As a teenager, our son “came out” as a “homosexual agnostic” on Facebook. Prior to this, there had been months of rumblings and arguments in our home about what Scripture actually teaches about homosexuality, but on that day, reading his statement in black and white, it felt like a blow to my chest. Weak-kneed, I sat down abruptly.
No! No! No! This can’t be happening! Can it? Our son?
I could vividly picture his 7-year-old self—his big brown eyes turned up to me, while his upper lip did that pointy thing it did when he was trying to articulate something important to him. “Mommy, I want to be a missionary pilot when I grow up. I can help bring Bibles and food to places trains can’t go.” I had drawn him close in a hug then, my heart brimming with joy. And pride.
What went wrong? Was it my pride in his precocious achievements? Was my homeschooling the problem? Was I too strict?
Our son’s coming out had only been the beginning of a slippery slope: he soon became a self-proclaimed “bisexual atheist,” then progressed to a “gender-fluid atheist,” all the while blaming us for brainwashing him as a kid and “force-feeding him a Book that called him an abomination.”
Now our son is an adult, and his Facebook intro reads—in part—“Queer. Non-binary.”
Daily, grief gnaws at my soul. Sometimes it threatens to become all-consuming and I’m tempted to let the darkness engulf me. But God, through a recent sermon, graciously brought to mind these precious words: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matt. 5:4).
Mourning
The pain I feel over the spiritual loss of my son is real. It feels like a death that keeps on dying, and the grief comes in waves. How do I mourn well? In the context of this passage in Matthew, it’s not just those who mourn but also the poor in spirit (v. 3) and the meek (v. 5) who are called blessed.
Daily, grief gnaws at my soul. Sometimes it threatens to become all-consuming.
So I’m to recognize my spiritual poverty and with a humble heart bring my grief to the Lord. I recognize I wasn’t a perfect mother—far from it. Many a time I disciplined in anger, got puffed up with pride (even though I knew that I owed every aspect of my life to God’s grace), or thought I was in control and acted that way. I’m not saying my sin caused my son’s sin. But my sin is as real as his. So I mourn it and ask my gracious Father to forgive me. Lord, have mercy! I need you.
When I look at the wretchedness that’s in my sinful flesh with mournful repentance, I’m able to look at the sin in my son’s life and mourn it for what it is—not just an end to all our fond hopes and dreams for him but an act of rebellion against God. If I, his earthly parent, am torn apart by his sin, how much more must it hurt the One who knit him in my womb and made him so fearfully and wonderfully (Ps. 139:14)? The One who isn’t only Creator and Sustainer but also Holy Holy Holy (Isa. 6:3)! Lord, have mercy! He needs you.
Blessed
The urge to know why is strong. Our son reports playing as a child with a boy younger than him who “sexually awakened” him with some games he introduced. I’m tempted to blame myself for allowing that playdate. I’m tempted to blame whoever set that child up to act the way he did.
But I don’t have to blame myself or others. God’s gift of this poverty of spirit compels me to acknowledge God as God. I can then quit trying to figure out why this happened—and why my son made the choices he has. I can quit blaming others or myself in a futile attempt to control the situation—after all, I’m not in control. God is. What a blessed relief.
The word translated as “blessed” in the Beatitudes can also be translated as “fortunate” or “happy.” John Piper paraphrases this passage this way:
Oh, how fortunate you are to be chosen by God, to have your eyes opened, to be drawn to the Savior, to be poor and mourning and meek and hungry and merciful and pure and peaceable! Rejoice! Rejoice and give thanks, my beloved disciples, that you are this kind of person, for it is not your own doing! It is the reign of God in your life.
What a joy to know that the God who chose me and called me to himself also reigns over every aspect of my life. How fortunate to be able to come to him and find rest in his sovereignty, goodness, and wisdom; to acknowledge it is well with my soul because he’s at work in my life (even through the hard parts, even especially through the hard parts) for my good and for his glory—ultimately, to make me more like his Son.
Lord, give me the grace to acknowledge, trust, and rest in you as sovereign Lord of all my life at all times.
Comfort
My heart still hurts when I see our son wallowing in his sin. He’s miserable, on multiple medications, and often suicidal. We keep praying for him to be rescued by God. But that hasn’t happened—yet. Would I be comforted if and when it does?
I have to ask myself, Why do I ask God to save my son? Am I praying that the Lord would draw him to himself so I can be comforted? Surely, that comfort is just a side effect—joyful though it would be. Or do I plead with God so my son can be comforted? Certainly, that would be a blessing. But is that all there is to it—my son’s happiness? Or do I pray for his salvation so God’s name would be glorified?
God’s gift of this poverty of spirit compels me to acknowledge God as God.
Paul reminds us, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction” (2 Cor. 1:3–4).
Our God is the Father of mercies and God of all comfort. He’s the One I’m to exalt in praise and adoration, blessing him for who he is—not just for what he does (or can do) for me or my son.
He comforts us in our affliction—not just relieving us from the affliction but comforting us while we’re in it. So I lift my voice to God in lament over my son, often using David’s words. Recently, I borrowed from Psalm 13:
How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I take counsel in my soul
and have sorrow in my heart all the day?
Then, by God’s grace, I was also able to conclude with the psalmist,
But I have trusted in your steadfast love;
my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
Thus, comforted in Christ, through his Word, and by his grace, I can pray, Lord save my son so your name will be glorified in his life and mine.