God made the local church to be a body that operates together, and we behold its beauty in the way each member works together (Rom. 12:4–5). Throughout our circumstances we all take turns in various roles. One season might find us able to become the sister or brother of great support for a church member, while other times we might merely be a small spark of hope in the midst of another’s grief. Both matter.

I peered down at the update on my phone while guilt nestled in over my body. A family in our church was walking through a medical emergency, and everything in me wanted to move into action—except I stood immobilized. I couldn’t drive to the hospital, carve out time for a visit, or even bring a meal. Our family was sick, slowly waiting out the fight of our immune systems, while I struggled with being unable to come to the help of my friend. Prayers filled my mind, but part of me still craved the opportunity to support the saints who needed it.
It’s a feeling many of us might experience at one time or another. Maybe we’ve benefited from the close support of brothers and sisters in Christ in the midst of our own suffering, and we naturally want to rush to the aid of those who are hurting around us now. Or perhaps this tendency runs deeper inside our personality. The drive to constantly say yes and give the most we can to others eats at us each day. It pushes us to take on more than what’s feasible, and it crushes us when we find ourselves unfit for the task.
While God calls us to sacrificial love, he never intended us to bear this weight alone. Instead, in his kindness, he formed a community of people who work together to keep the flame of faith strong in the church. Just as a campfire finds fuel from the logs as well as the tiny kindling, together, the church can come alongside our fellow sufferers and bring warmth through the big and the small.
Burning Logs
God created each of us to live in community. Admonitions in Scripture largely speak to a host of people, not just the singular Christian. We are told to encourage one another, help bear each other’s burdens, and spur one another on toward Christ (Heb. 10:24–25; Eph. 4:29; 1 Thess. 5:14). Proverbs reminds us of the blessings of friendship particularly in times of adversity (Prov. 17:17), while the book of Job warns us of comfort-gone-wrong. As we walk through difficulty and suffering, we all need the support and care of saints who can continue to carry us and direct us toward Christ.
We need them to check in on us with texts, provide a listening ear for our questions, and hold us in our tears. We need their assuring face every Sunday as we join with the body, so we can remember their prayers and support for us in our suffering. Like logs in a fire, these people help keep the light going in the midst of our darkness with their steadfast care and faithfulness. The steady burn of their love and closeness continues to warm and push us through the cold.
I think often of seasons of my own grief and the people who stood close by, sacrificing time to babysit, rearranging their schedule on my behalf, and taking the time to listen to my tearful words.
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Our bodies may be driving us back towards the dust, but at the same time the Holy Spirit is inwardly pushing us along to glory. He will continue sanctifying us, until the final day, seemingly at our weakest, when our body succumbs to its physical death, we will behold the greatest victory! The beautiful chain of God’s work will be fashioned, and the sin that plagues our hearts will be cast off forever (Rom. 8:30). We will finally grasp freedom from the grief, pain, and loss in our sin-cursed world. And on that day we’ll be face to face with the one who also willingly walked towards weakness, so that we would be able to walk towards glory. 

My eyes catch a glimpse of the fingers slowly dancing across my keyboard. Wrinkles web across the surface, highlighting every bump and lump. They weave up towards the rounded knuckles—the ones that gripe at me from time to time. The thinning skin that’s weathered years of toil reveals blue veins beneath. I wonder if, or when, arthritis will come to stay?
I recline in my chair and slowly roll my shoulders back and forth, attempting to free the pinched nerve from the previous night’s sleep. It’s been happening more often. The sound of grinding muscles reverberates through my head, as I try to release the tightened offender.
I’m thirty-four years old, but I’m already acutely aware of the way my body is changing. It surfaces in spurts—when I wake up, crawl out of bed, and stretch only to suffer the consequences for the rest of the day. I feel these changes when I attempt a spinning ride with my children, leave a dish too spicy, or find myself unable to keep my eyes open in the evening. Things are not as they were.
Our culture tries to convince us we can all drink from the fountain of youth. Actresses in their seventies zip themselves into the latest fashion and appear on magazines and screens. They perpetuate the con that a little makeup, Botox, and a fitness regimen can keep your youthful zeal forever. Yet it’s nothing but smoke.
The graceful arms of our favorite movie icon can no longer do all they used to do. The intelligent wit of that actor has slowed, and some of their neural connections are now non-existent as memories slip from their mind. No matter how much pampering, clean eating, or willpower we commit to on this earth, our body will continue to weaken. The curse of sin demands it. Each day we wake up, our bodies walk toward death.
Pilgrimage to Dust
As much as we don’t like to admit it, we know weakness hangs in our future. We feel it with each funeral that hits our church. We see it in our grandparents and parents who force us to view the fragility of their bodies up close. We see it in ourselves. The writer in Ecclesiastes tells us no one can escape. We all go to one place: “All are from the dust, and to dust all return” (Eccles. 3:20).
We can hide, deny, or try to avoid it, but the reality remains that our entire life is one of increasing debility. We begin our lives helpless, as babies who begin to grow in strength and power. Yet with each day, our bodies begin to cycle back to the beginning, in a rhythm that releases whatever strength we accrued in this life. Our toned muscles will eventually deteriorate. Our neural connections will gradually wane.
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