Scales of Suffering

As I look around this big wide world, the Scales of Suffering don’t exactly feel equal.  When I watch the news each day, there are constant reminders of wars, famine, poverty, and unrest.  It is a common, never-ending theme for some nations and people groups.  Their life scale sure feels tilted heavily on the suffering platforms.

I find my life being pulled toward those whose scales are heavily weighted on the side of profound grief, relentless trials, and recurring hardships.   My “tribe” is filled with those whose life was forever changed in the blink of an eye.   

Regina, a dear family friend from my childhood, wrote, “Sometimes I feel like I’ve been a chronic griever for 50 years of my life.  The next event happens before I can fully process the first one and it seems as if it’s one after another.”  Yet, she clings to God’s promises of Hope for the future. 

Another friend of a friend just underwent a craniotomy to remove a cancerous brain tumor.  It was determined to be one of the most aggressive forms of cancer with extremely limited treatment options.   Amanda‘s life  - and that of her husband and children - has been turned upside down.   That family now finds themselves deeply immersed in the reality of continuous suffering and pain.  Yet, a recent social media post read, “Join me in being brave…”[1]

About three thousand miles away, my precious sister in Christ, Judy, seeks dignity in the final days of life.   Having been bedbound and on a form of ventilation for eight years, she and her husband, Michiel, now stare at the end.   If doctors are correct, Judy will soon go into respiratory failure, ending her ultimate battle with Lou Gehrig’s disease. Judy’s life has been a living guidebook of grace-filled living for me.   She continues to model a life of ceaseless faith in God’s goodness coupled with incomprehensible pain. Her latest text to me read, “God is with us both every moment.  Stay strong with His promises!”  Michiel and Judy’s journey has been one of disproportionate suffering, tipping the scales far from balance. They have endured in one day more grief, pain, and loss than most in a lifetime.

Our dearest family friends of over forty years buried their 17-day old daughter on March 8th. Brad, my childhood playmate and Macie’s daddy, wrote, “I had the honor of walking my precious Macie girl down the aisle last night to give her away to her Bridegroom, Jesus.   My heart is broken but filled with joy knowing she is walking with Jesus today. I will miss her every day, and she will always be Daddy’s little girl.”[2]  Baby Macie was held in her mother’s arms as she took her final earthly breath.  In an equally weighted world of suffering, this simply would not be. Grief has cast a lasting weight on Brad and Haley’s lives, causing the scales to wildly oscillate before finding a new equilibrium in Christ.

Yet another precious friend found widowhood far too young.   Twenty months later, Leslie continues to wrestle with waves of overwhelming grief crashing over her while clinging to the hope of eternal resurrection one day.  Her life was irrevocably altered when Blake took his last breath too soon.  Her life shifted in an instant, and the heaviness of her suffering has only intensified.

Another precious friend is five years into her pivotal “before” and “after” moment.   Jacqui’s days are now fully devoted to caring for her beloved husband, James.   With one misstep, James’ life forever changed.  An accident left him with a traumatic brain injury. Within the blink of an eye, Jacqui was thrust into a pain deeper than can be imagined.  Their lives, and that of their children’s, are forever felt in the “after,” filled with recurring grief, pain, and loss. Normalcy is now part of the memories of “before.”  Yet, Jacqui is confident that, “The struggle gets hard sometimes, but thank goodness for our Heavenly Father that loves us, picks us up, and carries us through. One day, the struggle will be over and we will be in heaven by Him, no more suffering.  No more hardships.”

Cathy is a chronic illness warrior whose life has been one diagnosis after another.  One hopeful treatment failed, only to be followed by another round of hope deferred. She endures constant physical pain and weakness, and the burden of her suffering is immense.

Another friend is going through a divorce with hurt and deep betrayal on both sides. A peaceful resolution seems impossible. The emotional and financial ramifications loom larger with each day.  Joy and sorrow once balanced on this family’s scale, but now grief has tipped it beyond measure, leaving no room for equal weight.

And my list could go on and on. I think of Kate and Nate, Easton and Becca, Hudson, Charleigh, Amelia and Matt, Beth, Roman, Tricia, Rita, Jamie and Casey, Jessica, Jeanne, Celina, Carrie, Jeremy and Alicia, Judah, Katelyn, Jennifer, Laura, Karen, Melissa, and John and Julie with Baby Phillip.

What would your list look like?  Have you stopped to consider how many hurting people you have made space for in your life?  Do you conscientiously seek out the hurting?

On the other side of the Suffering Scales, we find those who are occasionally plagued with life’s finest moments of frustration.   It tips the scales slightly toward suffering before being righted to equal.   

These would be things like burnt toast, flat tires, missed flights, overbearing bosses, and rambunctious children. Because we all live in this fallen world, daily frustrations and disappointments exist. But these fellow travelers cannot pinpoint a moment in time when something so catastrophic happened that their world shattered, creating a distinctive before and after line of demarcation.  These individuals and families live a life tipped toward happiness over sorrow. 

I was once in a bible study on a biblical worldview of suffering.[3] Several weeks into the study, one man shared that while he heard all the stories of suffering from other members and the examples in the book, he was having a tough time emotionally identifying with that type of pain.   He further shared his life had been relatively easy. Growing up in a safe and Godly home, attending college, and snagging the job of his dreams. Finding a godly wife and having surprisingly good children! The closest he could relate was the death of his grandmother who died in her nineties.   While it was a grief, it was an expected grief.   And it didn’t change his day-to-day life. He couldn’t empathize with a stark “before” and “after” mark of suffering.   

The respect I have for this man is high. If I were to bump into him on the street one day I would thank him for his honesty. Thank him for raising a flag that says, “Some of us out here don’t suffer like you’re talking about. And I’m brave enough to say that.”

