Your Only Comfort

“What is your only comfort in life and death?”

That’s the opening question of the Heidelberg Catechism, a document drafted by Ursinus and others in the 1560s for the purpose of educating laypeople in the Christian faith using a series of questions and answers. Now, I suppose one could have the old argument about how we shouldn’t adopt such documents or how we have no creed but Christ (and then we can fight about how that statement is itself a creed). We could do that. Or, we could contemplate that first question of the catechism in light of what’s going on in the world.

What’s Going On?

In case you’ve missed it, there’s a global pandemic going on right now. It’s called many things, some names being more controversial than others, and for our purposes, we’ll go with COVID-19. Some people are convinced that this virus is the harbinger of doom made microbial. Others are insisting that it’s just the common cold and I wish I was kidding when I say that. With everything going on, tempers are running hot in some places and my acquaintances who are nurses are pretty activated about the whole affair. On top of that, there are various recommendations to stay indoors and practice social distancing, with California being functionally locked down. Toilet paper of all things, is scarce and some of my friends are periodically sending me photos of the shelves in their local grocery stores.

So what does a document that’s closing in on 500 years of age have to do with any of this? A lot, actually, and I tend to think that reflecting on the answer to the first question of the Heidelberg Catechism is helpful.

The Catechism’s Answer

“That I with body and soul, both in life and death, am not my own, but belong unto my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ; who, with his precious blood, has fully satisfied for all my sins, and delivered me from all the power of the devil; and so preserves me that without the will of my heavenly Father, not a hair can fall from my head; yea, that all things must be subservient to my salvation, and therefore, by his Holy Spirit, He also assures me of eternal life, and makes me sincerely willing and ready, henceforth, to live unto him.”

That’s a mouthful, one that people were expected to memorize once upon a time. More seriously, I’ve loved this question and answer for years and have found it to be a source of great comfort and encouragement, for two reasons, one serious and one more flippant:

1) I’ve loved the Reformers and their material, with some exceptions, ever since I started reading them for myself. For all their flaws, they hold a great deal of wisdom and help for pilgrims on the way.

2) Apart from the Bible itself, few things ring so true to me.

An Objection and Consideration

The answer to the catechism’s question is a ringing endorsement of that old hope that Christ saves sinners and sees their salvation through to the end, warts and all. Yet, one can object to it, I suppose, and especially to the “without the will of my Heavenly Father” clause. This leads to a question in the midst of a crisis: “Did God cause this outbreak?” “Does God cause things like this?” Some will answer with a resounding “No!” and embark on a treatise regarding the free will of man and how God doesn’t interfere in our affairs. I want especially to talk to those people because I think they’d actually listen to me. The answer of free will used to satisfy me in my search for the answers to questions of theodicy and the like. I’d incorporate it into papers, sermons, even ministerial “counseling.” However, a question was presented to me that really shook the whole thing up for me:

“How is that any better?” This wasn’t a smart aleck on the internet, but someone I admired talking about God’s role in determining future events. “How is it any better to say that God allows something than to say that he ordained/decreed it?” At first, I wanted to respond, but then I thought about something. All my responses just pushed the problem back a step. Kicking theological cans down the road can’t cut it for long. Eventually, you either accidentally kick something far sturdier, or you run out of road. So we should ask, in times like these, directly: Is it really better to put distance between God and current events? Is it better to insist that God is like a driving teacher, letting us hit every pothole in the road and only overriding us (if he overrides us at all) if we’re about to run into oncoming traffic? Or is it better to believe that God, in some way or another, actually does guide the way things go in our daily lives? I’m not a determinist, far from it in fact, but I do find it interesting, and comforting, to consider.

The Key Question

Now, to the actual point I want to make in this post: What is your comfort right now? People are worried, some are even hysterical. On one level, I get it. I have asthma, so some would consider me “at risk.” I know plenty of people who are considered “at risk.” Others are worried not because they’re a high risk person themselves, but because they don’t want to pass a virus on to people it could potentially kill, and that’s a good and right thing to be cognizant of. However, in the end, we still have to ask, “What gives us hope?”

I don’t mean that in a generic sense, but very seriously ask you to consider it. Eventually, this pandemic will pass. Hand sanitizer will flow freely again and you’ll buy all the toilet paper your heart desires. You’ll go outside again and before you know what’s happening, life will resume. Everything will proceed as normal. At least it will until you open your phone and see a post about another person being killed by a drunk driver. Or, your parents will call you and tell you that they’re at the hospital with your grandma and you need to leave work right now. Maybe instead, it’ll be coming home to an empty house and a note on the table. If you’re “lucky,” you may not have to worry until the next national crisis. Eventually, disaster will come for you and I’ll ask you again, what is your hope? Do you rely on your safety net, whatever that may be? Is it your community, every bit as susceptible to tragedy as you are? Is it your preferred political candidate?

On the face of things, we can recognize how ridiculous those answers are. Our lives reveal that we don’t act like those kinds of answers are absurd though. We think, “this policy will pull us through,” or “my neighbors can rely on me and I on them.” The reality is far different, for an often forgotten reason.

What You Really Need

Your most pressing need, my most pressing need, isn’t safety or security. It’s not a stable economy or foreign relations. Those things are nice to have, but they are not what we most desperately need. Rather, what we most desperately need is to be freed from our sin. Thankfully, that need has been met by Jesus Christ. This is in part, I think, why Romans 8 is so beautiful. People often misapply that chapter when faced with tragedy. “All things work together for good!” they say, to a person with a fresh cancer diagnosis struggling to wonder how anything good can come from this. You can fill your own headspace with similar scenarios. Instead, let’s cut through to an eternally true and beautiful application of Romans 8 that the Heidelberg Catechism introduces us to:

No force you can muster can change the love of God won for you in Jesus Christ. COVID-19, for all its power to create panic and death, cannot alter the reality of an empty tomb and a perfect savior. Cancer can ravage your body, but it cannot touch you in the resurrection. No trial life throws at you can change the fact that Jesus works daily as the high priest of those who are in him. Even the worst that life can throw at us can be answered with, “I don’t know how I’ll deal with this. What I do know is that I’m being crafted into the likeness of my Lord every day, and this is a roadblock at worst.”

To Close

It may seem to be a hokey thing to say. You may read that and think, “Well that’s easy for you to say. Are you trying to tell me that I just need to wait for things to get better by the end?” Well yes and no. It depends on how you define the end. If you mean a few weeks, months, or years from now or even the end of your physical life, then no, it’s not necessarily true that it will in fact get better by then. Something that honestly scares me is the very real possibility of being consigned to abject misery in this life. It may well be the case that you or I simply aren’t going to catch a break on this side of things. So I want to be clear. What I, and the catechism, promise isn’t that life will get better, not necessarily at least. Rather, the Biblical message, at least in Romans 8, is that regardless of how bad things get, nothing can take away our being in Christ. Our only comfort in life and in death is that we belong to Jesus Christ, who lived and died for us, and ensures that all things will bring us closer to him and make us more like him. Our comfort is not that life will be good or even bearable, as painful as that may be. Rather, our comfort is that our most pressing need is met and we can rest, confident in our savior in any circumstance, even in the midst of global pandemics.