As I write this, I’m in an emotional pit created by a combination of sleepless nights, chronic depression, seasonal depression, and situational depression. In the midst of this, I started reading Embodied Hope: A Theological Meditation on Pain and Suffering, by Kelly Kapic. Although he writes from the perspective of those dealing with physical suffering, much of what he says can be applied to almost any situation. From the back cover, “Too often the Christian attitude toward suffering is characterized by a detached academic appeal to God’s sovereignty, as if suffering were a game or a math problem.” I would describe the book as an appeal to Christians to comfort those who mourn, not with theological treatises or vague platitudes, but by coming alongside the sufferer and entering into their pain. Following are some quotes:
“Even if we had in hand a theodicy [theology reconciling God’s goodness and our pain] that made sense, such dispassionate philosophical explanations leave us empty when we walk in the fire and ashes of genuine suffering. While there is a time to carefully dissect these philosophical problems, that time is not normally with those who are suffering” (ch. 2).
“Claims to provide the reason for a specific experience of suffering abound: divine discipline, for the purpose of church renewal, to bring a watching nurse or neighbor to salvation, or to foster personal humility. Unfortunately, all these claims are made without the true knowledge of exactly why something is happening. Even if these suggestions contain an element of truth, we are not in a position to unpack the mind of God regarding such mysteries… Such explanations assume that some good outcome can nullify or justify the pain, but this is not so. A tragedy is still a tragedy; pain is still pain, even if some insight is gained in the process” (ch. 2).“Each person is coming from a different circumstance, with specific challenges and needs, with individual strengths and temptations. Part of loving well is figuring out what response is needed and appropriate in a given circumstance (see Jude 22-23). This is where theological instincts and pastoral wisdom come together. To be pastoral does not mean earning money for working in a church… Pastoral in this sense refers to the ability to give wise counsel, to know how to love well, provide necessary guidance, and in the end to help a fellow believer flourish under God’s grace and love” (ch. 2).
Even as our hearts can be prone to question, filled with dread and doubt, let us take confidence that our God personally understands us, not hypothetically but concretely in Christ. Jesus wept tears, for in and through his incarnate life he had fully entered into the drama of fallen human experience. His ache and struggle give new meaning to our tears and suffering: God cares about our sin and distress so much that he enters into it himself” (ch. 7).
“Living within this story means that we strengthen our weakened sisters and brothers by drawing them to and reminding them of the word, presence, and action of the triune God, becoming avenues of God’s grace and mercy… The Christian life requires not an individual but a people—the people of God. Only together can we believe, hope, and love amid our struggles” (ch. 9).
“Amid such difficult seasons of life, [Martin] Luther understood that the fog of doubt often obscures the believer’s vision: accordingly, the taunts of hell often grow louder during those periods. He recognized this because he lived it himself… He wrote, ‘I almost lost Christ in the waves and blasts of despair and blasphemy against God, but God was moved by the prayers of saints and began to take pity on me and rescued my soul from the lowest hell.’ Luther knew that in times of physical and emotional distress saints often struggle to believe and are afflicted with confused images of God and his work in the world. During such seasons the Christian leans heavily on the faith and prayers of other saints, for by them one is sustained or even ‘rescued’” (ch. 9).
“[Martin Lloyd-Jones and others] counseled their followers to preach to themselves and embrace the good news of Jesus and his kingdom. Still, the weakness of this prescription, taken by itself, is that it is overly individualistic, ignoring our nature as members of a larger body, and thus also inherently unstable when isolated. Lloyd-Jones’s assertion that ‘the main art in the matter of spiritual living is to know how to handle yourself’ ignores the problem that we don’t always know how to handle ourselves, nor can we be trusted to handle ourselves. We need others” (ch. 10).
“Each case has its own distinct shape and needs its own response. But each of them brings its own real trauma. Each person will deal with it differently: some in silence, some in outbursts of rage, some with an athletic commitment to beat the grief, some with a sense of shame, and still others trying to discover a stoic detachment. What those who are trying to help do not always appreciate is that there is real power in simply walking with another person through that particular experience, bearing witness to the real challenges” (ch. 11).
“Witnessing one another’s pain also offers us the ability to find rest… When a friend shares my outrage I am actually quieted; I am allowed to rest, for someone else has taken up the concern. But if their response is ‘That is no big deal,’ and I am sure it actually is a big deal, then my irritation and frustrations grow rather than diminish. What I need is not for someone to tell me everything is okay; I need them to acknowledge that something is wrong—that I am not insane, but a real problem is at hand… The witness doesn’t actually make the pain go away, doesn’t actually fix everything, but I no longer feel isolated” (ch. 11).
“Christians with similar pains may have good things to say to their fellow sufferers. However, often what ends up happening is one person’s suffering trumps another’s, undermining the loss instead of offering true comfort… Why did such well-meaning offerings trigger in me a nasty train of thought? They were only trying to help… What I discovered was that suffering isn’t a contest, and comparing can often leave one person feeling guilty and the other bitter… However, even in our very similar circumstances, we must carry our sufferings to Christ” (ch. 11).
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At various times I’ve experienced people theologizing, minimizing, avoiding, or giving the “Everything’s gonna be alright” speech. Those are the people I generally want to avoid. I’ve also experienced those who pray for me, ask genuine questions about my wellbeing, and quietly point to God’s loving care even while I express my doubts and fears. They may not be able to fully enter into the valley with me, but they aren’t just shouting at me from the mountaintop. As Kapic concludes chapter 10:
“May we, as the people of God, care for one another in love. May we truly be the body of Christ. May we confess our sins to one another, offering honesty, grace, and transformed lives. Let us love one another in grace and truth. We are sinners. We are under the cross. Here is our hope. May it be so.”
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Listen to I Will Wait for You (Psalm 130) by Keith and Kristyn Getty.
© 2022 Dawn Rutan. Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture are ESV. Book cover courtesy of Amazon.com. The opinions stated do not necessarily reflect the views of my church or employer.
