A few weeks ago I went to bed with some dull aching pain in my hip and woke up in the middle of the night with currents of cramping pain shooting down my leg. If you are familiar with sciatic pain you know exactly what I’m talking about!
I suffered for a few days and could not find relief so I sucked it up and went to the chiropractor. As it turns out, after x-rays and a subsequent MRI, I have some herniated discs in my lumbar spine that are touching the nerves and this is what had caused the pain. Thank the Lord, the chiropractor has helped a lot (don’t worry…he’s adjusting me in a specific way to avoid further damage to the discs).
But this isn’t exactly about that. I mean, I’m not writing this for sympathy or advice on how to deal with herniated discs or sciatic pain or what have you. Rather, in a more general sense, I have had some reflections on pain because of the experience.
To begin, I have a couple of disclaimers.
First, the pain I experienced those first few days before seeing the chiropractor is nothing compared to the chronic pain I know that some of you deal with. To you with chronic pain, trust me when I say that I have always admired your strength and determination. I pray for you in a new way now. I fully admit that I am no expert in pain, either physical or emotional.
Second, I’m going to be comparing the pain of childbirth and sciatic nerve pain and I need to start by letting you all know that I had two really fantastic birth experiences. I don’t say that to brag, by any means, but rather to recognize that my experience may not be your experience. I do not deny that some of you laboured for days and endured much longer than I did to hold onto that babe, nor that some of you have even experienced birth trauma, miscarriage, D&Cs and stillbirth. I am not trying to minimize your experience. I am merely going to be comparing my experience of the two most difficult experiences of pain I have lived through.
Getting back to the story – as I lay there with shooting pain filling my entire left leg, I found myself wishing to give birth to a thousand babies rather than experience that particular pain. Obviously, that is physically imposible and I was hyperbolic in my delusional start. I will say, however, that I have given birth naturally, without medication, to two babies, and I am willing to state flat out that the sciatic pain of a few weeks ago is the worst pain I have ever felt. Reflecting on why that was the case is what prompted my current reflections on pain. Why was this new pain worse than my experience of childbirth? In reality they were similar pains – muscles in a large portion of my body involuntarily clenching in a very painful way. What made this particular pain so much more unbearable?
This is my hypothesis: pain, when it is purposeful, is ultimately bearable. Giving birth is one of the most purposeful pains one could endure – it is towards the end of holding that tiny babe in your arms. Or for those of you who can’t relate to that, think of training hard for a sport, or doing an Iron Man race, or climbing Everest. All of those things require sacrifice and pain but that sacrifice and pain has a finality: being the best, the fastest, or reaching that goal or that mountain top. It is all purpose-full pain. Human’s can push themselves to incredible limits when that is the case.
On the other hand, when pain appears purposeless, when it seems like only pain for pain’s sake, that is where the will, the heart or the body breaks. When that pain is not reaching towards the fulfillment of a final purpose, when it seems nonsensical, or without end…who can bear that hopelessness? I’m sure we can all think of real-life, current situations that could fall under this category. We know bodies and minds that have given out under such circumstances.
Yet, at the same time, we hear inspiring stories of how people have experienced the deepest and most profound physical and emotional pain, lived through the most inhumane circumstances, suffered the profoundest losses and have survived. These stories exemplify hanging onto hope, even if only by a fingernail, and finding purpose, even if that purpose is purely to survive.
I have heard people express this platitude in Spanish, “No debes preguntar ¿por qué? Más bien pregunta, ¿para qué?” It translates to, “you shouldn’t ask “why” (which speaks to reason), instead ask “for what” (which speaks to purpose). It sounds like a cliché, and I cringe to think of speaking that into the middle of someone’s painful situation, however, I do think that maybe it is true. When we suffer, we can look into the past and ask, “why?” We can search for the reason why this thing has happened. We can shake our fist at the heavens and demand an explanation. There is no law against this by the way. Lament is a perfectly appropriate way to deal with pain and loss. The Psalms are full of lament. But the fact remains that we may never find an answer to that question that satisfies us. Our other response can be to look to the future, and perhaps even the present, and ask, “for what purpose?” This question can find an answer, even if it boils down purely to survival. But maybe it sounds like, “so we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God” (2 Corinthians 2:4), or “so that the works of God might be displayed” (John 9:3), or so that “suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope” (Romans 5:3-4). Or so that I can grow in empathy and compassion or gratitude; or no longer take things for granted; or get my priorities straight; or be a part of ushering in a better world.
I’m going to continue chewing on this one, and I invite your thoughts and comments below. I’ll leave you this from Hebrews 12:1-2:
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses [see Hebrews 11], let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.