Somebody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen: A Christmas Reflection

I have had a headache for a very long time. It started on January 11, 1980, when a meningitis-like illness attacked the nerves in my head, causing them to misfire painfully ever since. This has produced three and a half decades of continuous pain. When I last did the math, I clocked more than 13,000 consecutive days and 312,000 uninterrupted hours of pain. And my three-year battle with cancer and treatments has only made it worse.

Dr. Tuna

Not surprisingly, this has generated numerous doctor’s visits and an equal number of disappointments. My condition is very rare. While three out of one hundred might have it for a few months, almost none have it for thirty-five-plus years. And given the complete lack of any medical or natural remedy to cure or manage my pain, doctors have had to apologize time and again for their inability to help. No matter what they have prescribed, nothing has provided any relief.

While most doctors and therapists have been sympathetic, one of my headache specialists had all the bedside manner of a frozen tuna. Mouth open with a slight droop to the side. Eyes glazed. Demeanor as cold as ice. When I told Dr. Tuna that I had had a headache for decades, that I had seen dozens of doctors, and that I had been tested, scanned, MRI-ed, blood-worked, medicated, diet-adjusted, exercised, vitamin-supplemented, PT manipulated, acupunctured, and chiro-adjusted, all he did was suggest that I hadn’t tried hard enough. No lie. He scolded me for not finding an answer for something that has no answer—which even he had to admit eventually.

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate that he tried to fix me (even if in vain). As a patient, that’s mostly what I cared about. But as a flesh-and-blood, chronically afflicted, emotionally spent human being with pulsating pain, I very much wished for something more. In my view, my good doctor would have been well-served by a stiff two-month headache to thaw him out a bit and make him more than a headache specialist. As a headache sufferer, he might have become a headache sympathizer, which, ironically, would have made him a better headache specialist. Or at least one could hope.

Thank God For Christmas

There’s a Christmas lesson here, for Christmas is the ultimate expression of sympathy and care that’s ever been known to man. When Christmas first happened, Emmanuel arrived to live in our broken world with us. The incarnate God became a Man of Sorrows who was acquainted with our grief, who suffered human brokenness in his own body for decades on end right up to and through the Cross, and who has been sympathizing with and praying for us ever since (Isa. 53:3–6; Matt. 1:23; Heb. 5:27; 7:25).

What that means is that God-with-Us is more than a specialist; he’s a sympathizer. He hasn’t merely diagnosed our needs and written a script. Rather, he has come to relate to us, to feel what we feel, to weep when we weep (John 11:33–35).

In one of the Bible’s richest Christmas texts, the author of Hebrews writes,

“Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, . . . [H]e had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, . . . For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted. . . . For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Heb. 2:14–18; 4:15–16).

Christians can go boldly to the throne of grace because Jesus stepped willingly into our crucible of grief. He knows what we need because, in his humanity, he once needed it himself. The old spiritual originally lamented, “Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen; Nobody knows my sorrows.” But happily, along the way, someone noticed the flawed theology and changed the last two words: “Nobody knows, but Jesus.”

Jesus knows all the trouble I’ve seen. He knows it because he knows it (like he knows everything), and he knows it because he has experienced it. This is what his name Emmanuel means. He is with us that much. And that’s why I say, “Thank God for Christmas!”

We’ve all been hungry, thirsty, tempted, beaten down, and afraid. So has the Man of Sorrows. We’ve all grieved life’s betrayals, having loved people dearly only to have them forsake us. Jesus has been there, too. We’ve all been misunderstood. People actually mistook Jesus for a demon. We’ve all had people fail us in times of need. Remember our Lord’s lonely hours in Gethsemane. We’ve all wondered where the Father was. On the cross, the Savior wondered the same (Matt. 26:37–40; 27:46).

A God Like No Other

Glory! Hallelujah! Somebody always knows the troubles I’ve seen. The Word (God, the Son) who was in the beginning, who was with God, and who was God, became flesh. By this condescending love, he has now drawn near to be among us. In this, he has become Emmanuel, God with us and one of us. By partaking of our flesh and blood, he has unashamedly declared us to be true “brothers” in the human experience (John 1:1–2,14; Matt. 1:23; Heb. 2:11–24).

Here is a God like no other. He is neither distant nor disinterested. He doesn’t stand by idly while we suffer. Much less does he inflict suffering with sadistic glee. Heaven forbid. Instead, he has entered our world of pain to share in the pain, to deliver from the pain.

God, the eternal Son laid aside his majesty to enter our shame. He removed a crown of glory to wear a crown of thorns. He took on all the headaches of being human so he could rescue us from all our headaches (physical and spiritual) once and for all—either in this life or in the next. This Christmas season, we need nothing more than to see the meaning of the manger. It offers a sure and certain knowledge that he knows, that he cares, that he saves, and that he will be with us through to the very end, right on into eternity.