Frederick Buechner, in A Crazy, Holy Grace: The Healing Power of Pain and Memory, writes about stewarding pain:
I told this story to a group in Texas once, and afterward the retreat leader came up to me and said, “You’ve had a good deal of pain in your life,” which, of course, he could’ve said to any one of us. And he said, “You’ve been a good steward of it. You’ve been a good steward of your pain.” That caught me absolutely off balance. I’ve never heard that before. Steward has always been a boring, churchy word to me, you know? Stewardship Sunday or something like that. It’s about taking care of your money, probably. But to be a steward of your pain, what a marvelous idea. I’ve thought a great deal about it ever since—what it means to be a steward of your pain, the various ways in which we deal with the sad and puzzling things that happen to us over the course of our lives.
Pain is usually something we distance ourselves from. Our gut reaction to pain is to flinch–to pull away from it as quickly as we can. For most of us, myself included, that’s been our posture toward the Covid-19 outbreak and all its consequences. Personally, our family has seen the last few months of Jacob’s senior year in high school now spent in online courses and multiple once-in-a-lifetime trips/ activities of his cancelled; Kendra’s year-long-anticipated cruise cancelled; speaking events and job interviews of mine postponed; Jordan calling and saying she might have the virus (she’s didn’t–thank God). Nationally and globally, schools are closing; businesses are shuttering; financial markets are plummeting; churches aren’t meeting; physical and mental health services are struggling; and people are dying. These are painful times–times no one desires and everyone detests. Everything within us flinches at them.
But could these times be stewarded?
The question isn’t meant to diminish the tragedy and turmoil happening or the grief many are experiencing. Too often that is the mistaken posture of the church. We’re quick to dismiss or minimize pain. We’re reluctant to give space for people to grieve. In her book Suffering and the Heart of God, Diane Langberg writes of myths when it comes to pain and loss (186). They include these three:
- We shouldn’t talk about it, but should instead keep ourselves busy and distracted.
- If we really had faith in God, we wouldn’t even need to grieve, or at least not for very long.
- We should focus only on what we haven’t lost rather than what we have lost.
As we’ll see, even Jesus gave himself permission to feel his pain and to grieve it deeply. We should do the same, and allow others to do the same. To be followers of the Crucified One means to enter into his suffering, into our own suffering and into the suffering of others.
And, while we do this, we can sensitively ask ourselves and our God this question: could these unexpected and unwanted days, weeks and months be stewarded in some way?
John Ortberg writes of a study conducted among thousands of Christians. They were asked to identify the time in their life when they grew the most spiritually. Here’s what the study found (John Ortberg “Don’t Waste a Crisis” Leadership 1/31/11):
“The number one contributor to spiritual growth was not transformational teaching. It was not being in a small group. It was not reading deep books. It was not energetic worship experiences. It was not finding meaningful ways to serve. It was suffering. People said they grew more during seasons of loss, pain, and crisis than they did at any other time…One line of thinking is that adversity can lead to growth. Another line of thinking is that the highest levels of growth cannot be achieved without adversity. It may be that somehow adversity leads to growth in a way that nothing else does.”
I don’t doubt the same is true for many of you.
Now, to be clear, crisis can crush. Suffering can squeeze so hard we feel like dying. Let’s not over-glorify suffering as if we should have a “Bring it On!” bravdo toward it. We should have our eyes wide open regarding pain and loss. Friends of mine have ended their lives because they couldn’t live another day with the burden. Trauma torments and tears apart people in tragic ways.
And, at the same time, loss, pain and crisis can result in unparalleled depth of character, height of spirituality, width of wisdom and breadth of perspective. Pain can be stewarded. This is the conclusion of Scripture:
2 Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, 3 for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. 4 And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. (Jas. 1:2-4 ESV)
3 Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, 4 and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, 5 and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. (Rom. 5:3-5 ESV)
3 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, 4 who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. (2 Cor. 1:3-4 ESV)
What if we looked back on these days of 2020 as the days when our churches, our families and ourselves grew more than at any other time in life?
It’s a hard question to ask. But it’s one which Jesus’ own experience urges us to ask:
7 In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to him who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverence. 8 Although he was a son, he learned obedience through what he suffered. 9 And being made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation to all who obey him, 10 being designated by God a high priest after the order of Melchizedek. (Heb. 5:7-10 ESV)
“He learned obedience through what he suffered.” Suffering led to learning. The word “learned” means “to receive instruction.” It’s the same root word that gets translated “disciple” in the Bible. It’s like suffering was the rabbi and Jesus became a follower of it, receiving this rabbi’s teaching and wisdom.
We’re not used to even thinking of Jesus as one who learns or grows in any way. But, we get glimpses of this earlier in his life:
39 And when they had performed everything according to the Law of the Lord, they returned into Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth. 40 And the child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom. And the favor of God was upon him. (Lk. 2:39-40 ESV)
Mary and Joseph and Jesus have just returned from Jerusalem to their hometown of Nazareth. And Luke tells us something unexpected: Jesus “grew.” Jesus developed. Jesus matured. Not just physically. But emotionally. Intellectually. He was “filled with wisdom.”
The same thing is said a bit later:
51 And he went down with them and came to Nazareth and was submissive to them. And his mother treasured up all these things in her heart. 52 And Jesus increased in wisdom and in stature and in favor with God and man. (Lk. 2:51-52 ESV)
Once again, the family returns to Nazareth from Jerusalem, and Luke makes this unexpected statement: Jesus grew. Jesus developed. He increased in wisdom.
The Hebrew author is making a similar point, this time regarding pain and loss. Jesus did not desire to enter into this crisis–he begged his Father in the Garden of Gethsemane to let this cup pass. Nevertheless, when his hour of loss arrived, it was formative.
The same is true for us. Suffering can be instructive. We grow and learn through it. T. D. Jakes in Crushing writes this (64):
I’m convinced that the most poignant and powerful moments in our lives, however, happen when God takes us through the instructional and developmental seasons of suffering.
Lysa Terkeurst writes this in her book It’s Not Supposed to be This Way:
“If you have ever experienced an unexpected darkness, a silence and stillness you aren’t used to, know that these hard times, these devastating disappointments, these seasons of suffering are not for nothing. They will grow you. They will shape you. They will soften you. They will allow you to experience God’s comfort and compassion. But you will find life-giving purpose and meaning when you allow God to take your painful experiences and comfort others. You will be able to share a unique hope because you know exactly what it feels like to be them.”
Join me in this series as we explore how to make the most of the misery we’re now in. How to care for ourselves and for others. How to not just survive but even to thrive.
