DEAR GOD, YOU SURE DON'T ACT LIKE YOU'RE ALIVE - Day 58

Day 58 – the positive side of suffering

The field had to be broken, the iron molten, the orchard lopped, the wheat winnowed, the stream imprisoned above the mill. Perhaps it was the same with man’s life. From defeat greater endeavor must be born, from tears increased purpose, from despair hope. Why should a man fall but to rise again, die but to live?  –GEORGE DELL

Over the course of this leg of our journey, I have alluded often to the problem of pain and suffering in the world, seeking to discern what this reveals to us about God’s nature. Except when I referred to sacrificial suffering, I have tended to speak of suffering in its negative sense, as something to be avoided on earth and abolished in heaven. This one-sided treatment stems largely from my decision to look at suffering through the eyes of those who are feeling it the most: people overcome with grief or mired in sickness. To them, suffering is not perceived in any way as positive. It is 100% negative, painfully so, and any hint of its end would be to their souls like an oasis in a desert. 

But I would be remiss if this leg ended without some reference to suffering’s positive side. Almost every theological treatment of suffering includes this aspect along with the negative. These positives are not usually recognized as such until months or even years after tragedy hits. Even then, the eternal flame of acute pain flickers in the background. Yet these long-term benefits are real, not imaginary, and should be acknowledged.

One of these, functioning more on a daily basis, is the protective property of suffering. We all know that pain itself is preservative. It makes you take your hand off the hot stove immediately so that deeper injury may be prevented. We, in medicine, see every day the terrible “pressure sores” of the quadriplegic or diabetic who has been deprived of pain’s protective gift. Even fear of pain is beneficial in this regard, often (but not always) serving as a disincentive to frivolous or reckless behavior. In all honesty, I must admit that parachuting from a plane appeals to me, but thoughts of the sudden deceleration that is the inevitable end result of chute malfunction has to this date taken precedent. In similar fashion, the anticipation and dread of pain may protect us by keeping us engaged in safer activities.

Another positive aspect of suffering is its instructive nature. It tends to teach us what is best. The physical pain of touching that hot stove teaches me never again to touch it or other hot objects. Emotional suffering acts in the same manner. The inner turmoil caused by our anger, jealousy, hatred, and selfishness is a call to shun that type of behavior in the future. Although experiencing such pain and suffering does not guarantee compliance with its message, the fact remains that some instruction is thereby imparted, and our world would be so much the better were each of us to heed it.

Yet another of suffering’s good qualities, though one often overemphasized and misused, is its disciplinary function. According to many, suffering may at times be the tool used by God to chasten us. Like the sting of the hickory stick on the rowdy child’s leg, some of our suffering may be our just deserve for the things we have done and a needed incentive to alter our subsequent behavior. I think, however, that one treads on shaky ground when such claims are made in dogmatic fashion. It is one thing to occasionally label someone’s suffering a natural consequence of his or her action. We all know that lung cancer is often a result of lifelong smoking, that serious accidents frequently stem from reckless driving, and that hatred thrown our way is many times nothing other than our hatred returned. But it is quite another thing to say that God Himself did these things for the express purpose of punishing us. He, indeed, may have, but I do not think we have a lot of solid ground to stand on when we make this kind of claim. In Luke’s gospel, Jesus twice dismissed the idea that depth of suffering is proportional to magnitude of sin.¹ And let me remind you that the three friends of Job, very much the antagonists of that story, were unwavering in their belief that all suffering is penal. Granted that some of it may be, I think it would be best if we would seldom ascribe this motive to God. We do not know His motives; certainly, they do not always coincide with our opinions. When we suspect that God’s discipline is at work in suffering, I think it would be better to lend a helping hand than to point an accusing finger.

To continue our list, I have not mentioned the appreciative function of suffering, how it encourages us to count our blessings. Just this morning I awoke to discover the electricity off at my house. It remained so for the next three hours. During that time I began to realize how much I take it for granted. When it was restored, I appreciated more than ever all the conveniences it brings. In the same way, our times of tremendous pain and suffering can be a means by which we come to appreciate the happy and joyous periods of life. Grace Hawthorne, in these lyrics from a 1970s youth musical, states this as well as anyone:

     Would you cherish loving arms

          if you’d never shed a tear?

     Would you welcome going home

          if you’d never been away?

     Would you treasure guiding hands

          if you’d never been alone?

     Would you value having hope

          if you’d never known despair?

     Would you treasure being safe

          if you’d never lost your way?

     Would you cherish gentle words

          if you’d never been afraid?

      I don’t think so.²

Next, we come to suffering’s inspirational aspect, the tendency of suffering and pain to bring men and women to their knees. It seems that suffering invokes in us a willingness to seek God that is often lacking in better times. We are more apt then to listen to what God has been saying all along. C. S. Lewis, referring to suffering as “God’s megaphone,” says that He “whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts to us in our pains.”³ Whether or not this is suffering’s primary function is open to debate, but it cannot be argued that times of deep suffering seem to coincide with times of deep devotion.

Along the same lines, suffering is frequently motivational. In the aftermath of intense suffering, goals are often reset and life’s work redirected. The person may emerge from the experience on a mission and with a passion theretofore unknown. I could cite numerous examples: the founder of Mothers Against Drunk Driving, the host of America’s Most Wanted, the organizers of so many AIDS awareness groups, those family members who trained for and completed the New York Marathon in honor of the heroes of 9/11, the singer and songwriter who wrote the year’s best song after his son’s tragic death, the Vietnam War veterans who lobbied for a national memorial to their fallen comrades, the surgeon who established Advanced Trauma Life Support after losing his wife and daughters in a Nebraska plane crash, the basketball player who dedicated the entire season to his cancer-stricken mother, and the wife of the famous golfer who established a benevolent foundation in his memory. Each of these individuals, once paralyzed by enormous suffering, later used this very suffering as the springboard to enormous deeds. 

