This biologos post resonated with me, and as I read, I was increasingly compelled to respond to it.
In Nov 2004 initial neurological anomalies appeared in my body, and since then I have been living with Progressice Relapsing MS (PRMS).
For the last twelve years or so, I’ve been sending, to some family members and friends, updates about my health and well-being, some of which form the backbone of my book, entitled Endearing Pain: Life Lessons from MS afflictions.
As I explain in the introduction, each chapter corresponds to an update I’d written and sent to my family and friends, attempting to explain what it was like to be in my skin and what, if any, recent life lessons I might have learned. Words I wrote in April 2011 eventually became the chapter of my book, which I called ‘Happy Spring’, and it is was during the time I was writing them that I was trying to come to terms with my chronic, incurable disease, and the apparent silence I was hearing from the God who I was convinced loved me. I’d like to respond to this biologos post with some of those words I wrote ten years ago, and which are true to this day
“In her perceptive book An Altar in the World, Barbara Brown Taylor wrote words that I found particularly incisive … “Pain is provocative. Pain pushes people to the edge, causing them to ask fundamental questions such as ‘Why is this happening?’ and ‘How can this be fixed?’ Pain brings out the best in people along with the worst.”
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Some of my ‘worst’ is thinking that because I got ‘stuck’ with fast-fading health, I should be entitled to a few breaks in some other areas of life. I’ve become acutely aware of the fact that pain drains, and have frequently entertained thoughts like …‘God can’t you at least see to it that we don’t have any more vehicles breaking down?!” (We’ve had a run of vehicle problems lately.) I know that this inane line of thought can be detrimental to relationships, and I want no part of it … especially when I find myself trying to justify my poor treatment of those I love by thinking, “With all the pain I live with, who could blame me for being short-fused?’ Wrong! I know it’s wrong, absurd, and dangerous, and I would value your prayers in this regard … that I won’t indulge self-pity. I don’t want to become a bitter person; I want to be someone on whom nothing is lost. In light of the fallacious thoughts that subtly penetrate my mind and skew my judgement I want to cultivate G. K. Chesterton’s dictum in my life as well as I’m able … words I smiled to read - “An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered.’ I think the key is to be mindful of the bounty in my life.“All the business of religion is gratitude.” (Thomas Traherne)
I was recently confronted with the book of Job through the eyes of Eleonore Stump, and was reminded about how I can live well in light of living with chronic illness. In her erudite Veritas Forum presentation on Job and the problem of evil, I heard Eleonore Stump answer the question, “How can we best learn from Jesus about suffering?” She suggests that the best way to learn is from what she calls the double movement in the garden of Gethsemane. Eleonore points to the fact that Jesus does not say to God, “Hey, whatever. You’re God. You do what you want. That’s good with me.” That’s not what He says. He says to God , “No. I know what I want, and I’m going to tell you what it is. I don’t want this suffering. But, I’d rather do things your way than my way if we disagree.”
That’s 2 movements of Spirit. We mustn’t skip the first movement, and Eleonore is ardent on this point. That’s inhuman, and it distorts something about humanity in us. She insists that we radically distort things if we bypass the first movement. It’s important to say to God “Here’s what I want. I want not to die. I want not to suffer. But if your will and my will are not the same. I’d rather do it your way than my way.” And here Eleonore becomes emphatic. “That’s not because after telling Him what I want I go on to say, “But hey I don’t care. Whatever.” That’s not it. But because He’s the wildest, most beautiful, most loving, most good thing there is. And all things considered, it’s much better to accept affliction at His hand, than not to be at His hand. Because whatever it is He’s doing,” she continues, “it’s definitely something I would want if I only understood exactly what He had in mind. The second movement is, in the end, saying what I want most of all is You God. And the reason for that is because You’re most worth having. So, if we need to do it this way to get to You, that’s the way I want to do it.”
I’m grateful for Gethsemane and for Eleonore’s insights into what we can learn there from Jesus about suffering.
In light of having to tell you again, that there’s no improvement in my health, I also want to say that though it may appear that God isn’t present in the situation, He most certainly is, and it’s often been in His apparent absence that I‘ve found Him to be most present. I’ve long loved Frederick Buechner’s perspective on Job …
“It is out of the whirlwind that Job first hears God say “Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?” (Job 42:3) it is out of the absence of God that God makes himself present, and it is not just the whirlwind that stands for his absence, not just the storm and chaos of the world that knock into a cocked hat all man’s attempts to find God in the world, but God is absent also from all Job’s words about God, and from the words of his comforters, because they are words without knowledge that obscure the issue of God by trying to define him as present in ways and places where he is not present, to define him as moral order, as the best answer man can give to the problem of his life. God is not an answer man can give, God says. God himself does not give answers. He gives Himself, and into the midst of the whirlwind of his absence gives Himself.”
In her book Chasing Grace, writer and clinical psychologist Martha Manning writes these words …”There seem to be two levels of suffering. There’s the suffering itself. And then there is the almost universal sense of isolation that comes with the territory of suffering. The sense of being apart in one’s pain has to do with the hard but true fact that no one can walk our road for us.” But she continues to say “I have also learned that I don’t have to go through every type of pain to make me a credible listener. I have no intention of becoming an alcoholic so that I can better understand those members of my family, friends, and patients who struggle with alcoholism. I pray that I am spared from that, and all the other hardships that would make me closer kin to other sufferers. In my own way I have suffered long and hard, and it has taught me that there are also universals of pain that can bridge the gap between my experience (or lack of it) and another person’s very different pain.
The essence of the singular struggle with suffering is the same. It is the dogfight between spirit and strength on the one side and fear and resignation on the other. We all know the universals of the struggle: it’s hard, it’s lonely, it’s scary, and it takes too ■■■■ long.” Manning then relates an old Irish legend that soundly illustrates the premise that “just having a companion on some part of the road can make the long, lonely walk seem shorter, and make the journeys, however difficult, infinitely more bearable.” Thank you for the companionship that this writing and reading of updates creates. It truly does make the walk seem shorter, and the journey more bearable. And your prayers are invaluable, so please continue to pray for me and mine. “More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.” (Alfred Lord Tennyson)
Looking forward to Easter and the celebration of all things made new.
With love and gratitude …
Colleen “