to believe.” And Thomas discovers that the risen Christ gives his people a new assurance and confidence.
Because of his humility, Jesus does not coerce faith, but because of his authority, he deserves it. The risen Christ still gives open-minded and tender-hearted people what they need to believe in him. What is it that you still need to believe?
“Though the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there is a magic deeper still which she did not know. Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness and the darkness before Time dawned, she would have read there a different incantation. She would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backward.”
– C. S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
It’s always an honor to participate in a funeral for a veteran of the armed services. This morning I had the privilege of laying to rest at the Indiantown Gap National Cemetery (Lebanon County, PA) a member of the United States Air Force who served his country during the Vietnam War.
A United States flag draped his casket—the blue union field at the head end over his left shoulder—to honor the memory of his service to our country. After “Taps” was played, the Honor Guard carefully folded the flag into a triangle such that no red or white stripes were evident, leaving visible only the blue field with stars. (The flag is never lowered into the grave or allowed to touch the ground.)
Kneeling before the next of kin, with the straight edge of the folded flag facing the recipient, one member of the Honor Guard stated solemnly, “On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Air Force, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s honorable and faithful service.”
These words are poignant and appreciated. Nevertheless, I always get to deliver the best lines at these events. They’re the most comforting and triumphant lines one could offer at a time like this, and I’m thankful I get to speak them:
“Almighty God, our Heavenly Father, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through your Son Jesus Christ our Lord, we commend to your eternal care our friend and brother, and we commit his body to the ground—earth to earth. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. And now, Lord, sadly but with confidence, we let your servant depart in peace, for his eyes have seen your salvation, the glory of your covenant people. We trust that your angels have led him in paradise, that the martyrs have come to welcome him and take her to the Holy City, and that Christ, who is his life, has appeared to say, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter ye into my rest.’ Amen.”
We planted a seed today. We look forward to the harvest at the end of the age.
American Psychologist Rollo May once wrote, “Depression is the inability to construct a future.” In other words, the person who lives in a constant state of darkness and despair has experienced the death of hope. It’s a feeling many of us can relate to because depression is a worldwide phenomenon. It’s been known and studied for more than 3,000 years.
The World Health Organization estimates that over 125 million people around the world are clinically depressed each year. Twenty-five million of those people live right here in the United States. That includes entertainers, musicians, athletes, politicians, scientists, white collar workers, blue collar workers, the clergy, and more. In fact, more Americans suffer from depression each year than heart disease, cancer, and AIDS combined.
Depression is both common and complicated. It’s a condition with many causes, many expressions, and therefore many definitions. Some have called it “a howling tempest in the brain.” Others have called it “the common cold of mental illness.” And just like the common cold, there’s no immediate cure, but everybody seems to have a remedy for us. Especially Christians.
Sometimes our prescriptions sound callous or even cruel, coming across as if we’re saying, “Take two Bible verses and call me in the morning.” But that doesn’t work. And it’s not even an issue of faith most of the time. In fact, depression affects believers and unbelievers alike. The great Reformer Martin Luther lived with depression. So did:
The Puritan author John Bunyan
The Baptist teacher Charles Spurgeon
The Bible translator J. B. Phillips, and
The hymn writer William Cowper
We can add to the list Michelangelo, Winston Churchill, and Abraham Lincoln. In fact, President Lincoln once wrote in his journal: “I am now the most miserable man living. If what I feel were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be one cheerful face on the earth.”
Even Presidents are not immune to depression. Neither are God’s people. Consider Moses, Elijah, David, Jonah, Job, Jeremiah, and Peter—all of them, at one point or another, were depressed. Moreover, the book of Psalms reads like an emotional roller coaster. One minute the tone soars to the heights of exultation in God. The next minute we watch it plummet to the black hole of despondency.
But almost every time it plummets, it comes back up again. The writers always seem to come around to some sort of resolution—some sort of peace, hope, joy, contentment, or confidence that God is at work. Only two of the biblical psalms have no expressed hope in them at all—Psalm 39 and Psalm 88. The latter composition is the great lament of Heman (not to be confused with “Haman” in the book of Esther; the Hebrew spellings are different).
In Psalm 88, the word “dark” or “darkness” is used three times (vv. 6, 12, 18). Heman feels like he’s surrounded by darkness, and there’s not a single ray of light to be found anywhere. In fact, in the Hebrew Bible, the word “darkness” is the very last word of the prayer. That doesn’t come through in English, but that’s how the original reads. So, we have to ask, what’s a prayer like this doing in the Bible? Why did they include it?
The book of Psalms reads like an emotional roller coaster. One minute the tone soars to the heights of exultation in God. The next minute we watch it plummet to the black hole of despondency.
Heman is not exactly a household name—even for students of the Bible—but he played a vital role during the reign of King David and King Solomon. He was a well-respected prophet and worship leader in Israel during the glory days of the monarchy. He served at the temple by royal appointment, and Scripture tells us that Asaph was Heman’s right hand man. Asaph is better known to us than Heman, mostly because Asaph’s name is on 11 of the psalms, while Heman’s name is attached to just one. (After reading Psalm 88, we might conclude that one is enough from the hand of Heman!)
Psalm 88 is there to teach us that while suffering and depression may be inevitable, they’re not incompatible with faith. On the contrary, the weakest prayer in darkness can be an entry point for light. Heman thought his darkness was both absolute and permanent, but it wasn’t. God hadn’t abandoned him. How do we know that? And do we know he won’t abandon us?
While suffering and depression may be inevitable, they’re not incompatible with faith.
The end of Psalm 39 contains a heartbreaking appeal: “Turn your face away from me, God.” The end of Psalm 88 likewise contains a devastating assertion: “Darkness is my closest friend.” What these two writers expressed poetically one man experienced literally. Matthew 27:45 says, “From the sixth hour until the ninth hour darkness came over all the land. About the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?’ ”—which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” That is, why have you turned your face from me? Jesus experienced the ultimate darkness that Heman thought he had gotten form God (but didn’t). Jesus on the cross got the real darkness. Willingly. For us. And he knows how it feels to go as low as one can go.
But the Jesus Story doesn’t end on the cross. Or in the tomb. As Peter writes, “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead” (1 Pet 1:3). If ever it looked as if hope had died forever, the cross of Christ was it. But the death of Christ was not the end of Christ. That’s why Peter speaks here of: “a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.” A living hope, as opposed to a dying hope or a fading hope. Darkness is always temporary in a world that features a risen Christ.
The weakest prayer in darkness can be an entry point for light.
Somebody once said, “Hope is the ability to hear God’s music of the future, and faith is the courage to dance to it now.” Indeed, real hope is essential to dancing through our present struggles. How can we do that? We get help from trusted sources. We get a qualified therapist if we need one. We take meds if they’re properly prescribed. We take care of ourselves—physically and spiritually—as best as we can. We look at the trials of life and remind ourselves, “It’s nothing a resurrection can’t cure in time.” So, we press through the darkness with God’s help, and others’ help, and we wait for the clouds to lift.
Darkness is always temporary in a world that features a risen Christ.
Despite his horrible circumstances—and the severe depression it caused him—Heman demonstrates the beauty of a melancholy believer who will cling to God in faith even while swirling down the vortex of misery. We salute him for what he can teach us today. “Weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning” (Ps 30:5b). So, hasten the morning, Lord. For all of us.
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