Nor in these pages have I spoken of suffering as congregational. I have not referred to the effect of suffering on the community as a whole, especially on those not personally experiencing it. Leslie D. Weatherhead has rightly noted why the suffering of others evokes in us such strong feelings. “The very essence of our best self,” he writes, “is to love, and love wants to share not only pleasures but pain... The thought which, for the noblest men and women on earth, would make life intolerable if carried into effect, is that they should be excluded totally from the pain of others.”⁴ When intense suffering strikes another human being—be that person linked to us by blood, locale, or merely by species—we instinctively feel compelled to “take up the family burden.”⁵ The more that person suffers, especially when the suffering seems most undeserved, the more we spring to the rescue to offer assistance and assurance. Suffering, therefore, calls forth from within the non-sufferer the best human nature has to offer. It summons us from isolation to community, and this has to be viewed as one of its most positive outgrowths.

Lastly, and most glaringly to some of you, I have failed to mention even once the supernatural aspect of suffering. I have not once spoken of the devil, his demons, and the war they wage in the supernatural realm against all that is good. This exclusion should, if nothing else, reveal how strong my intention was to keep us on the right page. What we are seeking to discover in this book is the nature of God, not the nature of the devil. Now there is a lot of debate about the latter as well as the former. Some people will tell you that there is no need to talk of a personal devil. They believe that all suffering in the world stems from the way God has arranged it. They point to the rigidity of the natural laws and our freedom of choice as the origin of everything bad. Others take the more traditional route, stating that evil first arose in the supernatural realm—when the angel Satan rebelled against God–—and that Earth is now the front of this spiritual battle. They see all suffering as the direct or indirect result of unseen powers of evil around us. 

For better or worse, I will at this time refrain from entering this debate. To offer my opinion about the matter now would be tantamount to getting us off-course. My task is to guide you up the slope of God’s nature, and I refuse to be drawn into an argument, no matter how important it is, that leads us elsewhere. What would you think of a guide in Washington, D.C. who, while standing in the White House, gave you the unabridged history of Ford’s Theater? You would think or say to him: “Enough, man! Save that for a later date. While in the White House, focus on the White House!” In the same way, I will be the best guide I can be and speak while on the slope of God’s nature of things pertaining to God’s nature. I will save the nature of the devil for a later date.

Before I do, however, let me issue a couple of cautions. Those of you who do not believe in a personal devil must be careful not to trivialize evil as “just the way God made things.” You must resist the temptation to see the emergence of evil in the same way you see the blooming of a flower. A flower is consistent with God’s nature; evil is not. It is good to pour water on a flower, but evil must never be watered-down. To those who do believe in a personal devil, let me warn you not to over-rationalize the evil you do, blaming it all on Satan. “The devil made me do it” may be fine comedy, but it is horrible theology. If nothing else in religion is clear, this one thing is: we are responsible for our actions. For sure, we may be tempted by others to go the wrong way. For certain, the unique circumstances of our lives may make us more likely than our neighbor to commit this or that sin. Still, the decision whether or not to so act rests squarely on our shoulders. Perhaps God will take into account the circumstances we face in life when we kneel before Him after death. I, for one, have faith that He will, for I believe Him to be infinitely just. This does not, however, get any of us off the hook now. The man who jumps into the water of his own accord and the gentleman who does so after much coaxing from family and friends are equally wet and have their own selves to blame. Our society must rid itself of the notion that someone else is responsible for our bad choices.

These, then, are the positive aspects of suffering, the parts I neglected to mention until now. It is important to remember that the sufferer does not usually recognize these benefits until late in the grief process. They may ring true to those not presently in the throes of intense suffering, but they are of little comfort to anyone so afflicted. Suffering may be perceived in a brighter light later, but never in the darkest of night. The woman who places her hand on the hot stove may at some later date be thankful that the painful stimulus protected her from further injury. She may tomorrow be mindful of the instruction she just received in kitchen safety. She may someday be inclined, if she was told to stay away from the stove, to see the whole thing as the discipline she deserved. Having experienced such pain, she most certainly will cherish more than ever her first day without it. She may in the long run reflect on the way the incident brought her closer to God and motivated her to establish in her home an accident prevention policy. She most likely will receive in the ensuing days many cards and calls from her caring community. She may in subsequent conversations refer to the role of nature’s laws or Satan’s voice in the whole ordeal. But at the moment she puts her hand to the stove, all that she can focus on is the fact that she is hurting more than she thinks she can bear. If this is the case with her, it must be even more so for those who suffer the pain of losing their health or their loved ones. This is why pastors, chaplains, and doctors are trained not to speak of the positive dimension of suffering beside a hospital bed or casket. References to the good that will one day come usually serve no purpose in the acuity of grief. And that is why it was appropriate for me, having written this book with my eyes focused on acute sufferers, to wait until now to give suffering’s positive side its due.

¹Luke 13:1-5.

²Grace Hawthorne, “Would You” in Lightshine (Waco: Word, 1972).

³C. S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain (New York: Macmillan, 1962), 81. 

⁴Leslie D. Weatherhead, Why Do Men Suffer?, 73.

⁵Ibid., 74.

Daily Quotation

George Dell, The Earth Abideth (Columbus, Ohio: Ohio State University, 1986), 317.