Suffering and Consolation

Nora’s St. Jude Journey, cover photo

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all consolation, who consoles us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to console those who are in any affliction with the consolation with which we ourselves are consoled by God. – 2 Corinthians 1:3-4

Sometimes, you choose your path through life; sometimes your path chooses you. Just recently, we’ve traveled an unexpected path with our 15-month-old granddaughter Nora, daughter of my son Ben and daughter-in-law Jocelyn. On June 21, Nora was diagnosed through ultrasound and CT scan with an abdominal mass. On July 2, Nora had surgery at St. Jude, Memphis, to remove the mass.

Some of you follow my children on social media, and already have the perspective their posts provide. I want to respect the wishes of my children to release details at their own pace. Those who would like to learn more are invited to join the facebook group “Nora’s St. Jude Journey.”

Suffice it to say that this is a life-changing event in more ways than I can easily describe. Throughout the day, the focus of conversation shifts between short-term concerns for Nora’s surgical recovery and eventual trip home, to middle-term concerns about how two parents who work full-time will manage home care and follow-up treatment, to long-term concerns about how the prescribed treatments will impact the rest of Nora’s life.  You can imagine how difficult the decisions being made are for two young parents.

Ben and Jocelyn have been taking shifts, alongside with the wonderful pediatric medical team. They describe the sights and sounds, hopes and fears of night time in that place. Various pieces of equipment monitor Nora’s condition, with alarms that sound if a measure wanders outside pre-determined parameters. I remember similar experiences with other loved ones, and sympathize with the feelings of sitting too long uncomfortably, trying not to doze off too deeply, listening for signs of distress, holding a hand, praying, and acting as best I could to make things less harsh. This week has given me a new perspective on what it means to provide support in the midst of suffering.

When I try to step back and assess our situation, I realize that my family’s collective suffering is not unique. I know there have been moments when many of you have felt such feelings. You’ve been living a life of faith in God, and obedience to God’s voice as best you understand it.  You’ve fought battles that put your faith to the test.  Then along comes a crisis that threatens you so deeply that you’re not sure how to handle it.  Perhaps you, too, received a difficult medical diagnosis, or maybe it was the death of a family member or close friend.  You feel the anguish, and you pray to God for help in seeing some hope that lies beyond the suffering.

The Bible often speaks to the experience of suffering. You find “suffering speech” in obvious places like the Book of Job.  You find it in the passion narratives of the gospels, with their descriptions of Jesus’ torture and death. In Paul’s epistles, including today’s text, he connects suffering with the comfort of Christ, and the comforting support of brothers and sisters in his community of faith.

The Hebrew testament text Kalyn read is one of the psalms called a “lament,” and seems to rise out deep trouble, perhaps severe illness. Walter Brueggemann, one of our favorite Old Testament scholars, has many insights into the way the ancient texts shape our faith. What he says elsewhere about prophetic vision could just as well be applied to this psalm. In moments of despair, looking for healing beyond serious suffering may seem like an outrageous expectation. He says, “It is outrageous because the new world of God is beyond our capacity and even beyond our imagination …. In our fatigue, our self-sufficiency, and our cynicism, we deeply believe that such promises could not happen here.”[1]  As this lament concludes, the psalmist suddenly has a new tone and mood, the reason for which goes unexplained. The psalm’s repeated use in Israel’s worship suggests that it reflected their experience of God’s grace revealed in, through, and beyond times of suffering.

The apostle Paul had his own particular way of expressing this truth. In the text I read, he says, “For just as the sufferings of Christ are abundant for us, so also our consolation is abundant through Christ.” In the midst of the week’s suffering, I’ve tried to keep my eyes open for signs of consolation. I’ve experienced the world-class resources of St. Jude Hospital in Memphis. Some of you are familiar with St. Jude through the efforts of entertainer and co-founder Danny Thomas, and fundraising commercials featuring patients you may see on TV even today. 

The medical team at St. Jude is highly competent and wonderfully caring.  Near the end of a long procedure, the chief surgeon gave more than one hour of his time to a consultation with Ben and Jocelyn. After surgery was completed, he came back for another final report to the family.  If I had time, I could tell you of nothing but amazingly supportive encounters with people from the security guard at the time we arrived, to the valet parking attendant at the time we left.  Each member of the ICU nursing staff arriving for their 12-hour shifts introduced themselves, and took time to listen. When I think of all the children suffering in this world, I feel both deep gratitude for the medical support and care given, and a sense of challenge that our world can do better for many other children, too. During this pause in what still feels like a kind of nightmare, I pray for the sensitivity – for me and all those involved – to experience God’s grace and to be reminded that love is stronger than despair; suffering is not the final word. 

We Christians live in a tension between the good news our faith announces, and the suffering that we and others experience. We know that God’s promises aren’t yet realized, at least not in fullness.  But, if we look in the right places, we can see enough love and taste enough grace to console us in our affliction.  May the Lord bless and keep us, and bless those we love with mercy, healing, grace, and peace.

NOTES

[1] Walter Brueggemann, sermon entitled “Outrageous God, Season of Decrease,” sermon review in Lectionary Homiletics, 14 Nov. 2004, p. 61.

READ MORE, https://www.fpcedw.org/pastors-blog