Do These Three Things When Suffering Comes
None of us want to talk about suffering. But we need to talk about suffering.
I have no doubt that some readers are practically suffocating in the midst of grief and loss. For some of you, the darkness is so thick that the very notion of enjoying God and his gifts is almost inconceivable.
ANCHORING OUR REFLECTIONS
In order to focus this discussion, I want to anchor my reflections to a particular section of Scripture. I’ve chosen 2 Corinthians 1:3–11 because it speaks to the reality of suffering with such clarity and relevance. Before continuing, I want to invite you to read the passage carefully:
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too. If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer. Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort. For we do not want you to be unaware, brothers, of the affliction we experienced in Asia. For we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again. You also must help us by prayer, so that many will give thanks on our behalf for the blessing granted us through the prayers of many. (2 Cor. 1:3–11)
With that passage in mind, let’s start by distinguishing different kinds of suffering. We might distinguish natural suffering (such as sickness and disease) and moral suffering (such as persecution and malice). We could distinguish suffering based on intensity—inconveniences (such as when your favorite restaurant changes its menu and drops your favorite item) versus calamities (such as the death of a loved one).
LOSS AND LONGING
But within the category of natural calamities, there is another distinction I want to make. It’s the difference between losing something that we already had and desiring something that we’ve not received. This is the suffering of loss and the suffering of longing.
Both are painful. Both can break your heart. But there are differences worth noting.
In the suffering of loss, we know the sweetness of what we no longer possess. When Dad dies, when the child dies, when sickness or injury robs us of health, we hurt because we know what we’re missing. Our past haunts our present. We look back and say, “Why? God, why did you take him? Why did this happen to me?”
In the suffering of longing, we hurt because we want something that God is withholding. It’s not that he’s taking; it’s that he’s not giving. When we’re longing for a husband or a wife, when we’re aching for a baby, our future haunts our present. We look around and say, “Why not? God, why not me?”
Now, I bring up these distinctions in kinds of suffering for a reason. They matter. The particulars matter.
In 2 Corinthians 1 Paul says that he doesn’t want them to be unaware of the affliction in Asia—the unbearable burden, the despair, the feeling that they had been sentenced to die. The Asian affliction was different from the Syrian affliction or the Thessalonian affliction. There are differences between loss and longing, and between losing a parent and losing a child, between wanting a spouse and wanting a baby.
The particulars do matter.
THE DANGER IN MAKING DISTINCTIONS
But the main reason I bring up the distinctions is the danger of the distinctions. It is far too easy for us to compare suffering, to try and gauge who has suffered more or whose pain lingers longest.
It’s easy to look at the affliction in Asia and say that it’s worse than the affliction in Corinth. It’s easy for the unmarried to look at the pains of marriage and say, “At least you have a spouse.” It’s easy for someone who has lost a child to look at the loss of a sibling or parent and say, “It’s not the same.”
And that’s true. It’s not the same. The particulars matter. But that truth can actually hide one of the central things that the Bible wants us to see about suffering. Listen again to Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians:
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. (1:3–4)
God comforts us in our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those in any affliction. There are different afflictions, and those differences matter. But we cannot let the differences in affliction overshadow the fundamental commonality in all afflictions. What is that commonality?
It’s that the only comfort in any and all affliction comes from the one God, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort. All comfort. Whether you’ve lost someone or you’re longing for someone. Whether you’re assaulted by sickness or assaulted by evil men. Whether your suffering is comparatively great or comparatively small. Our only hope in affliction comes from the only God who gives all comfort.
When suffering comes, there are three things we must do.
PRESS INTO PAIN
First, we must press into the pain. We must not stand aloof and detached. We’re not Stoics. We don’t believe the lie that says, “If you truly loved God, you wouldn’t be weeping and wailing like this.”
Instead we grieve the way that people in the Bible grieved. Job trusted in the goodness of God, and that didn’t keep him from feeling the loss of his children. He tore his robe. He shaved his head. He fell on the ground, and he sat there for seven days. He grieved and wept and worshiped through tears.
Or just read the Psalms. Listen to David and Asaph wrestle with God in their grief. “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?” (Ps. 13:1). “Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?” (Ps. 10:1). They cry out for justice. They claim his promises. They hold nothing back. They pour out their souls to God.
And then, of course, there’s Jesus. Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. Weeping over Jerusalem. Deeply moved in his spirit by the grief of Mary and Martha. Shedding troubled tears at the tomb of Lazarus, minutes before he would raise him from the dead.
Now, why can they do this? Why can they (and we) press into the pain? In 2013 my dad passed away after a seven-year battle with dementia and Parkinson’s. At some point during those years, I came across a quotation that has hung with me ever since. “It hurts just as much as it’s worth.” It hurts just as much as he’s worth. It hurts just as much as she’s worth.
Sorrow is what love looks like when love’s object is taken. The depth of the pain shows the value of what was lost. And the things of earth are unfathomably valuable because they are designed to bring us to God. And they can bring us to him, even when they are being taken by him.
PRESS INTO PEOPLE
Second, we must press into people. We must not isolate ourselves. It may hurt more. They may not know what to say. It may be embarrassing. In addition to the loss, we may have to endure the additional pain of being pitied. No one likes to be pitied.
In 2 Corinthians the central link between the God of all comfort and the afflicted person is others who have suffered and been comforted. We are one of the key ways that God brings comfort. It’s our prayers that bring help. It’s our presence and words that bring comfort.
But bringing comfort to others requires that we have received comfort ourselves and have the wisdom to know how to channel that comfort in ways that will actually help.
We need wisdom about when to speak and when to be silent, when to sit and grieve and when to offer counsel. We need wisdom to know who should speak and what words are appropriate and when those words are appropriate. And we need grace and patience from those who are afflicted when we fail. Who is sufficient for these things?
But the fact that it is hard doesn’t mean that we can avoid it. We’re the link between the comfort of Christ and the affliction of people. If we’re to do 2 Corinthians 1 well, we must be connected both to the one who is afflicted and to the God of all comfort.
PRESS INTO THE LORD
Finally, we must press into the Lord. In your sorrow, do not sin. Weep, wail, grieve, lament. Rage against this broken and cursed world and the evil powers that steal and kill and destroy.
But never curse God.
Don’t run from him. He is the only source of comfort. He is the God of all comfort. Press on to know him. Press hard into him.
As surely as the coming of the dawn, he will respond.
Content adapted from Strangely Bright by Joe Rigney, ©2020. Used by permission of Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers, crossway.org.
Joe Rigney (PhD, University of Chester) is assistant professor of theology and literature at Bethlehem College & Seminary in Minneapolis, Minnesota. He is also a pastor at Cities Church and the author of Live Like a Narnian and The Things of Earth. He lives in Minneapolis with his wife and three sons. You can follow him on Twitter.