Never Fearing Wild Things

Yesterday at church a woman whose husband has just received a devastating cancer diagnosis said to me as she choked on her tears, “Why would God be so cruel to us by punishing us in this way?”

Though a common enough belief that God indeed works in this manner, the sentiment caught me off guard with the passion and vehemence with which it was said.  It was not a moment for long conversation or theological argument, so all I could say was that, indeed, God was not sending this suffering but rather wept with their pain.  I don’t think she could hear that.  

What I left unspoken was, “If that is who you truly believe God to be, what the hell are you doing at church?”

I don’t know how many times and how many ways I’ve preached on this very topic.  Yet the threads of this awful theological understanding of suffering, one that I believe is terribly flawed when seen through the lens of redemption and resurrection, remains deeply tangled in our imaginations.

And not only the false idea that God sends us suffering to punish us, but that our own suffering is somehow an indictment of our sin.

This morning as I was spending a few moments in contemplation I became aware of the deep weariness I feel in my soul.  The weariness of my body is on-going as I continue to live with chronic fatigue (long covid, menopause – or some lovely mix of all of these things).  I can navigate that weariness, but when my soul is weary then the demons come out to play.  

The particular demon that visited today was the demon of self-condemnation.  The idea that my soul weariness was sin popped into my mind.  Some failure on my part.  Such a thought only compounds that soul weariness.  Clever demons!

Paul wrote to the Galatian church, “let us not grow weary in doing what is good” (6:9).  This is what pops into my mind as I contemplate the weariness of my soul and my lack of, not only physical, but also spiritual energy to “do good” for others.  But there’s the rub!  Why is this “doing good” always something external, towards the other?  Why has self-care become a luxury, a selfish ambition of sorts?

I’ve heard this message from the church far too often.  Please, they tell us as clergy, take care of yourself.  While you do so, do not neglect the flock, put in all your hours and when needed get up in the middle of the night (physically or spiritually) and tend to the other, even when you have nothing left to give.  

I have to admit that I am waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I’m not sure if that will be a collapse on my part from exhaustion, a heart attack or something else. Or it may be someone telling me it is time to leave this parish.

I may have wondered at my parishioner’s lack of understanding of God in her and her husband’s suffering, but am I any further along in my own understanding?  She thinks her suffering is punishment, I think mine is sin.

How do we hold our suffering?