When Pain Comes Out Ugly!

Have you ever felt embarrassed by your own reactions to a hurtful experience? Something happens to you that assaults your heart, claws at your dignity, threatens your well-being and you respond with bitter outrage. Now, not only are you reeling from the blistering incident, you stand exposed and ashamed at your outburst of emotion, humiliated that you can’t manage your pain with greater finesse.

A conversation recently took me back to an event in my life when I did not manage my own pain with tremendous poise and grace. I let others see the hurt, have a glimpse of the wound, and in so doing, paid a pretty price. Many who witnessed my outcry found my lament to be too much. Even some whom I would have called friends could not handle my strong, caustic emotions and turned away in disgust.

It’s hard to remember that time in my life and the loneliness and rejection I felt. But if I’m honest, I, too, am uncomfortable when pain comes out ugly in another person. I’m particularly sensitive to cynicism. When I detect bitter rage and raw blame in someone, I feel anxious and wary. My instinct is to treat their condition as if it was contagious and run away. Why is that?

This morning, I read Psalm 73 and a portion of it got me thinking, and led me down this path of contemplation. Here is how the psalmist described God’s reaction to pain when it comes out ugly:

“Then I realized that my heart was bitter,
And I was all torn up inside.
I was so foolish and ignorant—
I must have seemed like a senseless animal to you.
Yet I still belong to you;
You hold my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
Leading me to a glorious destiny.”
Psalm 73:21-23, NLT

As I read these words, I identified with feeling “all torn up inside,” “foolish and ignorant” and so distraught I must have “seemed like a senseless animal.” In that state of unkempt pain, I also experienced God’s gracious, abiding presence. Yes, even when pain came out ugly, I was aware that I still belonged to God. He stayed with me, holding my hand and guiding me toward a better place.

In this Psalm, God shows us how to companion one another during times when we are all torn up inside. My anxiety and instincts tell me to run. But God’s example insists that I stay put, giving my friend a place to belong in his or her pain, a hand to hold, and an ear who will listen.

What do I have to be anxious about?

How can any of us avoid becoming anxious these days if we attempt to remain informed by watching or reading the news? Much of the time, I don’t even know what all of it means. When the newscaster announces that the Dow Jones is down by two hundred points, I have no idea how to translate that information. But some how, I have been conditioned to believe that whatever it means, it is awful, dreadful news!

It’s not that the bleak economic state of our country (and the world) is of no concern for me. I am currently looking for employment. Each day, I spend earnest moments in prayer, reminding God that I depend on him for my daily bread and a job that will provide it.

But lately, it occurred to me that much of the anxiety I feel is based on an illusion. I worry about not having enough money to pay our bills, but today we have enough money. I worry about not being able to purchase items that we need for our livelihood, but today we have everything we need.

So, why do I feel so uneasy when the source of my apprehension is fabricated? It is totally based in an imagined future that doesn’t even exist. My worry is over things that “could” or “might” be, but nothing that actually is!

As I was driving to a friend's house yesterday, I began to have a robust conversation with God and live in the NOW of His goodness. As I did, I realized that I lacked absolutely nothing. Immediately, I started counting my blessings—the many real, absolute, tangible earmarks of God’s goodness to me!

So I ask myself; what do I have to be anxious about? Something that doesn’t even exist?!

Becoming an Answer to Someone's Prayer

For the last several days, I have been reading an excellent book called, There’s a Hole in Our Gospel, by Richard Stearns, the President of World Vision. This book provokes me, in the very best sense of the word. I can’t read it without pausing and allowing the message to slap me in the face and sober me. The graphic tales of the world’s poor and the words of Jesus pierce me that I, as His follower, have a responsibility and privilege to care for the world’s poor.

This morning, Stearns described a trip that he and his wife took to a remote, mountainous village in Peru. There, they met a woman whose husband had died nine months previously. She had three small children who lived with her in a dirt-floored hovel, all of whom were sickened by parasites and disease.

During their visit, Richard Stearns asked the mother what she prayed for. She responded that she prayed for God to help her—for God to send her help. In that moment, Rich’s eyes were opened to realize something that had never occurred to him before. He was God’s answer to her prayer.

I feel certain that all around us, people are suffering for various reasons and in their distress, are crying out for God's help. They don’t know where else to turn, so they turn to a God they may know little of, wondering if that God will hear them and respond. And sure enough, God does respond by tapping one of his followers to become that answer.

