Believing Suffering

         I've been thinking about suffering. Why do things go so terribly wrong in this world and how is it that even with God as our defender, we still experience pain? Many have asked this question; I see it in the news often, I have read it in the poetry of my Hebrew ancestors, and I hear whispers of it in my future.
         A mother stands in front of the press, cameras flashing in her face as she blinks away tears and tries to maintain her composure. Unable to, she wipes her eyes violently with her hands as she pleads for justice to be given to her son, the murder-victim of a senseless and brutal crime. Later as she sits alone, her coffee gone cold, she wonders why her child was taken from her and why justice seems so close, and yet so very far away. Another woman appears still and quiet, not yet over the shock of the devastation around her. She follows her husband as he carefully walks through the ashes explaining, “this was the kitchen”, as they tour the news reporter through the remains of what was their beautiful retirement home. She has not yet asked the question of what comes next, she dares not think of it now while the world fixes its eyes on their situation for a but a brief moment. When the cameras are turned off, it's just the two of them and all that they have is a few pictures of the life they will never see again. A young man watches their story late one evening before he leaves for his night shift. He sympathizes greatly having himself experienced great loss. His father had passed away last year and left him a fair inheritance, one he quickly invested in the stock market. The recessing economy threatens him on more than one front; his future livelihood and the honor of his father. Indeed the world around us is a fragile thing.
         In the Psalms, I read the cries of the broken hearted. They question their choir leader: “How can it be that we, your people, suffer right now when we have done no wrong?  You have rejected us and have not gone out with our armies. You have sold your people for a trifle, demanding no high price for us. All this has come upon us, yet we have not forgotten you, our heart has not turned back, nor have our steps departed from your way. Awake, rise up, come help us! Why do you sleep Lord? Why do you hide your face? Why do your forget our affliction? Redeem us for the sake of your steadfast love.” In another time, another place, the response of mankind in the face of suffering is still, “why?” proving the question to be both universal and timeless.
         I myself have not experienced great suffering but I do not disqualify the possibility of it in my future. In fact, I think it would be rather naïve to think that heartache and loss will not be a part of my experience. It seems to be something one should expect from life, like one should expect the seasons to change. I am in the summer of my life. With the occasional rain, I live in the joys of the beauty and warmth around me. But as certain as the autumn wind to blow away the greenery around me and as certain as the cold of December, is the suffering I should expect to experience. The stories I hear on the news of people who have hit their cold season, and the lamenting poetry of the ancestors of my faith remind me that my season could change in a moment and really, it is only a matter of time. But who can resist the beauty of the sparkling snow in the moonlight of a fresh winter night? It is as if the snow reflects the stars in the heavens above, making each moment seem like magic. If there was no winter, how could we delight in the newness of Springtime? Can one believe that in the moment of suffering there is purpose, even beauty?
         One thing we assume when we ask questions is that there are answers. If we search we will find them, if we listen we will hear them, if we really want to, we will receive the answers. But in the face of no answers, those who seek to comfort their friends suggest, “Give it time.” How does the saying go, “Time heals all wounds”? For some “Time” acts only as heat searing nerves, taking away all feeling leaving them numb to the pain and also to the pleasantness of what is still theirs. But for others, suffering is a tree they plant in bitterness and water with tears. After time, it yields surprisingly sweet fruit. What then is the difference between these? Faith. Faith that there is a purpose and a future, like the Psalmist crying out for redemption. Believing like a child, faith doesn't require facts; it perseveres, seeing the reason or simply trusting that there is one while waking up each morning to live life.

When the wind reverses to blow away the leaves
A new planting: the suffering tree
Water it with my tears I will,
Shocked and pained and standing still.
Give it time to grow, I'll wait though it be slow.
Faith buds many flowers in the springtime;
Sweet fruit that lasts a lifetime.