This is the sacred calling given to those who suffer—to lift trembling hands, to raise tear-stained eyes, to sing with wavering voice, to praise God as much in taking as in the giving. 

Imagine that you are sitting in a prison cell. This is not some posh or even stark 21st-century prison cell, but a primitive Roman one. Your back is pressed against cold stones. Your stomach is aching with hunger. Your nose is assaulted by terrible smells. Your heart is filled with despair. You know your death must be fast approaching.

And then, somewhere off in the distance you begin to hear the sound of singing. You realize this song is not coming from outside the walls but from within, not from visitors but from inmates. As you listen you realize these were the men who were dragged in the previous evening, men who were arrested, beaten, and jailed for freeing a woman from oppression and professing the name of Jesus Christ. You realize that their song is a kind of dirge, a complaint against man and God alike. In a minor key it expresses frustration with God for these circumstances and pronounces curses on their enemies. It blames God for failing to prevent this expression of his providence and tiptoes perilously close to cursing his name. Though you had heard of this God and been intrigued by some of what you had learned, you can now feel your interest waning and your heart turning.

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