What To Do When Things Are Difficult

How not to collapse under the weight of our burdens: a collective practice inspired by milennia of faithful believers before us.

Public Theology is based on the work of Zach W. Lambert, Pastor of Restore, an inclusive church in Austin, Texas. He and his wife, Amy Lambert, contribute to and moderate this account. All of the content available at Public Theology is for those who identify as Christian, as well as those who might be interested in learning about a more inclusive, kind, thoughtful Christianity.

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Back in 2020, at the beginning of the pandemic, I ran an online book club based on the book The Story of God, the Story of Us by Sean Gladding.

It’s a dramatic retelling of the Biblical narrative, with the Old Testament told from the perspective of the Israelites in captivity in Babylon, and the New Testament from the perspective of a Christian woman who leads a church in her home during the first century.

The old man walks slowly down to the river, as he does every Sabbath at about this time. The week’s work is done, and his people are gathering around the fire to break bread together, and to talk. For once the mood is light, and the old man leans back against a tree and closes his eyes. For a moment—just a moment—it is almost possible to imagine he is leaning not against this willow tree but against an olive tree, one of the trees in his beloved garden, on the land which his family farmed for centuries. His mind drifts to another time and another place, and a smile creeps across his face…

But then someone plucks a discordant note on a harp, and the mood is immediately broken. Rarely do his people sing anymore and everyone turns to see who has lifted the harp. It is a young man, the protégé of one of the renowned musicians among his people. The old man cannot remember the last time he heard him play, and so he leans forward, curious as to which of the psalms of praise of his people the young man will sing, and why. But as the young man lifts his voice to the night sky, unfamiliar words leave his lips. It soon becomes clear that this is a new song, a song that gives voice to their deepest feelings, a song that speaks to the ache of their heart for their situation—a song of exile. “By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down and wept, when we remembered Zion.”

The young man pauses, and then repeats the line. It is a familiar tune, and as he begins again, a few people join their voices to his. As they sing, some among them begin to shed tears. The young man continues, “We hung our unplayed harps upon the willows, for there our captors demanded we sing songs for their amusement. They tormented us saying, ‘Sing us one of the happy songs of Zion.’” He pauses again, and then looks fiercely at those around him and loudly sings, “But how can we sing the LORD’s song in a foreign land?” At this, those around the young man begin to weep freely.

Sitting here in exile, it is hard for them to believe that their God is the one, true God: if that were so, how could the Babylonians have defeated them? How could they have been carried off into a foreign land, far away from their homeland—the land God promised them? How did they end up here?

Sean Gladding
The Story of God, The Story of Us

Better than anything else I’ve ever come across, this story captures what life was like for God’s people during their time in Babylonian captivity. It was a time of pain, of despondence, of questioning. They were asking questions like:

“How could this have happened to us?”
”Where is God?”
”Has he forsaken us?”
”Has he forsaken his promises?”
”How did we end up here?”

Anyone paying attention to current events is probably asking similar questions right now.