Putting Up With The Pain.

By Alice Scott-Ferguson

I asked my granddaughter what impressed her most about the powerful movie of a few years ago, called The Passion of the Christ. The impetus for this article came out of her response. “When Simon of Cyrene called out for the beating to stop. Jesus had suffered so much so why would they go on causing Him more pain?” Her tender twelve-year old heart was deeply moved as were so many of us who watched it and echoed the cross-bearer’s plea. As we shielded our tear-filled eyes from the unrelenting beating, humiliation and scourging of our Savior depicted in this film, so we often want to hide from the ongoing assaults on our own lives—crying out “Stop!” Hearts crushed with a weight of grief, eyes swollen from an unending flow of tears, our lips repeatedly form the aching question—how long must I put up with the pain?

While myriad of writers, theologians and poets have wrestled through the ages with this enigma, there are no glib answers to the mystery of suffering. At a time when pain appears to be proliferating on ever front—physical, mental and emotional— this short reflection on suffering is a visceral response to our common experience. An anguish that is evident by the range and quantity of encouragement, hope and recovery cards available. There is a great need to encourage each another in these dark and bewildering times in which we live—a time to remind one another that there is purpose in the pain.

One could not watch the Passion movie without being struck with the brutality that begged the question as to what was so heinous and incompatible with heaven’s holiness that humankind could not be reconciled without such suffering. Many of my unbelieving friends find the entire concept of Jesus’ suffering and death totally repellent. A god who requires blood and beatings is irreconcilable with a Supreme Creator who loves his creation and doubters cannot make the leap of faith that is required to reconcile pain with higher purposes than our own limited human reasoning can comprehend. If we are honest, we who do believe find the problem of pain hard to grasp at times.

The writer to the Hebrews helps us to understand in these words: For it became him, for whom are all things, and by whom are all things, in bringing many souls unto glory, to make the captain of their salvation perfect through suffering. Though he were a Son, yet learned he obedience by the things which he suffered (Heb. 5:8). Commentators agree that this perfecting was not in order to perfect his character, but rather to equip him to be a leader of his people. Before he suffered he had the compassion of God, after suffering, he has the compassion of man. How grateful we are for such identification with us.

Some of the difficulty that we have in identifying pain as part of the believer’s walk, is that we are not taught that suffering is as much a gift as the trusting (Phil. 1:29). A large segment of Christianity claims that success alone should be the hallmark of a believer’s walk. However, one of the first directives that Paul received from his new Lord was that great suffering lay ahead (Acts 9:16). The Scriptures are unequivocal regarding the place of pain in the Christian life. We too learn obedience by what we endure; the word endure means to remain under and it is under the Hands of the Potter that we are transformed—little by little—into the image of the Son. Yes, there is purpose for the pain and we are assured that the suffering that ensues even from self-inflicted sin, diminishes our appetite for the transgressions that destroy us and which ultimately bring us home to the Father (1 Pet. 4:1,2). But how much does it take? Must we continue to be molded to the very end? The answer to the second question is undoubtedly, “Yes!”

As to first question--how much? our answer is not so clear. We all wrestle with instances from our own and others’ lives that stun us with their intensity and seemingly random acts of unkindness that crash in unannounced. Like the mother trying to come to terms with the fact that her three grown children are all alcoholics or the bright young entrepreneur who, despite diligence, determination and faith, finds his dreams have been replaced with the specter of bankruptcy. I know of a brilliant young Jewish girl with a Harvard PhD who had to abandon her blossoming career due to the diagnosis of a progressive, degenerative disease. She gave up her appointment, and went home in a wheelchair only to bury her mother a month later.

Yet, with staggering frequency, we hear the recurring refrain from those who suffer. “Only my faith in God saw me through.” And in the case of my Jewish acquaintance, the suffering resulted in a personal encounter with the Messiah. She went so far as to say that if she were offered her position, prestige and physical prowess back—but without Jesus—the reply would be a resounding No! Nonetheless, she is quick to add that this does not stop her wondering why God had to resort to such drastic methods to accomplish his purposes. Paul Billheimer declares, “God cannot train one without mystifying him, without baffling him.”

To use Henri Nouwen’s description of the saints—we are the chosen, blessed, broken and given. We are those who have been chosen to share in the fellowship of those sufferings. When we recall that Jesus in his grief—although knowing that the travail of his soul would bring many to life—still expressed his anguish to his Father, we are emboldened to do likewise in order to endure. John White in his life-saving book for hurting parents called, appropriately, Parents in Pain poses these challenging questions. “Have you ever groaned or wept before God? It is not right that your silence should rebuke the tender concern of the Most High, a God who listens and watches for the griefs of his people. Therefore you must not hide your grief …if he needed to pour out his agony to the Father, then do you suppose it would be a weakness for you to do so?” To have the ear of the Father certainly helps us put up with the pain.

Framing our anguish in Calvary’s kind of love will help us to run the race far beyond any distance we have yet endured. I am reminded of this as I look at the gift of a fine piece of sculpture called Forming Hands that sits on my desk. While the larger right hand is gouging out the lump of clay, the smaller, finer left hand holds the piece steady in the process. We can endure the pain because we know we are safe under the loving hands of the master Potter who is transforming us into the image of his Son. He will not destroy the raw material in the process.

Brennan Manning expresses this security eloquently in his breathtaking book, Ruthless Trust, “Ill winds may blow, more character defects may surface, sickness may visit and friends will surely die, but a stubborn, irrefutable certainty persists that God is with us and loves us. Something points to Someone who is filled with peace and power and love…Someone who inevitably will reconcile all things in himself.” Christianity is a someone, not an ethic, a moral code or a philosophy. Principles cannot stand against the tsunami of suffering. Only in the vital, organic union of our spirit with the resurrected Christ, is there the ability to endure the unendurable. A close friend tells me how simply calling out the Name of Jesus carries him miraculously through every time of testing and trial. “He simply shows up. I can’t explain it. I only know He is there and never fails me.”

So how long can we put up with the pain? As long as we remember that suffering is a gift, and that the Father is forming Christ in us in order that we will rule and reign with Him in the ages to come. In the meantime, we have the Holy Spirit who, as well as being our Teacher, is equally our Comforter and Guide—essential companions in carving a path through the bewildering vagaries of suffering. Hear the words of this glorious supplication for strength and encouragement from one of Paul’s letters written in today’s language. We pray that you’ll have the strength to stick it out over the long haul—not the grim strength of gritting your teeth but the glory–strength God gives. It is strength that endures the unendurable and spills over into joy, thanking the Father who makes us strong enough to take part in everything bright and beautiful that he has for us. (Col. Chapter 3, The Message)

Of the reality of those bright and beautiful promises let there be no doubt. Even while the storm still rages, he speaks and stills our trembling hearts and in a mind darkened in despair, the Savior’s serenity takes up royal residence and decrees peace. Then our cry will cease to be “Stop!” and will turn to “I trust you!” as we stand on tiptoe squinting through the fog for His appearing. Then, in the twinkling of an eye, we will be fully and finally changed. Then and only then will the pain be past.