Sunrises and storms.

Last year, my Lenten journey was one of discovering joy. Rising early, in the still and quiet hours of the morning, and bearing witness to the beauty of the sun rising and starting a new day.

My journey this year, seems to be the complete opposite. Bearing witness to pain, instead of beauty and joy.  Instead of pulling me out of bed to experience the joy of the sun, my journey this year pulls me out of bed to experience the power of a storm. (My neighbors think I’m really normal…crazy lady sitting on the porch at the crack of dawn and standing in the middle of a rainstorm.)

Standing in the midst of a storm is scary. The wind whips and thunder crashes. No matter how old I am, it just makes me want to crawl under the covers in a safe place. Storms have power and are an unstoppable force. Any person with small children (or fur babies) knows the struggle of praying for temporary deafness so the storm doesn’t wake those precious bundles of joy. But it doesn’t usually work because storms, by their nature, command our attention.

Much like pain.

I’ve been reading a fantastic book called The Gift of Pain by Dr. Paul Brand. The book recounts Dr. Brand’s experiences working with leprosy patients over his extensive career. He was pivotal in changing the idea that the leprosy bacteria eats away at the body. He helped discover the main effect of leprosy is numbness…painlessness. The lack of pain leads a person to unknowingly cause harm to their own body. Without the wisdom pain brings, his leprosy patients were unable to protect themselves. He tells unbelievable stories of people walking on severely broken limbs because they had no way to tell there was a problem. Or even something as simple as a pebble in the shoe, a person that feels pain can compensate by redistributing their weight until the pebble can be removed.  But a person who feels nothing? They will continue on and most likely cause an injury, that will be more susceptible to infection because there is no pain to remind them of the injury.

Pain is our body’s teacher and protector.

In our society though, pain is something to be avoided at all cost. Pain is pushed as far away from the body as possible. Because of this fear and revulsion of pain, people in pain are typically pushed aside also. It can be difficult to wade through the waters with someone experiencing physical or emotional pain. It almost always guarantees inviting a certain amount of pain into your own life.

Galatians 6:2 doesn’t just recommend walking with those in pain, it tells us it fulfills the law of Christ.

Bear one another’s burdens, and so you will fulfill the law of Christ.

Bearing burdens doesn’t necessarily mean fixing problems. We can’t always make pain go away. Sometimes pain needs to be there to teach and instruct. Sometimes pain alerts us to bigger problems. And sometimes pain is mysterious and we have no idea why it is present. Bearing burdens simply means making the load lighter. Taking on some of the pain, so the other person can breathe.

So, let’s be a Church of burden bearers. Not shying away from hurt, but gladly walking aside those among us in pain. Wading through the murky waters together.

No pain, no gain

I didn’t foresee myself back at the blogging game this Lent.  I’m pregnant and busy and there are probably a billion other excuses I could make.  But, alas, I find myself back here because I’m pretty sure God is taking me on a journey, and I’m supposed to drag some people along with me.

My journey this Lent isn’t going to be one of humble simplifying or recognizing the joy in the sunrise.

My journey this year is focused on pain.  Sitting in the midst of the pain of others.  Feeling and learning from that pain.  Doesn’t that sound like fun? Are you ready to jump on in and journey with me?  Before you call me a masochist  and quietly leave my page never to return, hear me out. God has been reminding me over and over lately of the harmfulness of indifference and apathy.  Despite my best intentions, I’ve succumbed to this blissful medicine because sometimes taking on the hurts and burdens of the world and those around me feels like too much.  It makes me feel uncomfortable to worry about the injustices I feel I have no control over.  It’s a lot easier to ignore, put up some blinders, and carry on with things.

But things never change without people with broken hearts taking action.  

Pope Francis has declared this the Jubilee Year of Mercy.  A time to focus on how people should be treated.   Jesus extends unending mercy to us.  A forgiveness that surpasses anything we could ever deserve.  A forgiveness that calls us children instead of criminals. Everyone needs to feel this amazing mercy and grace, and we are called to show it to them by being Messengers of Mercy.  Displaying and extending God’s mercy. The first step is seeing people as God sees them and that includes having your heart broken, even if it’s uncomfortable.

I think our immediate reaction to pain is to push it away. Get it as far away from us as possible. But pain indicts there’s a problem.  Something we need to fix.  Without acknowledging the pain, healing will never happen.  I don’t want to ignore the wounds in my own life, and since God calls us to serve and love our neighbor I don’t want to ignore the wounds around me either.

So I will sit with pain this Lent.  I will sit in silence and pray for my heart to be broken for the hurt in the world.  We, as Christians,  can’t sit aside and ignore the wounds festering around us.

Jesus certainly didn’t.