“Successful success” is something we try very hard to show one another.
On social media.
In our résumés.
In conversations when we are looking for a job.
When we are looking for friends.
The world believes that if you are successful, attractive, beautiful, healthy, strong, resilient, spiritual — then you matter.
And if you are not — then you are nobody.
Nobody and nothing.
And it is painful to admit, but this logic has long stopped being only secular. It has deeply penetrated the Christian environment as well.
When a person is suffering, instead of presence they often receive advice.
Instead of compassion — correct phrases.
Instead of silence — quotations.
Prosperity theology sounds to a suffering soul very much like the words of Job’s friends. They spoke a lot about God while Job was suffering, but in the end God said to them:
“You have not spoken the truth about Me”
(Job 42:7)
Because they explained suffering instead of being present.
More and more often I encounter supportive phrases like: “You need to fight more spiritually.”
“You must fight for your family.”
“You are strong. You have to be strong.”
And behind these words I hear the same message:
you are not doing enough.
you are not trying hard enough.
you are not spiritual enough.
As if, in the middle of suffering itself, you must still find the strength and resources to be a warrior —
instead of a patient whom God is healing.
Instead of a soul going through a season of purification and growth.
Instead of a soul that God is nurturing, not pushing.
When someone tells you, “You are strong,” while in reality you are weak — it does not encourage.
It makes you doubt yourself.
It implants self-deception: believe in your own strength instead of believing that
“My power is made perfect in weakness”
(2 Corinthians 12:9)
Because the truth often looks very different: every day I crucify my flesh simply in order to live through that day.
Just to keep moving.
Just to minimally exist.
And when, in that state, you hear: “Everything will be fine” — that too is deception.
Because who said that everything will be fine?
And what does “fine” even mean?
Does “fine” mean a little better than now?
Does it mean the absence of pain?
Does it mean salvation?
Yes, in heaven it will be good.
But here and now — what does this word mean?
Even in the life of Jesus Christ, not everything was good.
He walked this earth barefoot.
He knew exhaustion, hunger, thirst, pain.
He did not fly like an eagle.
And yet Scripture says:
“In all things God works for the good of those who are called according to His purpose”
(Romans 8:28)
This does not mean that everything will become good.
It means that God is able even the greatest evil and the greatest pain to turn toward good.
Just as He is able to raise life out of death.
Another phrase that is often heard: “Just believe. Keep believing.”
There is a term for this — spiritual bypassing.
It is when spiritual phrases are used to avoid acknowledging pain.
To avoid touching another person’s suffering.
Because it is much harder to stay present with someone who is crying.
And much easier to say the right words.
This is exactly how Job’s friends spoke.
And that is precisely why God did not accept their words.
Another favorite quotation: “You will soar like eagles”
(Isaiah 40:31)
When you hear this while waking up with such pain in your body as if you had been beaten all night…
when you can barely get out of bed…
this phrase sounds not like hope, but like mockery.
Jesus Christ did not soar like an eagle either.
Even possessing all authority, He accepted a limited, vulnerable, not-yet-resurrected body.
And we too live in such bodies.
So when this verse is used as an application to present, earthly suffering,
it stops being the Gospel.
Christianity is not about escaping pain.
It is about:
“Weeping with those who weep”
(Romans 12:15)
And about:
“Bearing one another’s burdens”
(Galatians 6:2)
Not correcting.
Not spiritually pushing.
Not asserting superiority with the words “you need to.”
Perhaps it is time to learn not to speak more, but to speak more honestly.
And sometimes — not to speak at all.
To learn to be present rather than to rescue with phrases.
To learn to touch pain without running from it.
To learn to suffer together instead of explaining suffering.
Because God is not on the side of “successful success.”
He is:
“close to the brokenhearted”
(Psalm 34:19)
And perhaps it is there —
in weakness, in tears, in quiet presence —
that the love which truly heals is found.