For instance, my husband, who helps the poor find employment, recently met with a 58 year-old woman. She didn’t have a high school diploma or many marketable skills, and had just lost her job. She felt utterly hopeless. David walked her through a plan that would help her finish her GED and develop skills that would improve her employability. After their conversation, she stood with head bowed; hand over her mouth, ready to cry. David gently placed his hand on her shoulder and said, “Are you okay?” All she could muster was, “Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus.” David had become God’s answer to her prayer.

Today, I ask God to help me become an answer to someone’s prayer. I wonder who that person might be. I wonder what they need that I have to give. I wonder how I will know them when I see them. I’ll let you know what happens. By the way, would you be willing to pray the same?

A Need to Tell

While visiting an Episcopal church recently, the priest told a riveting story from a book by Garcia Marquez called The Shipwrecked Sailor. The story is true—one of a Columbian sailor who was shipwrecked and lost at sea for ten days. Finally, his life raft drifted onto a remote beach where a man and his dog discovered the sailor.

Barely clinging to life, the sailor begged the man, “Help me.” The man stared with bewilderment but gave no response. Again, the sailor, a bit more earnest, implored him, “Help me.” Finally, the man broke his silence, and with a tone of incredulity asked, “What happened to you!?”

The man’s question bore through the sailor and pressed upon his conscious mind a need he had not fully realized. The sailor's greatest need wasn’t for food, or water, or shelter. His greatest need was the need to tell. He needed to tell….what happened to him.

I know about a pressing, agonizing need to tell. I remember feeling that urgent need after I had our first child. The experience was so awful and so wonderful; so incredibly painful and astonishingly beautiful—and nothing I could every have imagined or had ever come close to experiencing before—so I needed to tell someone! I called my friend Janet, a mother who knew what it was like to give birth and I told her, in graphic detail, what happened. I needed to tell.

There have been other times in my life when pain, betrayal, confusion, hurt, and loss were so overwhelming that I needed to tell. The only way I knew how to recover, to find my way, to survive the onslaught of anguish was to process it with another who offered his or her safe, compassionate ear.

The priest who introduced me to this story related several passages of Scripture where the psalmist needed to tell; where the prophet Isaiah needed to tell; and where Jesus needed to tell. And then he circled back around and suggested that what we often discover in our need to tell is another person’s need to hear.

I appreciate someone naming for me a phenomenon as basic to being human as the need to eat and drink—the need to tell what has happened, or is happening. I am grateful for those in my life who indulge me and listen when I need to tell. And I am hopeful that, at least on occasion, someone I tell needs to hear.

The Coming and Going of Life Together

As much as I dislike the fact, saying hello and goodbye to people, places, and seasons of life seems unavoidable. I am currently lamenting this unwelcome truth because one of those times for me has come. At the end of January, I ended my role as an interim associate minister in a church near my home.

My coming to this church was serendipitous. I met the pastor when I spoke at their women’s retreat and eventually joined the staff. From the beginning, I knew that when the congregation identified and called an ordained person, that would signal my time to leave. Though prepared, I still found the culmination difficult. I don’t like to say goodbye. I don’t like things to end. I don’t like to become uprooted from my place.

Yet, I know well enough that this movement is inevitable and, in the end, actually nurtures my life. Coming helps me become rooted and find my center. Going draws me out into the world and expands me.

In my last sermon, I talked about this phenomenon and wrote a coming and going prayer. We prayed it together, using a finger labyrinth—a beautiful symbol of coming and going. Here is a copy of my prayer. I have been praying it each morning, as I trace the labyrinth, and embrace the purpose of each motion.

The Coming and Going of Life Together
A Finger Labyrinth

A Coming Prayer:
Gracious God, the God who woos me,
draw me by Your Spirit through silence and stillness.
Help me find my way home.
Anchor me in Your love and grace
as I come to Christ in my weakness and
learn from His gentle and humble heart.
Give rest to my soul.

A Going Prayer:
Gracious God, the God who sends me,
lead me by Your Spirit with courage and strength.
Help me find my place in the world.
Fill me with joy from serving you
as I become Christ’s hands and feet and
learn to love as He has loved me.
Give vision to my soul.

Written for Christ the Savior by Beth Booram
1-25-09 (bethbooram@sbcglobal.net)