The Grace of Locust Shells

“Portrait of Dr. Gachet” (1890). Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890). Van Gogh met his new physician, Dr. Paul Gachet, a homeopathic physician—quite popular with the people, not so much with colleagues—while a patient at the Monastery of Saint Paul de Mausole, an asylum in  Saint-Rémy-de-Provence. Vincent did not care for the fellow as he wrote his brother, Theo, that they were both crazy, the blind leading the blind. Yet, Vincent, ever the Reformed Church pastor he wanted to be, came to understand the eccentricity as a defense from pain. He sought to capture that dynamic of the human condition in this painting as if to draw out the pain by expressing it. From the monastery, he wrote to his sister, “I've done the portrait of M. Gachet with a melancholy expression, which might well seem like a grimace to those who see it . . . Sad but gentle, yet clear and intelligent . . .”

To know someone as we are known is to recognize that layers of personality often develop as shields, protecting a bruised soul from the harsh winds of reality. One day, we will see each other as God intended, without the callouses formed in a fallen world: “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.”

For as long as I can remember, I have felt a deep connection with those who have experienced despair. My own early life experiences shaped an introversion driven by a search for understanding. Mercifully, through the humble and faithful life of my Aunt Eva, I was given spiritual health. Her home became a sanctuary, much like the monastery at Provence—a refuge for the bruised and battered. From those experiences, I developed a particular empathy that, without Christ, could easily have turned into a melancholy spirit led by the impulses of pain rather than the logic of divine love. It did. And I suffered yet again because of my folly. Adding human folly to worldly fallenness compounds the very worst symptoms of both. “But God . . .” (Ephesians 2:8, 9).

I found that I would rather be in the company of someone seeking hope amid trials than spend time with one who boasts of triumphs. There is no inherent virtue in sorrow nor necessary evil in success. In a paradoxical twist, the Lord led me to minister to very successful people in my years of Gospel service. However, I learned that even success can be a self-protective mask covering the scars of life. Don’t get me wrong: success is also just success, and I wish you the very best! Yet, I learned that we don’t get through this life “East of Eden” without some radioactive wounds of the soul.

Pastoring is partly about helping others see these callouses for what they are—protection that is often, but not always, self-harming. We must then carefully shepherd each individual to invite Jesus to the wound beneath. This means bringing that part of us we left behind at the scene of the crime or mishap—the disability since birth, the disappointments of life—to the “Man of Sorrows,” our Lord Jesus Christ.

My life experiences cause me to instinctively move toward those who feel alone or need a word of encouragement. This is not any superspiritual value in me; it is simply one heart resonating with another, and, given my calling, it is “the land” where God has placed me.

This message from a few years back centers on a personal and precious passage to those who wonder how the pain of the past can ever be redeemed for good. The Scripture is Joel 2:25:

“So I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten, the crawling locust, the consuming locust, and the chewing locust, My great army which I sent among you” (NKJV).

Samuel Rutherford (1600–1661) once wrote that grace grows best in winter—a truth he penned while imprisoned for his Puritan faith. In Joel 2:25, we learn that grace can manifest in the most unexpected places, even in the afflictions we bear due to our own sins and in the pain that comes simply from living in a fallen world.

If there is anything I pray the Lord impresses upon you through this humble message, it is this: the sorrows of this life cannot hinder the Gospel of Christ in your life. The very things that seek to harm you will be transformed by God into sources of blessing. That is, after all, the story of the cross.

Over the years, I have sought to select pieces of classical hymnody from the beautiful music room of the Church that transcend time and generations, reflecting rich theological truths that are Gospel medicine for the human soul. “Man of Sorrows, What a Name” (“Hallelujah, What a Savior” in some hymnals) is one of those.

May the message from God’s Word in the video (not the messenger, God forbid) bring you the healing you need until the Lord wipes away every tear.

“He will swallow up death forever. The Lord GOD will wipe away the tears from every face and remove the disgrace of His people from the whole earth. For the LORD has spoken” (Isaiah 25:8).

“And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away” (Revelations 21:4