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WHO'S ON THE THRONE UP THERE?

He was just a nine-year-old kid when he left home. Paul Brand was the son of missionary parents in India, and back in the 1920s, it was the painful practice of these overseas volunteers to send even their small children home to England for their schooling. Mail crept across oceans so slowly, carrying the news back and forth. Paul and his sister Connie lived for each morsel, each letter, each black-and-white photograph.

Finally, after six years of waiting, of separation, a long-awaited furlough was scheduled. His parents were going to return to England for a year. Can you imagine the anticipation for this 15-year-old teenager who hadn't seen his parents since his ninth birthday? He could hardly eat or sleep as he counted down the days.

Then — at the very last minute — a telegram. Blackwater fever and malaria had hit the mission compound. And Paul's dad . . . was dead. At the age of 44 this young father had been struck down. There would be no reunion now.

For a while Paul was absolutely numb with grief. He couldn't take it in; he couldn't think; he couldn't emotionally react. To make matters worse, considering that the telegram had arrived so quickly, mail from his dad kept trickling in. Even after the news of his death, letters came to England in his father's handwriting: "I can't wait to see you, Son. We've got so much catching up to do." That kind of thing. It was agony for young Paul Brand.

Well, there was no fiery furnace for this young missionary boy, no flames. But there may as well have been. If ever a young man experienced pain because of the demands involved in serving Jesus Christ as Lord as Savior, Paul Brand was paying that price. His mind just kept humming with the agonizing repetition of grief: No more letters. No more mountain hikes. No more Dad. And where was God in all this? At the funeral well-meaning people said to him: "Well, this was for the best." And he wanted to scream at them: "How can this be for the best, you . . . stupid person! I'm just a kid! I miss my dad. I NEED my dad." It was impossible to understand. Later, in his wonderful book, Pain: The Gift Nobody Wants, Dr. Brand quotes a line from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet:

"He jests at scars who never felt a wound."

Meaning that it's so easy when others are hurting to offer trite comfort. "I know it's hot in that furnace, but hang in there." "I know how you feel." "I'm praying for you." That kind of thing.

And yet, out of that experience of sorrow, of such unfairness, such loss, young Paul Brand grew up to become — can you believe it — a medical missionary as well. In fact, a breakthrough kind of worker, a pioneering genius, who returned to the very land which had stolen his father from him. For decades in India, he worked with the lepers, both to heal them and to teach them to cope with the fiery furnace of their own curse. What's more, his own pain as a 15-year-old kid helped form within him a theology about pain, an understanding of who God is and what sin is and how pain and suffering are sometimes important parts of this world's temporary, abbreviated journey toward the kingdom of heaven. This book, Pain: The Gift Nobody Wants, has given new faith and comfort to millions of readers around the globe.

And I'd like to take you back to the telegram he received from India, because there's a P.S. there which sums up everything we've said this week. Remember, Paul's mother was grieving as well. She was alone out there in the Kolli Malai hills of India. All her relatives were in England too! Her kids were thousands of miles away. And now her mate in life, her partner in Christian service, was lying in a casket. And with her heart breaking in two she had to go down to the post office and compose that telegram to her son. Actually, the message came to the people Paul was living with. "Break news gently to the children," it said. And then these three words from Paul's mom: "The Lord reigneth."

And what did Evelyn Brand do after that? She'd been through her own persecution, her own fiery furnace. But the Lord reigned, as far as she was concerned; the Lord was with her in the fire. And this incredible woman, after a year to recover in England, returned to the little bungalow and the medical clinic in the Kolli Malai hills and stayed there for the next — get this — 46 years! She died out there in the jungles just shy of her 96th birthday; the tombstone out there in India reads as follows: "Mother of the Hills."

Friend, the bottom line in all persecution is that the Lord reigneth. No matter what happens, the God of the universe is with you and the God of the universe is still in charge. King David, who had some moments of real grief — some of them of his own making — writes this in his 139th Psalm:

"Where can I go to get away from the presence of the Holy Spirit?" Not that he wanted to do that. "Where can I go that You're not already there? If I were to launch out into space, You'd be there. If I were to tunnel into the depths of the earth, You'd be there. If I had wings and could fly to the ends of the earth or to the most remote island in the sea" — or to a desolate village in India, we might add — "Your presence would even be there and Your arms would be ready to hold me."

Let me share a second story as we close out this week, because for the Brand family, this wasn't really persecution where people hated them. Dr. and Mrs. Brand were beloved folk heroes, almost saints to the people they served in those villages. The only persecution or hatred directed at Jesse Brand was from Satan, who rejoiced in taking his life. But can we say as well, "The Lord reigneth," when real people write us anonymous hate mail?

In his book, Living Faith, former president Jimmy Carter writes about persecution, and how back in 1966, this very born-again young man from Georgia decided to run for governor of the state. Surely God would like to have a faithful Christian in the mansion. But not only did he get creamed in that contest, he got soundly beat by a man named Lester Maddox, an avowed segregationist. Carter tells how Maddox used as his campaign symbol a pick handle that he personally wielded to keep African Americans away from the restaurant he owned in Atlanta. And this was the guy who had beaten Carter for governor!

And you know, Jimmy Carter almost lost his faith over that experience. His sister, Ruth was a deeply religious person, a minister, actually. And she listened while her brother vented in anger. Then she quoted the second verse of James to him, which reads like this:

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance."

And Carter responded with bitterness: "Ruth, don't be stupid! I don't want to just be a peanut farmer all my life, but what can I do now? I have nowhere to go. God has rejected me through the people's votes."

And his sister said: "Jimmy, you have to believe that out of this defeat can come a greater life." Well, Carter, not knowing the future, said "no way." "Ruth, you and I both know that this is nonsense," he told her. "There is no way I can build on such an embarrassing defeat."

Well, ten years later this same man, this persecuted, rejected politician, became our 39th president. Good news, he thought! Four years after that, the same voters who put him into the White House pushed him right back out. Now he'd been rejected, not by one state, but by the entire nation. What did he do? He kept on. He considered it pure joy — well, maybe not pure joy . . . maybe that famous Carter grin did fade just a bit — to face trials of many kinds. But as Jesus Himself instructed us, we're to "rejoice and be glad" when persecution comes. And President Jimmy Carter went on to build Habitat for Humanity into a huge, global success. He's written books on diplomatic and spiritual topics, books which have touched many, many lives. He still teaches a Sunday School class there at Maranatha Baptist Church. He's determined, in good times and bad alike, to consider it joy to serve the God who always reigns.

Friend, how is it for you on this cold Friday? Do you feel like the Jesus is far away from you? I invite you to discover, as the Psalmist David did, that wherever you are right now, the God who reigns is there with you. Maybe you've gotten a devastating telegram, or phone call, or e-mail. Someone you love is gone; someone you care about is hurt; someone you need isn't coming home for Christmas. But God still reigns. He's there with you at the mailbox when bad news arrives. With you at the cemetery when you say a last goodbye.

Carter's own sister, Ruth, was a ministering help, not just to him, but to many others. At the end of his book, the former President writes:

"[Ruth's] faith was beautiful in every way. She loved people and devoted her ministry primarily to those who had lost hope in life. No matter what had happened to them, whether it was drug addiction, alcoholism, infidelity, or crime, she was able to convince them to PLACE THE AFFLICTION ON THE SHOULDERS OF CHRIST AND IN THAT WAY TO OVERCOME IT."