Finding Meaning in all the Seasons of LIfe

We’ve all read tales of hope or despair.

You may have read classic stories like David Copperfield (Dickens), Tom Jones (Fielding) or Les Misérables (Hugo). If you have, I guarantee your imagination latched on to a growing theme of hope as you turned each page.

How do I know? It’s what the author intended you to experience. Victor Hugo said of his novel Les Misérables, “So long as ignorance and poverty exist on earth, books of this nature cannot fail to be of use.” The story of Jean Valjean has brought hope to many as a tale of redemption!

Perhaps you’ve read classics like The Catcher in the Rye (Salinger), 1984 (Orwell), or A Brave New World (Huxley). Again, if you have, I bet that your imagination was arrested in a descending theme of despair while turning the pages.

And how do I know? Again, it’s what the author intended you to experience. Orwell said of his dystopian novel, “The moral to be drawn from this dangerous nightmare situation is a simple one: Don't let it happen.” Many social commentators suggest Orwell was almost prophetic in his assessment of the future in the story of Winston Smith and his realization that all his hopes were doomed to despair!

When an author’s work becomes a stage play, the themes of hope and despair morph into something more theatrical. Displayed in glass cages or on simple posters in theatres all over the world are two distinct and recognizable masks, one smiling and the other frowning: comedy or tragedy. Interestingly, the same two faces are depicted in the Antoinette Perry Award for Excellence in Broadway Theatre (or the Tony Award). For example, Hamilton won eleven Tony’s as a tragedy, whereas The Lion King won six as a comedy.   

If every classic story is reduced to an outcome of hope or despair, or the expression comedy or tragedy, what about the stories that describe our own lives? Are they reduced to one or the other? I don’t think so.

For some, no matter what the mélange in their tale reveals, there seems to be a conviction that God somehow imposes meaning into their story, especially in times of despair or tragedy. More so, some come to understand that meaning was already there in the despair or tragedy. And if so, it also seems God reveals Himself in each story to understand the meaning.

What becomes very interesting when meaning is understood, is that a person’s countenance is not the simple expression of a smile or frown, but a look of compassion and grace as though to underscore these qualities as evidence that God Himself was always present in their story. A classic example is The Shack: Where Tragedy Meets Eternity (Young).[1]

If God is, indeed, present in the center of our stories, understanding the meaning of all the drama that takes place can potentially be misplaced and even sterilely institutionalized in attempts to explain things with philosophical soundbites. For example, in A Christmas Carol (Dickens), doesn’t Scrooge sterilely dismiss the ghost of Jacob Marley as, “an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!”[2]

Now, I’m not advocating for ghosts, but the principle of misplacing meaning. There was far more at play in the fictional character of Scrooge’s story than undigested food keeping him awake at night. He misplaced the meaning of what was actually happening. Dismissing the possibility that God Himself is present in our stories as a fanciful distraction from reality is to underplay what’s actually going on.

Scrooge is a fictitious character, so perhaps a focus on historical figures will help. There are three that come to mind who believed there was meaning to their tragic stories of despair where the evidence of grace and compassion was clearly witnessed on their faces. 

First, there is Stephen just before his brutal execution. St. Luke writes that his accusers “saw that his face was like the face of an angel.”[3] Second, a third century lady called Perpetua. She was a godly noblewoman, who, when marched to her death into the arena of lions “who went along with shining countenance and calm step.”[4] Third, is the account of 74 priests who were put to death in 1936 by militia in the Spanish Civil War. “They were not crestfallen, with eyes distorted by fear. Instead, they went to their deaths singing the Magnificat.”[5]

There are many more examples, but these three provide enough detail to get curious about God being present in tragedy. I’m sure each one would say they were not deluded with fanciful distraction or misplaced sterility, but that God had somehow imposed meaning into their tragic experiences, or better still, that meaning was already there and they seem to have understood it.

Our stories are not so extreme, but we do know tragedy and despair. Loss of employment, betrayal of friendship, divorce, the death of a loved one, a prognosis, and endless disappointments.   

I suggest that God is, indeed, in all our stories. And yes, each of our tales are filled with hope and despair, or comedy and tragedy, but they are not reduced to this sterility. Finding meaning in the drama of our lives is a sure indication that we have found God, or rather, God has found us, and then we begin to understand our experiences differently.

One significant difference that occurs is an understanding of why God is present in our stories.

God sent His Son into the world that we might be saved. I don’t mean ‘saved’ in the pantomime of an evangelical appeal, but as St. Paul taught. “For if, while we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!”[6] God did not send his only Son to be our help. He is not our help, He is the Truth.[7] God reveals His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, as the Truth in the tragedy and despair we sometimes face in order that we may be saved by this Truth. When facing the death of a loved one, St. Paul tells us, “Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope.”[8] Yes, we grieve when a loved one dies, but the tale of our grief has meaning to it found in the Truth that saves us from hopelessness.

The same can be said for all kinds of tragedy and despair. Again, St. Paul tells us, “Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.”[9]

How do I know this?

The very nature of knowledge is the branch of philosophy called epistemology. It asks, “How do we know that we know?” And whether we consciously construct it or not, we all have an epistemological starting point from which a personal worldview is developed, or how we see the world around us. For Stephen, Perpetua, and those 74 priests, God was that starting point. As such, meaning was present displayed on their faces as compassion and grace. 

A simple reading of Scripture will show you that God is not only the Divine Author who was the inspiration of every human author, but He is also the Author of life,[10] Author of Salvation,[11] and the Author and finisher of our faith.[12]

Scripture will show you what the Author intends you to experience through seasons of tragedy and despair in your story. And it will show on your face!

[1] William P. Young. The Shack: Where Tragedy Meets Eternity. Windblow Media. 2007.

[2] Charles Dickens. A Christmas Carol. Oxford University. 1858, 17.

[3] Acts 6:15.

[4] William Farina, Perpetua of Carthage: Portrait of a Third Century Martyr. McFarland & Co. 2014, 13.

[5] J.D. Raymond. They Went to Their Deaths Singing. Gaudium Magazine. May 8, 2022.

[6] Rom. 5:10.

[7] John 14:6.

[8] 1 Thess. 4:13.

[9] Rom 5:3-5.

[10] Acts 3:15.

[11] Heb. 2:10.

[12] Heb. 12:2.