As a member of Christ’s body, what do you do when it is your turn to suffer?
I can only answer for myself, but usually, I am blindsided by suffering. Stunned. Suffering knocks off my spiritual “game face” and leaves me scrambling to figure out what just happened. It’s as if someone abruptly threw me in a body of water that I didn’t even know was there, and so I have to first spend some precious seconds figuring out what is going on, where I am, and which end is up. There is blind panic and immense disorientation and flailing, and when I finally haul my soaking, drowning self to shore, I spend a good amount of time heaving onto the sand while wondering what happened to all those things I was carrying with me when I was tossed into the sea. And then, faith bobs to the surface (thank God–it floats!), and love pops back up, as well. But so much else–so many hopes and dreams, so many plans for the future, even so many cares and concerns–sit heavy on the bottom of the sea, never to be seen again.
And as I lay, gasping, on my back, still trying to get my head around what just happened, I am faced with two very different temptations. One is to never get up, to just curl up into a ball and stay on that shoreline, mourning what I lost. That’s a real temptation, but only for a little while.
The other temptation is to get up, dry off, and pretend that being thrown into the sea wasn’t such a big deal. After all, I’m a Christian, right? No matter what happens on earth, I have a hope and future, right? And I have faith that everything is going to be made right in the end, and faith in an all-powerful God…right? Well, if I have faith, then why should I mourn? After all, this life is just a breath, and soon I will be in front of God and everything is going to be made new and whole. And when I face God, I will be able to say that my faith stayed strong throughout my life, that it kept me from “mourning as the world mourns.” I will be able to say that I never waivered, that I soldiered through this life, and that, because of my faith,
“Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.”
The only thing is…that’s not true.
Everything wasn’t beautiful, and sometimes it hurt a lot.
And that “everything was beautiful” line is certainly not from the Bible; it’s from Slaughterhouse-5, a book that is very different from the Bible. But the one thing Slaughterhouse-5 has in common with the Bible is that they both explore just how much life can hurt sometimes.
And then I realize that the temptation toward that second reaction is just that…a temptation. It is a temptation to sidestep the path that God has let me walk. It’s a temptation to try to avoid the pain, when really, what I should do is to embrace the pain, just as much as I embrace the joy and the peace and the love. To embrace is not to wallow, but simply to accept that this is my life right now, and to see how God is going to get me through it.
That is very important. I must remember how it feels. I must remember how God got me through it.
It is important because as a member of the body of Christ, my pain is not my own, to wallow or ignore as I see fit. No, I have to walk the paths of pain God gives me because after (or even during) the experience, I know that God will use that pain to help others. I know this first of all, because Paul told me as much when he said this to the Corinthians: “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.” But I also know it from experience. See, since I’ve had a few instances of deep pain, I now know about the unspoken “pain directory” that is a part of body of Christ. It’s not a directory that is written down anywhere, but it is ever-present in the hearts of the other members of the body. Simply put, when a member of the body suffers, the rest of the body does two things: they comfort them as best they can, and they file their pain away for later. For example, when my brother died, my name was filed away in the church’s pain directory under:
- death of a sibling
- mental illness
And since then, others who are experiencing this kind of pain either know that they can come to me, or are even directed to me by someone else. It’s not that I have all the answers; it’s just that I’ve been there. And when people are suffering, they want someone who has been there. And I really, really want to comfort those people. Usually, it happens just by listening and empathizing. But sometimes I am able to tell them something, give them some morsel of hope that God has given me, and it helps them. And that’s what I think Paul was talking about in his letter to the Corinthians.
Going through these experiences has taught me how important it is to experience and even embrace pain. I can’t help anyone if I’m too busy pretending that everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. And I can’t help them if I’m too wrapped up in my own suffering to see past myself (although that is an inevitable phase of pain, and sometimes it lasts longer than others). Instead, my understanding of the directory of pain spurs me on to really study my pain, to feel it as thoroughly as I can, to pour out all my hurt and my questions and my anger to God…and to see where that leads me.
