Irony: The Crust on the Bread of Adversity | Neal A. Maxwell

What I now read is a most wintry verse indeed. Nevertheless, the Lord seeth fit to chasten his people. Yea, he trieth their patience and their faith. This very sobering declaration of divine purpose ought to keep us on spiritual alert as to life's adversities. Irony is the hard crust on the bread of adversity. Irony can try both our faith and our patience. Irony can be a particularly bitter form of such chastening because it involves upsetting incongruity. It involves outcomes in violation of our expectations. We see the best laid plans laid waste. An individual is visibly and patiently prepared for an important role amid widespread expectation of his impending era. What follows, however, lasts only a narrow moment in time. A political victory seems so near, recedes, and finally vanishes altogether. Without meekness, such ironical circumstances are very difficult to manage. In a marriage, a careless declaration hardens into a position, which position then becomes more important than communication or reconciliation. An intellectual stand is proudly and stubbornly defended even in the face of tutoring truth or correcting counsel. Yet occasionally, as we all know, backing off is really going forward. Sometimes it takes irony to induce that painful but progressive posture. With its inverting of our anticipated consequences, irony thus becomes the frequent cause of an individual's being offended. The larger and more untamed one's ego, the greater the likelihood of his being offended. Especially when tasting his portion of vinegar and gall. Words then issue such as why me? Why this? Why now? Of course, these words may give way to subsequent spiritual composure. Sometimes, however, such words precede bitter inconsolability. And then it is a surprisingly short distance between disappointment and bitterness. Amid life's varied ironies, you and I may begin to wonder, did not God notice this torturous turn of events? And if he noticed, why did he permit it? Am I not valued? Our planning itself assumes that our destiny is largely in our own hands. Then come intruding events, first elbowing aside, then evicting what was anticipated and even earned. Hence, we can be offended by events as well as by people. Irony may involve not only unexpected suffering, but also undeserved suffering. We feel we deserve better, and yet we fared worse. We had other plans, even commendable plans. Did they not count? A physician laboriously trained to help the sick, now because of his own illness, cannot do so. For a period, a diligent prophet of the Lord was an idle witness. Frustrating conditions keep more than a few of us from making our appointed rounds. Customized challenges are thus added to that affliction and temptation which Paul described as common to man. In coping with irony, as in all things, we have an exemplary teacher in Jesus. Dramatic irony assaulted Jesus' divinity almost constantly. For Jesus, in fact, irony began at his birth. Truly, he suffered the will of the Father in all things from the beginning. This whole earth became Jesus' footstool. But at Bethlehem, >> [clears throat] >> there was no room at the inn and no crib for his bed. At the end, meek and lowly Jesus partook of the most bitter cup without becoming the least bitter. The most innocent suffered the most. Yet the King of kings did not break even when some of his subjects did unto him as they listed. Christ's capacity to endure such irony was truly remarkable. You and I are so much more brittle. For instance, we forget that by their very nature, tests are unfair. In heaven, Christ's lofty name was determined to be the only name on earth offering salvation to all mankind. Yet the mortal Messiah willingly lived so modestly, even, wrote Paul, as a person of no reputation. What a contrast to our maneuverings over relative recognition and comparative status. How different, too, from the ways in which some among us mistakenly see audience size and response as the sole verification of their worth. Yet those fickle galleries we sometimes play to have a way of being constantly emptied. They will surely be empty at the judgment day when everyone will be somewhere else on their knees. As the creator, Christ constructed the universe. Yet in little Galilee he was known merely as the carpenter's son. In fact, the Lord of the universe was without honor even in his own Nazarene countryside. Though astonished at his teachings his neighbors were offended at him. Even meek Jesus marveled because of their unbelief. As Jehovah Jesus issued the original commandment to keep the Sabbath day holy. But during his mortal Messiahship he was accused of violating the Sabbath because on that day he gave healing rest to the afflicted. Can we absorb the irony of being hurt while trying to help? Having done good when we are misrepresented can we watch the feathers of false witness scatter on the winds? Christ, long, long ago, as creator provided habitable conditions for us on this earth. Generously providing all the essential atmospheric conditions for life including vital water. Yet on the cross when he was a flame with thirst they gave him vinegar to drink mingled with gall. And when he had tasted thereof he would not drink. Even so there was no railing but a forgiving Christ. Christ was keenly aware of the constant irony. Foxes have holes, birds of the air have their nests, but the Son of Man hath not where to lay his head. He asked a treacherous Judas, "Betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss?" And then there was the soulful lament, "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not." Yet, the repeated ritual of rejection was happening to Jesus all over again. We all know what it's like