His Hands Are Better

Philippians 1:20–26

Phrases that spoke to me today:
• to live is Christ and to die is gain
• I am torn between the two
• to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far
• more necessary for you that I remain in the body

Applying the Word to My Life:
The most classic example of prayer is the desperation prayer – everything seems lost, whatever comes next is going to hurt and we suddenly remember God: If you spare me from [insert your disastrous scenario here] then I will do whatever you want. It is the most natural prayer in the world.

Paul is in the middle of one of these disastrous scenarios and it is the prayer Paul does not pray.

He is in a Roman prison when he writes the letter to the Philippians. The trial ahead of him could end either way — release, or execution. And from inside that cell he writes: For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. Both options laid down. Neither one feared. He is torn between the two. Not anxiously. Honestly. He cannot say which would be better. To depart and be with Christ, he says, is better by far. And living means more years of work he loves. He cannot tell which his heart wants more.

If you put any of us in his seat, I do not think we would write that. We would probably beg to be spared.

I remember the first time the question stopped being theoretical for me. I was driving to Des Moines with my wife. Nothing dramatic was happening — an ordinary trip on an ordinary day. Somewhere on the highway it dawned on me how many ways a simple drive like that could end badly. A truck crossing the median. A patch of black ice. An inattentive driver behind us. If the wrong thing happened to both of us at the same time, our boys would be left without parents.

I sat with that for a few miles and it was uncomfortable. There was a different question underneath the tension, and after a while I could not push it away. It was not whether something might go wrong. It was whether I trusted God. If I did — if I really believed what I taught the boys on Wednesday nights, what I had said to other people walking through hard things — then I had to believe that even in the worst version of that drive, God could produce a good result for our sons. Hard. Not painless. But not abandoned. Not without His grace working through it.

I love my kids. I want to be there as they grow up. But sitting in that car I had to admit something. I wanted what God wanted for them even more than my own selfish desire to be with them. And the moment I admitted that, something let go. I did not stop loving them. I did not stop wanting to live. I just stopped pretending that my preferred ending was the only good one.

There is an old name for what happened in that car. Ignatius of Loyola called it Holy Indifference. The name is unfortunate. It sounds cold — like you are supposed to stop caring. That is not what it is. What happened in the car was not less love. It was love that had stopped trying to control the ending.

If we believe what we said yesterday — that God is sustaining your every breath, that He has gone through the curtain and stays, that He has been holding you in His heart all along — then He is on the other side of every door. Including the last one. The God who has been holding you is holding the people you love just as carefully. Whichever way it goes, He is on the other side.

Paul does the same work in his cell. He admits which option he prefers. To depart and be with Christ is better by far. Then he sets it aside. It is more necessary for you that I remain in the body. The deciding question is not what he wants. It is what serves God best. And serving is what he chooses.

Most of our questions are not live or die. They are smaller. One of our sons was seriously considering boarding school at a religious school out of state. I knew what I wanted. I wanted him at home — where I could see him every day, where his life was woven into the rhythm of our family. And I knew what I taught about God's plan for our children. The two were not lining up. I had to do the same exercise I had done in the car. I love this boy. I want him here. And I want what God has planned for him more than what I have planned for him. He ended up deciding to stay. But I had already found Holy Indifference before I knew his answer. That was the work. The answer was just the answer.

That is the shape of it. Not a peak you reach once. A posture you keep finding, in the lower-stakes versions, until it holds when the stakes get real.

Holy Indifference is not less love. It is wanting what God wants more than what you want. Where is that tension in your life?

My Response for Today:
Today I will name one outcome I have been gripping — and ask whether I want what God wants for it more than what I want.