Last night’s snowfall was a heavy one -- not so much in inches as in actual weight. It’s the dense stuff that’s perfect for building snowmen, but burdensome to the trees and bushes in my yard.

I’m a bit worried about the one outside my studio window. An arborist who came here a few years ago muttered under his breath about this popular 60’s tree and its brittleness. I remember his words this morning as I view the long, almost painful to see, arcs of the usually upright branches.

How close are they to snapping?

This reminds me of Paul’s descriptions of the experiences of the apostles.  In 2 Cor 4:8-9, he writes:

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.

We might say, bowed but not broken.

Think of how profound this is. They are Jesus’s hand-picked, front-line team, personally commissioned by him to show and tell the world what it’s like to belong to him. And this is what their lives are like.

Why? John Calvin explains:

Scripture gives saints the praise of endurance when, though afflicted by the hardships they endure, they are not crushed; though they feel bitterly, they are at the same time filled with spiritual joy; though pressed with anxiety, breathe exhilarated by the consolation of God.

That last phrase is so powerful. God’s consolation to them, even in the struggle, brings a kind of exultation that comes to them with every intake of breath. That joy in bitter trials speaks volumes to a watching world.

I will admit my life doesn’t have this kind of challenge. I’m not overburdened, nor hard pressed, persecuted or struck down. (I am frequently perplexed, but I can’t blame that on others.) It’s partially because I don’t live the gospel as transparently as they did. And I recognize that trials of all kinds have seasons. I’m sure trouble awaits me in the future.

But today, as I walk my snowclad neighborhood, I pray for those believers in the world who are bowed down. I lift before God his children who are in the pain of persecution, those who have been struck down by powers beyond their control, by human pawns of the evil one. For those who bear the burden of grief, whose heavy hearts cannot carry another ounce of pain.

I may not know their names. But God does. And he knows each person’s breaking point. I ask God to rescue them before they reach it.

Perhaps this is one way he does that. We share their weight. Paul tells us to “bear each other’s burdens.” (Gal. 6:2) Maybe on some unseen level, our praying for them shifts some of the heaviness onto our shoulders, into our hearts, and lessens it for them.

Multiple branches together can bear more weight of snow that one can.

And maybe, in doing so through prayer, we can catch an echo of their joy.

Father, we thank you that you know how much we can bear. And that you’ve given us a family of burden-bearers. Make us the same for others.

Reader: Who has helped keep you from the breaking point? Consider sending them a note of gratitude today.

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