Use what hurts!
Suffering knocks us, doesn’t it? It steals from us, makes us question. It scares us. Our bodies hurt. A loved one dies. Kids get sick. Ukraine goes on and on. Israel and Gaza. We sit with Jeremiah when he cries,
“In Ramah is heard the sound of moaning, of bitter weeping! Rachel mourns her children, she refuses to be consoled because her children are no more” (Jeremiah 31:16).
But do we allow this feeling, this angst, this sorrow to do what it is so able to do?! Do we use it to see God?
Suffering levels the playing field. It strips from us our false selves. There is no ego, no bravado, no pretense in suffering. We are never more our real selves, and that is a prime ingredient in seeing God. Being real.
“Ah, there she is,” I bet God says, when we drop the rote prayers and let God see our anger, our broken hearts, our tired confusion, our wounds. Yes, we pick up everything that hurts, ours and others’ suffering, and set it down at God’s feet and then back up and wait. We say what we need to say. We cry. We scream. We complain. But we don’t dare just walk away. No, this is sacred ground.
After all, it is the image of God within us that cries! It is the image of God within us that writhes, questions, and “mourns her children.” We’re not waiting for God to show up. God is already here! We’re waiting for it to dawn on us that this is God inviting us to relate with him in a wholly new and transformative way.
Richard Rohr tells us there are two paths that have the power to push us into God: love and suffering. Ah! This is why I call suffering sacred ground.
Reflection
How is coming before God in such sorrow different than coming before God with memorized prayer and half your attention?
Prayer
God, I’m mad. I’m full of sorrow. I hurt, and I don’t get you! But standing here, after crying (and yelling), after saying all I can think of saying, I am aware of a strange comfort. It’s like something has come together within me. It’s like your image within me finally met me, and it is strangely comforting, yes. It is strangely empowering. Teach me how to come here more often, Lord. I want to know you more. Amen.