“But take heart…”
“But,” the same Proverb continues… But… But wait, the author reminds us. I know the tragedy and loss come fast and hit us hard. I know we have so many moments of rejection and pain, of abuse and trauma. I know we have been pummeled with loss and heartache, wave after wave, hit after hit. But…
Before we read the rest of the Proverb, let’s first return back to Jesus. He also has a “but…” in His message to us about trouble.
“But,” he says (and I can imagine a pregnant pause).
“But take heart…”
Okay, let’s be honest here. Jesus just described the ails of the world and the profound tragedy of life in a single word, “trouble” – itself maybe a bit of an underwhelming word to describe the world we find ourselves in. And here He promises through a linguistic turn-of-focus some sort of remedy for this problem, a prescription for the condition of the human soul. Yes, Jesus, yes! We’re ready for your answer for all of this tragedy! What is it, Jesus, what?
And His answer is simply, “take heart.”
Take heart.
Take heart?
How does that strike you? Be honest. How does your heart respond to those two words, “take heart”? Does it rise as in a coming rescue, rejoicing that finally there is a tangible answer and hope to the despair we see around us and within us, like the wave of relief we find when the hero comes riding in just in the nick of time in our favorite stories? Or does it offer a half-smile, a polite, “Gee, thanks Jesus,” with a simple shrug in response?
Be honest. How does your heart respond to those two words, “take heart”?
If you’re me, the offer to “take heart” from Jesus sounds more like a euphemism for “don’t worry about it,” than it does a promise of restoration for brokenness and a healing for wounds, a kind of pedantic dismissal of the fatal cut that plagues everyone I know. I want to ask, “Jesus, uh… do you actually see what’s going on around us here?”
I think He does. I think His offer to “take heart” is much, much more than we typically imagine.
The exhortation in Greek can be understood as being bolstered, warmed up, emboldened by an inward strength. Jesus uses this word several times in the gospels, often just before He brings healing and restoration to someone’s injury or sickness. He says this to the crippled man who was brought before Jesus by some friends, just before He tells the man “Get up..” (Matthew 9:1-7). He uses the same word to the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years, again, just before he heals her (v. 18-22). He uses the word when speaking to the disciples from the midst of the storm on the Sea of Galilee just before inviting Peter to walk with Him on the water (and soon thereafter saving Peter from drowning and calming the storm entirely) (Matthew 14:27-31). Another time, Jesus uses the same word just before healing the blind man Bartimaeus. Are you getting the picture, the theme? Repeatedly, Jesus invites His friends to “take heart,” to be soul-buttressed, because He’s about to give us back what was lost. The social outcasts, the left behind, the forgotten, the hurting, the isolated. Understand, the people Jesus healed of broken bodies and blind eyes didn’t just limp away or have to go get prescription glasses. They were restored. What had been lost was returned to them. They were returned to their families and their friends. All things, you might say, were made new for them.
They got it all back.
“A longing fulfilled,” finishes the Proverb, “is a tree of life.”
“I have overcome the world…”
That sounds good, right? The lame can walk, the blind can see, people saved from the brink of drowning? You could see how the author of Proverbs poetically described those longings fulfilled in these people “a tree of life.”
Who wouldn’t want that? Sure, of course we would. But how do we find ourselves in these stories? How do we find our own hearts buttressed, rescued? What does “take heart” mean for us?
Jesus gives us a five-word single answer, tacked onto the end of the sentence, five words that set the earth back on its proper axis.
“I have overcome the world.” I have captured your foe. I have defeated the one who dared to bring you harm. Because I have loved you from all time, I have destroyed your Enemy and mine.
“I have overcome the world.” I have captured your foe. I have defeated the one who dared to bring you harm. Because I have loved you from all time, I have destroyed your Enemy and mine. Or, in the words of Paul, “When you were dead in your sins and in the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made you alive with Christ. He forgave us all our sins, having canceled the charge of our legal indebtedness, which stood against us and condemned us; he has taken it away, nailing it to the cross. And having disarmed the powers and authorities, he made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross” (Colossians 2:13-15, NIV).
Jesus does something we never expected with the weight of trauma and suffering – our trauma and suffering. He broke the teeth of death, the sting of the grave. He is reversing by the invasion of the Kingdom the losses we’ve endured, healing the injuries, closing the wounds, soothing the agonizing cuts. Yes, bones still break in this world. Abuses still happen. We taste the bitterness of tears and the heartsickness of longing for rescue when long nights turn into years and still we seem to be left alone in the dark. Yes, death still seems to get the final word for us all. And yet, the inbreak of the Kingdom has happened. Jesus has made a mockery of the Enemy and given us Himself in the midst of the suffering, until all death is finally and forever “swallowed up in life” (2 Corinthians 5:4).
In doing this, He transforms our suffering. He lets it be a united endeavor with Him, a collaboration of bringing the Kingdom through our own choice to love in vulnerability by entering into the broken places of this world and overcoming it at His side. In the slow healing and transformation of his own agony of loss, Wolterstorff came to understand that “…we all suffer. For we all prize and love; and in this present existence of ours, prizing and loving yield suffering. Love in our world is suffering love. Some do not suffer much, though, for they do not love much. Suffering is for the loving. This, said Jesus, is the command of the Holy One: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” In commanding us to love, God invites us to suffer.”
I can imagine Jesus saying to us, “Let me garrison you, dear heart. I will be your Safeguard, your Protector. I will barricade you with my Presence. I will shelter you with my scarred hands. Day is coming. Dawn is already rising in the East. I have counted every tear. I have held every broken piece of your fragmented heart, and I Am here to return the lost years, restore the losses, recover Your heart, provide the fulfillment of every ache and yearning of soul. And now come, join me in loving this world back to life, bit by bit, until the day dawns and the Morning Star rises in your heart.”
And that is not all…
Author Info
Dr. Brian Fidler
Dr. Brian Fidler is an assistant professor of counseling at Colorado Christian University and a psychotherapist in private practice, helping couples for more than a decade. He has worked with hundreds of couples through the years who wish to work through their marriage struggles and deepen their intimate connection. Dr. Fidler and his wife have been married for 20 years and enjoy spending time with their family, reading, and exploring the outdoors.