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for Novelty ShopOur trip through the Apostle's Creed is lingering over the statement "He descended into Hell." What I've discovered is an exchange of letters, apparently from people who believe that there is something of Hell in their current situation. This second letter appears to come from a person of religious faith perhaps even Christian. As nearly as I can tell they work as a doctor but not in this country. Again, although this letter and the reply may not be comfortable for us to hear, I believe this exchange can assist us in our Lenten journey. This letter spoke to me.
Dear God: It has been another long day at the clinic. They start lining up shortly after the first light peeks over the scrub bush and by noon the line snakes around the building. Loads of mothers and children. Older women and a smattering of men. Their complaints are both acute and chronic. From malnutrition and broken bones to blindness and badly healed wounds. The clinic's been open a few years, so some of the education we've done has started to take effect. At least there's a minimum attempt at hygiene now. So many of them could be helped by a month of adequate nutrition! But the civil war in still rages in the next province. Food supply is erratic. Croplands are turned into mine fields and the casualties spill over to here. Sometimes the soldiers show up here and force their way to the front of the line. After dark the guerrillas will come and quietly sneak in the back door. I try to treat them all. But it gets overwhelming sometimes.
Today was one of those overwhelming days. You know who I saw today. But sometimes I wonder if You really see them. I see so much pain that it overwhelms my eyes and makes my ears ache. They truly do! I wonder if you see the conditions we work under here - what we try to do with the meager instruments we have. We get so used to working with next to nothing. And then one of those medical journals gets here! Never mind that it's three months out of date - just the glitzy drug ads are enough to overwhelm me!
Good days are the ones where the tools of medicine relieve the suffering and pain of injury. We can cure some disease. I feel gratified knowing that smallpox, diphtheria, tetanus and measles will never plague those I have vaccinated. I am grateful for the people whose research discovered the key to defeating those diseases. We can repair some of the damage done our own human neglect and cruelty. The girl from the village who does nutrition and hygiene education is truly one of your saints! She saves more people from profound suffering than she, or I, can ever know.
But there are days like today when I feel at a loss for words. Their eyes look deeply into mine, young and old, with one profound question: is there any relief for my pain? The kids, by the time they're eight or nine, are aware enough to look around them and recognize that their real suffering isn't going to change because of a pill. The old ones just are weary, weary, from a lifetime of unrelenting pain and indignity.
God, I need some word for them...for myself...'cause even though duty will rouse me from my cot in the morning and keep my hand steady, gentle even when excising dead tissue, my heart needs something more. Is there any relief from my pain?
Wearily, Doc
When I first read this letter, I was moved to tears! I wondered what the Creator would say. Let's find out.
Dear Weary One,
How My heart aches to hear your words! Your bearing of a portion of the pain of others is truly the work of My kingdom. I have seen you choke back your own fear and enter the houses where contagion is raging. I have seen your surgical mask soak with anxiety and tears as you explore children's bodies torn by war and disease. I have heard your sighs! Your prayers for the life of those who have taken every ounce of your compassionate skill are moving. Yes! I have listened to you wrestle with the ones standing at life's doorway, blaming yourself for hoping death brings relief from their pain. I appreciate the tenderness of your touch and the strength of your heart! You have made good use of the gifts I have given you.
You and I both know that pain in itself is not evil. But unrelenting, untended pain frequently becomes the enemy because pain is so demanding of your attention. Pain is merely My messenger that something is broken. You and I both know that your species is woefully tone deaf to most of the early warnings, the pains, which tells them to redress a grievance in their body or soul. Too often you feel responsible for their inattention to pain.
You decry the meagerness of your patients' situation. Their poverty is grim. Their unrelenting conflict destroys what little they might have! But I have given your species the tools to overcome these apparent limitations. All too typically the people like you, who see the effects of such needless greed and pervasive deafness, have little access to the levers of the heart where true change must happen. I am sorry that you must bear this additional burden! But bear it you must, as long as your species refuses to follow My way.
Let me assure you that I have tasted how dispiriting pain and indignity can be! I have felt the lash of slave masters. I have endured the humiliation of being tortured. I have stood by graves dug too soon. I still catch the tears and absorbed the wails of hearts shattered by spirit crushing torment. I have tasted the bitter drinks concocted to relieve pain's intensity. I know how seeing cruelty twists hopefulness. I know how hearing someone struggle for their next breath...knowing that 6 million such breaths await them in a single year...tears at your mercy. I know how tempting it is to remove the gift of life from someone whose destiny appears to portend inflicting pain on others.
You've asked Me for words to soothe your weary, aching heart. I have sent you to seek out the injured and the weak, to bind up the wounds of others and to relieve their suffering as much as you are able. I am teaching you to be content in whatever situation you find yourself. Do not become discouraged in doing works of mercy but take comfort that there will be a final day of reckoning and relief. I will wipe away all tears...your tears...not just some day but each day. I walk beside the lame and guide the blind. I walk next to you when your steps falter and your eyes are clouded by fatigue. Even when your frustration leads you to curse your darkness and rail against your hesitancy, I am there. When you lash out at Me and doubt My healing intent I will visit you, and those you serve, with My grace.
Tenderly, Thy Physician
I certainly find some comfort and some relief in this pair of letters. There's certainly something of the Spirit in Doc's words. I found myself saying "Yes!" more than once. Perhaps you did too. I think there are some implications for each of us...for all of us...in this Lenten exchange.
Personal - In some profound, mysterious way the suffering of Jesus on earth, his exposure to human pain, not only motivated a Divine response of healing but also connected the Creator with the full impact of human finitude. It is not systematic theology but my own sustained experience of God in the depths of human pain which convinces me of this mystery. If you've come here today wondering about God's mercy...confused about the Creator's healing intent...angry that pain persists in spite of every analgesic...let me assure you pain is not the enemy. There is no glory in bearing pain that can be relieved. We are here to relieve pain, with our words and touch as well as our medicine and skill. Those of you who work, or who will work, in medicine and other healing arts in any capacity truly do God's work.
Congregational - The Enemy certainly uses pain in all its forms to rob people of hope, joy, and peace. Pain attracts so much attention that the other message, the one about our capacity to relieve suffering...indeed to prevent pain and suffering...often gets drowned out. Our congregation has living experience and a religious heritage of the power of this other message. We are responsible to proclaim this message. We have the task of bearing with those in pain, those whose suffering prompts them to walk towards despair, those whose resources of mercy has grown thin in this universal and ageless struggle. This may take the form of this congregation hiring a parish nurse or of us visiting those who are ill. In the end it all comes down to this: we must do the work of God's kingdom and listen for the rustle of the Spirit even amid the cries of unrelenting pain. Amen!
Donald D. Denton, Jr., D. Min., L. P. C.
Stated Supply - Brett-Reed Memorial Presbyterian Church
Coordinator of Assessment Services - Virginia Institute of Pastoral Care|
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