What if that "bad thing" isn't actually bad?

We make horrible gods after all.

My encouragement to you today comes in the form of a simple question: What if that bad thing that’s happened or happening to you isn’t really actually bad?

Let me explain.

I’m thankful for friends like Billy Hallowell and Joel Muddamalle, PhD who have really shone a light on spiritual warfare this past year. Billy’s documentary and Joel’s book are good and necessary.

But I’ve noticed something recently: That as the conversation around spiritual warfare has grown, I find a lot more people categorizing things as “spiritual warfare” that I’m not sure are really spiritual warfare. Or maybe, they are spiritual—but not in the way you think.

Here’s what I mean: Not every bad thing that happens to you is the result of spiritual warfare. Certainly that is true at times, and I think certainly it’s probably true more times than we realize. But I don’t think there’s a demon lurking behind every struggle. And also, just because we categorize something as bad that doesn’t automatically mean it’s actually bad.

(By the way, you should listen to my podcast with Joel Muddamalle where he urges caution when calling things spiritual warfare.)

As I continue to age, one of the things that has become clearer and clearer is that what I have called bad in the past is not really bad. I actually needed the “bad” thing. I needed the struggle. I needed the loss. The great theologian Garth Brooks get’s this exactly right: “Sometimes God’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers.” In other words, those things we pray for or against can be really misguided attempts to play God.

And we make awful gods.

That’s for a lot of reasons, but one of them is that God has a much better understanding and view of what’s right for us than we do. He knows what’s best for us. And sometimes—actually many times—that involves us going through difficulty. Because in the difficulty is where we are refined and forced to turn to Jesus.

So that job you lost? Yeah it sucks, but maybe that was actually good for you. Maybe you had to grow. Maybe it was the only way to get your attention. Maybe it was the only way to get you out of your coasting and bring you into a more trusting, abiding relationship with Christ.

That friendship that wasn’t mended? Maybe you were actually co-dependent and you were treating that person as your sustainer instead of God.

That family member that hasn’t returned yet? Maybe they need to be softened and given over to their own desires to understand where those things actually lead.

Do you see what I mean? Not every bad thing that happens to you is spiritual warfare. And not everything bad that happens to you is actually bad.

Or how about this perspective: Maybe the “bad” things happening to you are spiritual, but the “culprit” behind it isn’t the enemy—the person orchestrating it is the one who knows and sees all things. Maybe it’s actually God allowing something uncomfortable to happen in order to grow you, change you, and sanctify you.

Now, let me be clear: I do not want to call good what God calls bad. Death is not good. Sin is not good. Pain and suffering themselves are not “good.” God hates death, for example. He came to defeat it. So I don’t want to say that God is authoring death and destruction in order to get our attention. That would be bad theology. This also doesn’t mean that I think God is dolling out anxiety, mental health issues, cancer, and death as either punishment or refinement. However, he does allow these things. He does redeem them. He does work all things together for our good and his glory.

So here’s what I’m saying:

1. “God permits what he hates to accomplish what he loves,” as Joni Eareckson Tada’s friend Steve Estes once said.

2. God gets to define what is actually good, not us.

Your struggle is hard. I know. I’ve gone through them, and I’m still going through them. But I am comforted by the words of Charles Spurgeon today and I hope they comfort you as well:

Praise the Lord for the sun of joy when it rises, and for the gloom of evening as it falls. There is beauty both in sunrise and sunset, sing of it, and glorify the Lord. Like the nightingale, pour forth thy notes at all hours. Believe that the night is as useful as the day. The dews of grace fall heavily in the night of sorrow. The stars of promise shine forth gloriously amid the darkness of grief.

Photo by Nik on Unsplash