The Way of the Cross

I have noticed something changing in how I look at the world. The problem of suffering is one of those great questions for theologians to debate, and the reason many say they do not believe in God. I confess that I am not immune to my share of railing against God when horrible, inexplicable things happen to people I care about, or when it seems like life is just too hard. Suffering sometimes made me believe in God less, and I sometimes say things like "if God really loved us wouldn't he want us to be happy, I want the people I love to be happy." But lately, I have started to see things differently. I have been noticing that some of the most beautiful, Christ-like moments between people happen in the midst of suffering; when someone willingly chooses to enter into the pain of another and sit there with them.

Don't get me wrong, I still hate suffering. I have a friend who is a Buddhist who told me that when they hear someone is going through something difficult they say "congratulations" because it means some positive change is coming or something will be learned. To that I say a big fat NO! I cannot wait for the day that the world is made right and suffering is gone, and I will always feel bad for people who are in pain even if I think they somehow are going to be better for it. I do not think I will ever get to the place where I will welcome suffering like a friend, but I have started to think that it may be in its midst that we come closest to the heart of God.

I am part of the prayer team at my church, so I hear about a lot of suffering. I also know that sometimes, even often, our prayers for the bad stuff to go away are not answered. Lately, instead of just asking God to end the suffering of others I have asked that God help me be someone who does not run away from the pain, but that I would allow myself to feel it and pray from that place. What do we do with all of this suffering as people of faith? For now my answer is, I want to be like the man that I saw last week.

I have a friend who lost a baby recently. She went for an ultrasound and they did not hear the heartbeat. She was about five months into her pregnancy. After they checked again, it was determined that the baby had died. My friend and her husband had to go to the hospital to induce labor and deliver the baby. They had to say hello and goodbye to this precious little girl all in one agonizing moment. There is no making sense of such things.

In the midst of this, one of the associate pastors from our church went to the hospital to be with them. This man, who I will just call Pastor has his own story that is not unlike my friends, he and his wife also lost a child in a similar way about two years ago. From what I was told, he was at the hospital with them throughout their stay there. He also came to the memorial service for the baby. When the service was over Pastor helped the baby's father to carry her small, pink, gingham coffin to the hearse. The sight of these two Dad's sharing the burden of that tiny coffin was excruciatingly beautiful. At the graveside, after she was lowered into the ground the baby's father began shoveling the dirt to cover her coffin. There was something in that act that just got me. I cannot pretend to know his thoughts, but all I could think was "this is the last thing this Dad can do for his little girl, and he is determined that he will be the one to do it." The father's teenage son joined in for a little while, and then Pastor asked if the Dad wanted his help. Again, these two fathers , who share the heartbreak of losing a baby shoveling dirt to cover a too tiny coffin was a moment of such pain and love woven together it felt voyeuristic to be there.

I know that I have no way of understanding the pain of this Mom and Dad, not being a Mom myself. Pastor does know. In the moment when he was told that someone else was going through what he knows to be the worst of life he chose to go back to that place in his heart and walk through it with someone else. I don't know what that was like for him, but as an outside witness to it I was humbled and I was changed.

Joy is an exquisite thing, with its leaping and laughter, a mountain top you where you wish you could stay and live forever. No one doubts the splendor of joy. Sorrow is more like the woods behind my grandparent's house where I liked to play as a child. From far away it looked scary and dark. You could only see its beauty once you were inside of it. It is a quiet beauty that grows in shadows and is covered in moss, but its roots grow deep and wide and there are trees you can climb up to get a glimpse of the sun.