THERE IT WAS IN BLACK AND WHITE— on page 66 of Science and Health, "Trials are proofs of God's care." Many new as well as longtime students of Christian Science, including me, have puzzled over that statement. A few questions that might arise:
• Does God, who is Love, send evil to tempt me or determine my worthiness?
• Am I to endure some misery to the best of my ability—or even with the help of God's grace—because He is using the trial as a teaching tool?
• If God is my heavenly Father and "of purer eyes than to behold evil" (Hab. 1:13), does He create evil, know it, or use it to challenge me, or even offer me "proof" of His care?
Many theologies teach that the answer to all of the above questions is "yes" and that our purpose and goal is to endure suffering for some mysterious reason. Mary Baker Eddy innately rebelled against this doctrine. Her discovery of the divine laws of healing enabled her to refute the concept of a deity that is both good and evil—a God who is capable of sending us "trials."
I knew there are no mysteries or contradictions in Science and Health, and that each statement is intended to be understood and proved.
Decades ago, I pondered that one brief sentence for what seemed like the millionth time. I felt the need to face down the sticking point that divine Love could send a trial or "suffering that puts strength, patience, or faith to the test"—as one dictionary defines the word trial. Was I, by divine law, to be subjected to what Rodale's Synonym Finder calls "grievous experiences, ... affliction, trouble, ... bad luck, ... catastrophe"?
What I began to see is that the crux of grasping that statement in Science and Health rests in ultimately understanding a higher definition of the word trial. I knew there are no mysteries or contradictions in Science and Health, and that each statement is intended to be understood and proved. Instead of being a sticking point, the sentence became a springboard to greater clarity.
The "aha" moment came one morning. While changing the channels on the TV, I heard an attorney answer an interviewer's question. Though I hadn't heard the original question, I loved the lawyer's answer. He said, "You know what a trial is, don't you? It's the presentation of evidence." Wow! That explanation grabbed my attention, and I delved into a more expanded reading of the passage in Science and Health: "Trials teach mortals not to lean on a material staff,—a broken reed, which pierces the heart. We do not half remember this in the sunshine of joy and prosperity. ... Trials are proofs of God's care. ... Each successive stage of experience unfolds new views of divine goodness and love" (p. 66).
I immediately realized my mistake in wrestling with that one paragraph. I hadn't allowed for a higher meaning of the word trial. To me, the first reference to trial in the passage does indeed refer to those experiences characterized by suffering, affliction, and misery. But in Mrs. Eddy's second reference to the word trials, she may be requiring us to employ a higher meaning. The presentation of evidence! Divine evidence. This defense of what is spiritually real begins with recognizing our identity as God's creation, made in His image and likeness (see Gen. 1:26, 27). Being made in the image and likeness of divine Love means we are inseparable from our perfect source—always existing at the point of "proof" of God's omnipresence. The only evidence we ever have to accept is that which conforms to the Divine. Everything else is a misrepresentation of Truth and can be gaveled down as perjury—just as a lie would be in a court of law.
As Science and Health explains in several places, it's extremely helpful to approach any difficulty just as we might argue a case in court. The lawyer accepts one side of the case and argues persistently for that side. He or she presents the argument as compellingly as possible. So, like the trial attorney, Christian Scientists argue one side of the case—and one side only. By relying on the divine Truth of being, any material speculation is null and void—with no voice, no vote, and no victim.
This spiritually emphatic definition of trial helped heal a longtime relationship that had been particularly difficult in my life—one characterized by extreme discord for more than 25 years. It was a "trial" to me as well as to friends and family who observed it at close range. As I asked divine Mind for direction and even assurance that I could break off the relationship, I never got the "yes" answer that I expected.
In fact, the question that kept recurring to me was, If you're willing to call this relationship incurable so you can quit and walk away, what's the next thing you're going to call incurable and walk away from?
Believe me, the suggestion to walk away was very tempting and when based on good, old-fashioned human reasoning, completely understandable. But I knew I was praying in earnest and that this prayer would be—as they say frequently in a court trial—"asked and answered."
It became very clear to me that this wasn't a matter of good person versus bad person, but rather the false assumption that inharmony within this or any relationship is inevitable. I knew that the characterization of this challenge as a trial—as a misery—had to be elevated to the presentation of divine evidence.
The wrestling ceased and the witnessing began. The focus was no longer on my trying to "straighten another's altar." Rather I became a witness to what God was communicating to each of us, at every moment. I asked myself, What is God knowing/doing right now? What am I being asked to believe? Do I believe it? Why or why not? These questions were progressive, and I wasn't afraid to hear what God was telling me. This led me away from a willful approach—a strategy—to more inspired views of God and man. I can only describe what happened next as being like someone throwing a switch—it was that sudden. The discord with this individual just stopped. The spirit of love, trust, and cooperation was restored and continues to characterize our relationship today.
The higher meaning of "trial" doesn't mean a battle or the necessity to suffer. In fact, if suffering is any part of our experience, it's a pretty clear indication that we have to reexamine our definition of the word trial. Persistence does mean giving up even our most cherished thoughts in order to more closely ally thought to God, good. It means to consistently present the evidence—the one side of the case that reasons from the standpoint that our heavenly Father-Mother, God, is our only source. Claiming God's identity as our very being, we're in a perfect position to protest against the human verdict of "guilty"—whether it involves a physical illness, a contentious relationship, or any other erroneous suggestion. We have the freedom to bask in our God-given standing as the child of God, experiencing the constant proof of His care.
This is our divine day, our victorious day in court.
