Sifted Wheat, Served Daily

SPOILER ALERT: This post is rather longer, rather more rambling and rather different from what we’ve posted before. You have been warned…

I’ve been thinking about wheat lately, probably because of a comment one of our friends made to my wife a while ago. Specifically, I’ve been pondering two occasions when Jesus mentions wheat in Scripture.

Our unpainted walls, with wires where lights
might one day be installed

The first is in the Lord’s Prayer, when He counsels us to pray for “our daily bread” (Matthew 6:11 and Luke 11:3). Pastors and commentators have long suggested that He is telling us, in this verse, to ask God for what we need. Since God promises in many other places in Scripture (like, for example, John 14: 13 – 14) to give us what we ask for, it makes sense that Jesus would teach us to ask God for the things we need.

But how do you deal with that truth when you are standing in the middle of the house that you went $28,000 into debt to be able to move in to and you are staring at all the things that still need to be finished? When you are looking at the unpainted walls, when you see the electrical wires sticking out

Our bedroom door (and the hole next to it)

in places where some lights still need to be installed, when you notice the unvarnished doors and the small gaps in the concrete around the woodwork, when you remember the wiring that needs to be re-done in most of the house (because it wasn’t done properly in the first place), when you think about the exterior security wall that stands unfinished and the yard that is mostly dirt (like a construction site), with no flowers or trees or landscaping of any kind; when you remember all of these things, and are then reminded of those things that have broken and desperately need to be repaired (like the plumbing that is leaking into the walls in all of the bathrooms or the roof that leaks in three of the four bedrooms or the two sections of the security wall that have fallen down or the well that constantly runs dry unless we
carefully limit our water usage); remembering all these
things, what can you possibly make of Jesus’ promise in Scripture that He will provide all of our needs?

Seems to me that you have three options. First, you can doubt God’s Word; maybe this promise is false and He really doesn’t always give us what we need. But that assertion basically means that all of Scripture is false; if God can’t be trusted to tell the truth in one Scriptural promise, that throws into doubt everything that He promises and teaches is trustworthy and faithful, that His promises are true, that He does provide us with what we need. So scratch option number one; there must be something else.

Part of the security wall that is still standing

throughout Scripture, doesn’t it? I’m not going there; I’m not ready to suggest that the short-term experience of one family negates all the lifetimes of experiences (including our own, in other seasons) that demonstrate God

So how about door number two: We don’t really need these things that we’re praying for. Well, I suppose that’s a possibility. I take another look around the house. That would mean God is saying we don’t need to get out from under this crushing debt, a debt which, if not taken care of, could ultimately lead to the end of our ministry in Cameroon. That would mean that we are meant to continue living with and enduring the countless little struggles and frustrations that come from living in an unfinished and unrepaired house, struggles that have already begun to wear us down physically and emotionally, pushing us all closer to the breaking point; even the dogs are getting stressed out! Surely that can’t be right. Maybe some of these things aren’t absolutely necessary; maybe we can live in a house without paint or adequate lighting. But a roof that doesn’t leak and is secure enough that the wind is not likely to tear it off? A security wall that is not in danger of collapsing at any moment? A well that gives enough water to wash more than one load of laundry without going dry? Surely these are not simply desires, simply wants. I mean, we’re not asking for a mansion with a filled four car garage, king-sized water beds for everyone and caviar to snack on; we’d just like to lay down at night under a dry roof without having to wonder if that roof will still be there when the morning comes. That just doesn’t seem like a luxury to me. Don’t we actually need these things?

And the two sections of wall that have fallen down

So I come to option three: We don’t need these things now. I think this option is the one that troubles me the most, probably because it seems to be the only viable option left. It means that these things we’re missing in our lives are genuine needs and God’s promise is true: He will supply what we need. Just not yet. For His good purpose (and no doubt for our ultimate good), He is calling us to live, for this season, in need. To live without financial security and to live with the frustrations of staying in a poorly constructed, partially damaged, half finished home. The flippant, in some ways easy answer is to say, “Okay, God knows better than I do; If He thinks this is what we need right now, then I should just buckle down and learn to endure until this season passes.” And that’s pretty much the attitude I’ve been striving for over the past few months. But another part of my mind just won’t stop protesting. Why do we need to go through this? How is it good for us to have to scrimp and save every penny of our already low support so we can start to pay back this debt, especially when the necessity of paying off that debt means throwing into doubt several future plans (like the hope of our last family vacation here in Cameroon before Daniel graduates, as well as the question of how many of us can accompany Daniel back to the States in June after he graduates)? How can it be good for us to not sleep soundly for the last four months because we’re worried about leaking roofs, falling sections of walls and wind storms that could rip our roof completely off? I know, you can cue the verses about suffering teaching us perseverance (Romans 5:3) and rejoicing in suffering (James 1:2), but that really doesn’t answer the basic question: How is enduring these seemingly unendurable trials good?

The view of our side yard - nice landscaping, don't you think?

