The Stewardship of Pain (credit to F. Buechner)

"We're going to cure the world of its pain."

I remember hearing this line on Dopesick, and I was physically ill. On one hand, I believe in a God who will cure pain and will remove suffering. But on the other, there is a reality in this world that pain will be persistent. Yet we try to eliminate pain from the world on a daily basis; our economic system prospers on quick-fix messages of relieving suffering and pain. Synthetic drugs will not be the solution. "There is a lot of pain in the world", I have been known to say. Living in the presence of pain is no small thing, yet we do it everyday. How we do this is my question for today.

 

I have tried to be positive in this blog and will return to my hopeful way of writing later today or tomorrow, but right now I am lamenting the presence of pain in Madeline and the confusion and sadness I feel in watching her suffer.

 

We are watching the pain in a tiny, little body, and it is excruciating. Do I wish there was a drug to take it away? Yes, but the reality is that it is more complicated, and for each drop of medication, there is a side effect: drowsiness, weakness, constipation, slower recovery. The "stewardship of pain," a phrase from Frederich Buechner (with shout out to Jeff Munroe), is helpful but difficult for us to consider today. The balance of stewarding pain and removing pain is no small feat. 

 

Lindsay's brother is an incredible pain doctor in Minneapolis. He is on my mind these days, especially the decisions he has to make between the tension of removing pain and stewarding it on behalf of his pediatric patients. 

 

I don't know what to do with the presence of pain and the medical expectation of relieving it. But each time the nurse plunges pain medication into Madeline's IV I am wrought with grief and confusion. I keep wondering whether the opioids and pain meds will do more damage to her strength and recovery even as they work to alleviate pain and give her temporary comfort? 

 

In my old world of West Michigan and Western Theological Seminary, students would often quote the Heidelberg Catechism in chapel or in their essays. Confessions weren't part of my upbringing, and yet today their recitation provides some helpful language to me, especially considering Madeline who has literally lost hair from her head:

 

Q. What is your only comfort in life and in death?

A. That I/Madeline am not my own, but belong—body and soul, in life and in death—to [our] faithful Savior, Jesus Christ.

He has fully paid for all sins with his precious blood, and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil. He also watches over [Madeline] in such a way that not a hair can fall from [her] head without the will of [our] Father in heaven;⁷ in fact, all things must work together for our salvation.

Because She belongs to him, Christ, by his Holy Spirit, assures [us] of eternal life and makes [us] wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for him.

 

This is good news.

 

Frederich Buechner has a sermon, "The Stewardship of Pain", which is also on my mind today. I don't know exactly what to do with it, but I will offer a section of it to you as we try to advocate and encourage Madeline today:

 

I thought a lot about what the stewardship of pain means; the ways in which we deal with pain. Beside being a steward of it, there are alternatives. The most tempting is to forget it, to hide it, to cover it over, to pretend it never happened, because it is too hard to deal with. It is too unsettling to remember.

 

I think the world is always asking us to do it that way. Our families are always, in a way, part of the family system and so apt to say, "Don't talk about things that cause pain. You can't trust the world with those secrets. Those are family secrets. Keep them hidden. Keep them hidden from each other. Keep them hidden from yourself. Don't allow yourself to feel them." ....

 

Pain can become a treasure if we treasure it to the point where it can become compassion and healing, not just for ourselves, but also for other people. If you want to see that sort of thing in operation, the treasuring of pain, the using of pain to the healing of yourself and others, someday attend an open meeting of AA or any of the related groups. That is exactly what those people are doing, sharing their hurts, their experiences and their joys.

 

And remember the cross. It seems to me that the cross of Christ in a way speaks somewhat like this same word, saying that out of that greatest pain endured in love and faithfulness, comes the greatest beauty and our greatest hope. from "The Stewardship of Pain"

 

I offer our pain to you knowing many of the readers have been praying for Madeline and her recovery. I offer it to you because it cannot be hidden from our eyes, and it isn't the way it is supposed to be. I offer the story and the sermon because Madeline isn't the only one in pain, yet in a world trying to hide, alleviate, or forget pain, sometimes we need a reminder that "There is a lot of pain in the world." The only response is compassion and mercy - aligned with the One who dwells with us in suffering.

 

I am not sure what the other side of Madeline's pain will look like. I am not much of a "God is in control" theologian but the stewardship of pain seems to be one way of understanding what people mean when they say, "God's got this." I am hopeful this is so, and we covet your prayers as we go.

King is a therapy dog. 
I think King knows how to be present in the face of pain.