This dichotomy has been one of life’s “stumpers” for me. While I’ve heard many unsubstantiated reasons, such as,

“God can’t trust some people with burnt toast, but He knew you could be trusted not to tarnish His name.”   Or

“Just wait.   It will all end up being good because you love our God!”   (Hint!  Keep reading in Romans 8.   What does God call “good” in verse twenty-nine?)  Or

“God’s gonna use this to bring Him so much more glory than if He allowed this in someone else’s life.” 

While I acknowledge some awkward truth in each statement, I also readily acknowledge their complete uselessness in offering true comfort and peace into the storm-tossed life.

Why?  Remarks like these can unintentionally create a 'you vs. me' dynamic. My role in your pain is simply to tell you it’s gonna get better and then return to my very routine journey of life.  While this might not be a conscience thought, those who speak into the life of the sufferer are often there for one purpose: To make things better.   

The reality is that our offering this kind of sympathy really cannot make things better.  But rather “making things better” is the exact opposite of the Ministry of Presence. And even further, the Ministry of Holding Space.   

So, how can the sufferer and the unburdened live together in community? What do we do with this knowledge that the world is… simply not fair? And perhaps even more gut-wrenching, that our God seemingly isn’t fair. That sorrow and grief are not doled out equally to all people.  And then conversely that happiness is unequally dispersed also. In exasperation, we might ask, “What’s up, God?”

Could it be that this seeming lack of equality on the weighted scales of suffering is part of God‘s redeeming plan for His world? 

Scripture does not refer to God as “fair” though it repeatedly calls Him “just”.   

Deuteronomy 32:4: “The Rock, His work is perfect, for all His ways are justice.  A God of faithfulness and without iniquity, just and upright is He.”

Psalm 9:8: “And he shall judge the world in righteousness, he shall minister judgment to the people in uprightness.”  Albert Barnes notes, “He will not be influenced by partiality; he will show no favoritism; he will not be bribed.  He will do exact justice to all.”[4]

Psalm 9:8: “He rules the world in righteousness and judges the peoples with equity.”  

In this context, God’s justice is not about equal distribution of suffering, but about His sovereign, redemptive purposes.

I think it is vitally important to note here that God‘s original plan for His children did not include suffering.  There was no room in Creation’s Garden for a scale of suffering.   But because of man’s sinful choice, God, in His great love, planned for creation’s redemption.

Stick with me here as I go out on a theological limb.   But might it be possible that suffering’s unequal scales are actually part of a redemptive plan?  Might it be that the imbalance of the scales of pain is purposeful?  Maybe, just maybe, it’s to allow those whose suffering scales are tipped toward joy to be able to carry others’ suffering without breaking?  Could it be that God’s redemptive intention was a community that actively looked for others’ pain so that they could carry it?  Thereby giving the suffering tilted wayfarer, a lightened load?

If I’m already out on a limb - dare we step out a little further?  Could it be that the body of Christ is missing the mark in what we believe is a blessed life?  Might it just be that the blessed life isn’t just one of ease and success but of seeking out and carrying others’ burdens?  And if we saw this in action, might it be that the scales of suffering become more communally held? 

I will be the first to say that there are some weights of suffering that only the bearer can carry.   Only the patient can endure the pain, nausea, and weakness of physical suffering. Only the family left behind can feel the rip of death and the ache of reunion. Only the one whose bank account is zero can feel the stress of financial downfall. Only the couple desperate for a child can feel the unimaginable heartsickness of another negative pregnancy test.   

Some suffering cannot be lighted by human hands.   Some suffering must be held sacred for the Lord’s presence alone.     

But the ministries of presence and of holding space can make a real and palpable difference. These “suffering sherpas” leave an impact that stretches far beyond the moment.

However, the cost of these ministries is high.   It’s far easier to murmur, “Praying for you,” at the funeral, and fade into the crowd than to step onto the rugged road of grief and walk beside the one who carries its crushing weight.  A simple text – “Let me know if I can help!”  - checks the box, but it shifts the burden onto the sufferer, forcing them to articulate needs they can barely name.

Since falling ill nearly eight years ago, I find myself gravitating toward the hurting, the heartbroken, the chronically weary, the constant griever. I find myself wanting to carry just a little of their load.  It’s a load I may only understand in part. But, ofttimes, if I squint, I can catch a true glimpse of their broken heart.

I’ve been asked before if I can feel sincere gratitude for my health struggles. And I’m not sure I can go that far just yet. But what I can say is I’m grateful that my struggles have given me a supple heart to understand others’ pain. It has instilled in me a true longing to notice sorrow-filled eyes and to carry a heart that aches with empathy for others' suffering.  For this, I am grateful.   

So, why am I writing about the scales of suffering?  To open our eyes – even just a little - to the weight others carry. No matter where you find yourself on the suffering scale, there are people near you who need your presence.  They need to know their place in your heart’s living room is always saved, even if it remains empty for now - because healing takes time, and so does learning to receive love again.

Maybe, just maybe, with purpose and confidence, we can catch a small glimpse of God’s lovingly redemptive plan.

Perhaps our calling is not to seek fairness in suffering, but faithfulness in presence.

And maybe, for us chronic wayfarers, the question isn’t why some suffer more - but how we can help shoulder another’s burden. Because until God’s final redemptive plan is fully revealed, the scales of suffering will never be equal among mankind.

But I believe, a conscious ministry of presence can help tip the scales toward hope.

With Eye Wide Open,

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[1] Amanda Herring, Writer

[2] Brad Graydon, Owner BGTV

[3] Saying Goodbye: A Biblical Worldview of Death, Disease, and Disappointment by my dearest father, Jim Henson.  Available on Amazon and wherever your favorite books are sold!

[4] Notes on the Bible by Albert Barnes, 1834