not to be listened to, but how about disdain or even contempt? Furthermore, there is a difference between noticing rejection, as Jesus did, and railing against rejection, as he did not. As the creator, Christ fashioned worlds without number. Yet, with his fingers, he fashioned a little clay from spittle, restoring the sight to one blind man. The greatest meekly ministered unto the one unto one of the least of these. Do you and I understand that the significance of our service does not depend upon its scale? Within hours, Christ would rescue all mankind. Yet, he heard the manipulated crowd cry, "Barabbas!" Thereby rescuing a life-taking murderer instead of life-giving Jesus. Can we remain true amid false justice? Will we do our duty against the roar of the crowd? As the master teacher, Christ tailored his tutoring depending upon the spiritual readiness of his pupils. We see instructive irony even in some of these episodes. To the healed leper returning with gratitude, Jesus' searching but simple query was, "Where are the other nine?" To a more knowledgeable mother of apostles desiring that her two sons sit on Jesus' right and left hands, Jesus reprovingly but lovingly said, "Ye know not what you ask. This is not mine to give." To a grieving but rapidly maturing Peter still burning with the memory of a rooster's crowing, thrice came the directive, "Feed my sheep." But also a signifying of by what death the great apostle would later be martyred. How much more demanding of Peter than of the leper? If a sudden stabbing light exposes the gap between what we are and what we think we are, can we, like Peter, let that light be a healing laser? Do we have the patience to endure when one of our comparative strengths is called into question? A painful crisis may actually be the means of stripping corrosive pride off of that virtue. To the humbly devout woman of Samaria who expected the Messiah, Jesus quietly disclosed, "I that speak unto thee am he." Yet an anxious pilot said unto Jesus, "Whence art thou?" But Jesus gave him no answer. Can we remain silent when silence is eloquence, but may be used against us. Or will we murmur just to let God know we notice the ironies? Yet even with all the ironies, the sad ironies, there is the grand and glad irony of Christ's great mission. He himself noted that precisely because he was lifted upon the cross, he was able to draw all men unto him. And being lifted up by men, thereby even so should men be lifted up by the Father. But how can we fortify ourselves against the irony in our lives and cope better when it comes? By being more like Jesus, such as by loving more. And the world, because of their iniquity, shall judge him to be a thing of naught. Wherefore they scourge him, and he suffereth it. And they smite him, and he suffereth it. Yea, they spit upon him, and he [clears throat] suffereth it. Why? Because of his loving-kindness and his long-suffering towards the children of men. There are other significant keys for coping. And he said unto them all, "If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me." Why self-denial shrinks our sense of entitlement. Another cardinal key is to live in thanksgiving daily for the many mercies and blessings which God doth bestow upon you. Life's comparatively few ironies are much more than offset by heaven's many mercies. We cannot count all our blessings every day, but we can carry over the bottom line from the last counting. Another vital way of coping was exemplified by Jesus. Though he suffered all manner of temptations, yet Christ gave no heed unto them. Unlike some of us, he did not fantasize, reconsider, or replay temptations. How is it that you and I do not see that initially we are stronger and the temptations weaker? But dalliance turns things upside down. Jesus' marvelous meekness prevented any root of bitterness from springing up in him. Ponder the Savior's precious words about the Atonement after he passed through it. There is no mention of the vinegar, no mention of the scourging, no mention of having been struck, no mention of having been spat upon. He does declare that he suffered both body and spirit in an exquisiteness which we simply cannot comprehend. We come now to a last and the most terrible irony of Jesus, his feeling forsaken at the apogee of his agony on Calvary. The apparent withdrawal of the Father's spirit then evoked the greatest soul cry in human history. This deprivation had never happened to Christ before, never. Yet thereby, Jesus became a fully comprehending Christ and was enabled to be a fully succoring Savior. Moreover, even in that darkest hour, while feeling forsaken, Jesus submitted himself to the Father. No wonder the Savior tells us that the combined anguish in Gethsemane and on Calvary was so awful that he would have shrunk. Nevertheless, he finished his preparations. The nevertheless reflected deep divine determination. Furthermore, even after treading the wine press alone, which ended in his stunning personal triumph and in the greatest victory ever, majestic Jesus meekly declared, "Glory be to the Father." This should not surprise us. In the pre-mortal world, Jesus meekly volunteered to be our savior saying, "Father, thy will be done and the glory be thine forever." Jesus was true to his word. Now, in closing, I humbly declare, "Glory be to the Father." First, for rearing such an incomparable son. Second, glory be to the Father for allowing his special son to suffer and to be sacrificed for all of us. On Judgment Day, brothers and sisters, will any of us want to rush forward to tell our Father how we, as parents, suffered when we watched our children suffer? Glory be to the Father in the name of him who can succor us amid all our ironies and adversities, even Jesus Christ. Amen.