It always leads me somewhere.
And often it leads me to a place that is truly beautiful…even though it does hurt.
Kingdom Civics 
Posted by Tim on March 1, 2012 at 11:00 am
Kim, you made me laugh (“it floats!”) and pause (“as a member of the body of Christ, my pain is not my own”). I’ve faced the temptations you note – wallowing or denying – and found like you did that neither is what God calls us to do. Our pains are real and so is our God.
Tim
P.S. You probably already knew this, but the word “comfort” in the letter to the Corinthians is a translation of a Greek word similar to the one Jesus used for the Holy Spirit in the Upper Room Discourse, which is sometimes noted as Paraclete. It’s a word used to refer to someone who is called to come alongside another person. I’ve now taken to reading the passage in Corinthians as: “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all coming-along-sidedness, who comes along-side us in all our troubles, so that we can come along-side those in any trouble with the coming-along-sidedness we ourselves have received from God.”
Posted by kingdomcivics on March 1, 2012 at 3:58 pm
Thanks, Tim! The word “paraclete” sounds familiar (probably from the two semesters of Greek I took and promptly forgot?), but I needed to be reminded of its meaning. I love that image of comforting as “coming alongside.” Truly, that’s what comforting is, isn’t it? It’s not having all the answers or being able to make everything better; it is just coming alongside someone as they suffer and being willing to go through it with them. What a beautiful image God gives us!
Posted by bekster on March 1, 2012 at 9:36 pm
This is a trivial example compared to the kind of pain you are talking about, but this memory kept popping into my mind as I read: One day I was in the public restroom of a place where I worked, and just as I was about to leave to go back into the hallway, someone suddenly opened the door a split second before I could get my hand on it. With the timing being off and me not having control of the door, I stubbed my toe–and, since the lady opening the door was just then right in front of my face (and was someone I cared about impressing in that environment), I kept silent, not allowing myself to cry out in pain. Well, the whole rest of the day, my toe was in great pain. I can’t even guess how many times in my life I have stubbed my toe, but this was the only time that I carried the pain with me afterwards. I realized that not letting myself do anything in the moment to feel and then release the pain caused it to stay longer and be a real problem. (I guess this is why people who do karate make loud noises when they chop things.) Anyway, I learned then that it really is important to acknowledge the pain, even when we think it might make us look bad in the moment. (Do I actually follow my own advice here? No. But, it makes sense.)
Posted by ann on March 2, 2012 at 5:49 am
when i acknowledge that the pain exists…that i indeed do have a “thorn”…that is when i am able to completely rely on God. it is then that i realize i can do all things thru Christ who gives me strength…
Posted by kingdomcivics on March 2, 2012 at 7:19 pm
Becky, I think you are right that there is a physical correlation to these thoughts, as well. Good point.
Posted by Faye McGreggor on March 2, 2012 at 5:17 am
What a lesson. Thanks, Kim. I am sharing this message because it is something everyone needs to realize.
Posted by kingdomcivics on March 2, 2012 at 7:21 pm
Thank you, Mrs. Faye! I know that your congregation is facing its share of suffering right now. Know that you all are in my prayers!
Posted by Court on March 5, 2012 at 11:57 am
I can well relate. One example for me, in addition to losingmy own brother is the devastation of a divorce on a family. As my family has suffered the loss of my sisters marriage, it has been the most difficult thing so far. A lot because there is little beauty in such things, in betrayal and broken commitments. There is so little that is beautiful in watching those you love suffer the ways that one suffers under those circumstances. But there has been beauty in the suffering of a godly woman who chose to handle this ungodly thing in a godly way. Through pain she determined to make her part in it a good work for God – and so it was beautiful despite the pain it was. It still hurt, but the choice to make it something beautiful for God brOught healing that wouldn’t have been there otherwise I think. So, hurting gracefully can be a beautiful thing.