Which brings me to the next statement about wheat that Jesus makes. In Luke 22: 31 – 32, Jesus says, “Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”

This is the verse our friend mentioned, and my first reaction was, “That doesn’t really fit.” In my mind, Jesus ought to have said, “Satan has asked to thresh you as wheat.” Because that seems like it would be the more painful part of the process. You take the newly harvested wheat, lay it out on a flat surface and beat it vigorously and thoroughly with a heavy stick until the protective covering, the chaff, is knocked away from the kernels of wheat. That doesn’t sound like fun to me at all. If we’re going to put ourselves in the position of wheat, it’s the threshing that I would want to avoid.

One of our leaky walls, and the holes we've made trying to
find and fix the leaks

But rather unsurprisingly, when you think about it more carefully, Jesus seems to have gotten the metaphor right. Though threshing is probably more traumatic for the wheat, it is the sifting that is the important part of the process. After the wheat has been threshed, it is still contaminated; the chaff is still there, separated from each kernel but mixed up with them. If you tried to grind threshed wheat into flour, you’d have some pretty nasty flour because the chaff is hard and inedible; your flour would be worthless. The process of sifting fixes this. In sifting, you take the threshed wheat and either throw it into the air or shake it around in a short, round basket with a mesh bottom. In both cases, the wheat is thrown around so that the chaff is separated, blown away, leaving only the valuable, edible kernels of wheat behind.

So it seems to me Jesus is saying that Satan wanted to test the disciples, especially Peter, to see if they were kernels or chaff, to see if they would blow away when faced with trials and difficulties or if they would stand firm and endure. And that sounds exactly like it fits where we are right now. I can see, in the trials and stress that we are facing, the hand of God allowing Satan to  test us with great tribulations, to see if we will be blown away or if we will endure.

I  get to this point and have to pause, because I’m not sure if that idea is encouraging or discouraging. On the one hand, it means these trials could be a good thing, a time that God has allowed for the purpose of purifying us and helping us to be more free of habits and attitudes and stuff that might be holding us back from serving Him more fully and effectively. But on the other hand, as I look around at our lives right now, there seems to be an awful lot of chaff blowing away; I’m having trouble imagining what will be left when this storm finally blows over.

And that’s where I got stuck for some time: torn between the discouragement of our current circumstances and the hope that God had something good planned for all of us in all of this, assuming we made it through in one piece. But eventually it hit me: the important part is not the sifting. Satan asks to sift us like wheat, and Jesus responds, “But I have prayed for you, that your faith may not fail.”

Wow. The incarnate Son of God, my Lord and my Savior, is praying for me. Not only in the midst of this trial, but because of this trial, He is praying for me. That, in itself, just blows me away. I’ve always had trouble wrapping my mind around the idea that someone as powerful and wonderful and glorious, someone as important as Jesus not only knows me, but loves me and cares for me. And prays for me.

But as amazing as that concept is, I think the more important point is not that He is praying for me, but rather what He is praying for me. Not (as I have been) that our circumstances would improve, that the storm would pass and we would be comfortable again. Rather, that our faith would endure in the midst of this storm.

Does it really all come down to faith? I have to admit, I didn’t want that to be the conclusion. In fact, I stopped writing at this point for more than a month, hoping to find some other conclusion. But I don’t think there is one. All of my questions and doubts, my stress and anxiety, my frustration and depression, my jealousy at others whose walk seems much more smooth than ours; all of these things boil down to one common factor: at some point, I stopped trusting God. Not that I stopped believing in Him. I know that He doesn’t lie, that His Word is true, that He is faithful and powerful and is working for my good and His glory; I know all of those things, at least in my head. But my heart looked at the wind and the waves of the storm surrounding us and my faith faltered. I know that He is able to save us from these circumstances, that He can reach out his hand and do us good by pulling us back into the boat. But fear whispered to my heart that maybe He won’t, maybe He will leave us here. And of course, my head responds to fear with the assurance that, if He leaves us here, it is for a good reason, for His glory and our good. But my heart just can’t see it; my heart sees the waves closing over us and absolutely knows that we can’t endure this trial any longer, which makes His decision to leave us here feel like a broken promise.

My heart isn’t too bright sometimes. Or, to be a bit more generous, my heart is kind of forgetful; it needs to be reminded that God does keep His promises, that His perspective is different from mine and that He has my ultimate good in mind rather than my immediate comfort. It needs to remember that sometimes God asks us to wait on Him, and that making us wait isn’t the same as forsaking us. In other words, my heart needs more faith.

So, I guess in the end it does all come down to faith, to being able to rest contentedly in God’s promises and God’s faithfulness and God’s wisdom, even when my immediate difficult circumstances remain. Being able to trust that He is working for our good and His glory, even when I can’t  see His hand moving.

Well, I’m certainly not there yet, which makes it rather comforting to know that Jesus is praying for me. Maybe that needs to be my prayer as well, turning my cries from “How long, o Lord?” to “I believe; help my unbelief.”