The Perseverance of The Saints

Imagine you’re the parent of teenage twins. In some ways, you’ve prepared for this - the human part, at least. You’ve been on the planet for decades. You know what it feels like to make the leap from childhood. But then there’s the parent part, which is pretty new. You’re not much more than a dozen years in, and the game keeps changing.  Last week, the cut list was released for the competitive lacrosse team the twins have both been working to make. You blow it immediately: as soon as they get home, you ask them how it went. Rookie move. You can see it on their faces before the words leave your mouth: one got the spot on the roster, and the other didn’t. The one who didn’t make it chimes in with what most people would consider an extremely mature and healthy response. He rejoices with those who rejoice, smiling and saying he’s happy for his brother and that this frees him up for better things. But you know your son. You know he’s hiding his heart, and you think you know why. So, a while later, you try again. You get him alone and don’t say a word. Just sit next to him and pull him into your chest as he sinks into sobs.  Can I suggest to you that that was an even more mature, healthy response? But he needed the invitation, and he needed to come away from everything else first. Maybe he’s a kind soul and he loves his brother and didn’t want to ruin the moment for him. Maybe he was embarrassed and wanted to downplay what felt like a failure. Either way, he was hindered by the other cares he had in that first moment from his core needs. He needed a place where it was just you and him, to express the pain of unfulfilled desires. Of being “not there yet.” This week we talk about the last of the five doctrines of grace: “the perseverance of the saints.” Contrary to popular misuse, these doctrines aren’t simply eternal truths about other people. And this one in particular is very much the opposite: it’s intimate comfort for me. We’re going to do our best this week to get alone with God, (a better father than we’ll ever be), and let the troubles of living in this already-but-not-yet world melt on His chest as he comforts us in the way that only He can.