How to view your problem as something so much better than a problem

By Mark A. Taylor

Everybody has a problem, so what’s yours?

• Maybe your problem is a person. A distant son, a quarrelsome daughter, an unhappy spouse, a failing parent, a meddling aunt, an arrogant boss, an annoying neighbor.

• Maybe your problem is a situation. A dysfunctional workplace or school system. A disappointing church. A broken-down car or an attic full of raccoons.

•Maybe your problem is yourself. You’re angry about your colleague’s promotion. You’re insecure about your latest assignment. You turn away from the mirror lest you linger on the signs of aging. You worry in the night about the diagnosis you’ve received or the one you anticipate.

An old man’s problem

Zechariah had a problem. He couldn’t believe what God’s angel told him with a surprise visit while he performed his temple duties. And he ended up mute and probably deaf as a result.

We might be inclined not to blame him for his questioning. He and his wife were senior citizens, decades past the age for having a baby. Yet here was this fearsome figure promising they would have a son, and not just any son but a boy who would grow to be a preacher “to make ready for the Lord a people prepared.”

And besides all that, Zechariah was to give him a name Zechariah’s family had never used. “You will call him John,” the angel directed. And the angel added something else. In response to Zechariah’s doubt, the old man would not speak (and we assume hear) again until this promised baby was born.

What he really received

Maybe Zechariah was the subject of a lesson or sermon you heard before Christmas. If so, the teacher likely said Zechariah’s problem was his doubt, and now he was being punished for it. That’s a logical, common conclusion about this story.  

But a devotion by Biola University professor Maria Su Wang offers a more nuanced possibility. “I wonder if Zechariah being struck mute (and deaf) is less of a rebuke and more of a gift,” she wrote in a post that appeared a few weeks ago.

His months, almost a year, of silence, gave this godly old man time to think. He had served God all his life, so long that his service may have become routine, his whole life, in fact, quite ordinary. “I wonder if Zechariah illustrates for us how it is possible to be walking faithfully with the Lord and yet still have pockets of our inner lives remain impervious to belief and faith,” Dr. Wang wrote. “We may believe in God’s working in many areas of our life, but there is still that one thing where we live as functional atheists.”    

So maybe Zechariah’s problem gave him the chance to learn something about God and about himself he had not yet fully grasped, even after decades of obedience.

And maybe your problem—the one that popped into your head as you read the first paragraphs of this post—your unsolvable, unremovable, unrelenting challenge—isn’t as much a problem as it is something else. Maybe it’s a gift.

Considering the possibilities

Among the dozens of warm and encouraging responses to my post about my wife’s illnesses, no one wrote to me, “So, Mark, what do you suppose you can learn from all of this?”

I’m wondering if Zechariah thought about that. Sitting alone, hearing nothing, unable to speak, likely separated from his priestly duties and isolated from the world, watching in wonder (and maybe some fear) as his wife’s baby belly grew, what was he thinking?

I’m guessing before it was over he was busting a gut to speak. Because when the baby was born and Zechariah’s tongue was loosed, he broke forth with one of the most beautiful canticles of prophecy and praise contained in Scripture. His song was not about himself, but about the faithfulness of God through the generations. Zechariah had learned that God was still active and at work—even in his day, even in his life, even in the ministry of the son he never dreamed he’d have.

So is it possible for you to look for God at work in spite of your problem? Maybe even because of it?

A difficult list

I’m not saying it’s easy, and I don’t think God promises some power-of-positive thinking outcome. God did not loose Zechariah’s tongue or open his ears ahead of schedule. And Zechariah’s son grew to prominence likely after the old man died. (And I wonder if the younger John displayed his eccentric persona in time for his aged parents to ask, Where did we go wrong with this boy?)

God may not remove the irritation in your life. Or the problem may get worse. The difficult co-worker may become your boss. You may spend hundreds trying—and failing—to rid the attic of those raccoons. The symptoms of the awful disease may only multiply.

Can you ask God to teach you something new with each unexpected turn in your life?

I’m still struggling to decide what I think God is trying to teach me. Some possibilities: Service—even lowly, unnoticed, unappreciated service—can be holy. What might have been isn’t as important as what yet could be. And being is always more valuable than doing.

But my list doesn’t matter as much as the one you’ll make for yourself. How does God want you to blossom and grow because of your problem? Come to terms with that, and you may realize what you’ve really received is something you’ll learn always to value. It’s a gift.

Photo by Kim Stiver from Pexels

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