Is there anything we can’t stand to hear? Any truth we cannot bear? We don’t imagine this to be the case. Not in an age when we sip news about devastating tragedy in the world with our morning coffee.
But the wisdom of Jesus instructs us here.
“I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.” (John 16:12 ESV)
His disciples were no strangers to suffering. They grew up under the thumb of Roman oppression, where it was possible to be burned alive, devoured by wild beasts, or crucified for speaking against the empire.1 It wouldn’t be surprising if they had seen these public displays of horror. And Jesus did not shield them from the darkness either. Their ministry training led them to a man suffocated by a legion of demons, people whose bodies were eaten by leprosy,2 people tormented by grief, where they witnessed the power of God amid the stench of death. And yet, despite all of this, Jesus discerned that there were things that they could not bear to hear.
This is instructive for at least two reasons.
First, I cannot imagine that these words could apply to me. I stomp, kick, and shout when I am not told the end from the beginning, the reason for the suffering, or when his plans are veiled. My body grows agitated from the withdrawal of that poison from Eden, of wanting to know as God knows. I imagine that some good is being withheld and that if I brought it up to God, he would answer me like he answered Job, except for the whirlwind, cross-examining me with questions that force me to confront the depths of his wisdom and humble me into trust and submission.
And part of that humbled submission is to not only accept that I don’t know, but also that I cannot know, or that there is a legitimate reason for why I shouldn’t know.
God could have told Job that his story would be a balm upon the wounds of billions of people who would endure unimaginable suffering. And if Job found this unsatisfactory, God could have continued to let him know that his story would be one of 66 books compiled into a single work that points to the mediator he longed for, a Messiah whose name is Jesus. And that one day, this Messiah would suffer too, but on a cross, after which God would quickly explain crucifixion and who the Romans were, and that through his suffering, people of all nations would be saved and gather in cathedrals, and underground, and in homes to worship and pledge their allegiance to Jesus. Yes, he could have said all of that, but would Job even understand? Could he? Should he?
So instead, God simply asked:
“Do you know when the mountain goats give birth?” (Job 39:1 ESV)
The point being that if Job did not know that which is basic to God’s understanding, (when the mountain goats give birth), how could he understand the complexity of God’s plan for humanity and how his story is interwoven within that tapestry?
“You cannot bear them now.”
Second, it is instructive for how we minister to people. We assume that we should never be restrained in declaring what we know. That the truth is always a gift to be shared. But Jesus, whose wisdom created the world, who holds all understanding, and is the truth, did not bombard them with the truth. Instead, he measured his words based on where his disciples were. If anyone possesses the truth and the right to say it, it is God. And yet, he waits. This is what love and wisdom can require of us. That we do not always share everything we know and wish to say. To search not only for the right words, but for the right season to say it. It requires us to consider the emotional, mental, and spiritual state of the people we love, and measure our words based on what they need most from us in that moment.
For with God, whatever he says, he says in love. And whatever is hidden, well, this, too, is love. And it may take decades, friends, hindsight, and faith to discover that when his words were measured, his love was not.
Holland, Tom. Dominion: How the Christian Revolution Remade the World (p. 76). (Function). Kindle Edition.
Leprosy could entail various skin diseases.