Satiated From A Pure Stream

 Sometimes I wonder about things...random things...things that I then wonder if anyone else wonders about. Lately I've been with people in their pain, and with myself in my own, and finding my own pain somewhat inescapable, I began to wonder more about pain - what it does to me, to others, and where does God fit in all this? I haven't spent long on physical pain ("such a bother," I tell myself). Instead, I've allowed my (admittedly very small) encounter with physical pain to launch me into exploration of emotional pain. 

Here's the thing: I have a wound on my forehead, covered by a bandaid, and a blog and facebook page where I talk about my wound, and people ask me about it, and it's kosher to talk openly about a physical pain because of the thing on my head. Now let's imagine it differently: what if my pain were in my soul, where I find immovable burdens press down on me and I spend every un-spoken-for-moment in a desperation I can't explain? What if my pain had no physical wound to tend to, but seeped out anguish, sorrow, yearning, and frustration in all kinds of invisible, but no less significant, ways?  What if my pain was to do with a broken relationship, the broken world we live in, or the broken self that I am? What if my pain were not kosher to talk about, but I just casually threw into chit-chat how sad I was about nothing in particular but simply the weight of life I carry? If I did that, surely I'd make others uncomfortable (so I'm promising right here not to spring that on you if we're having casual conversation). On a technical note: this promise only applies to 'casual' conversation. Intentional conversation - and all promises are null and void - okay?

I was wondering lately about all this pain and exploring what I do with my pain, what others do with their pain and ways we seek - both healthily and unhealthily - to soothe our pain. If only all pains could be solved with a prescription for something strong to knock us out and that over the course of a few days of heavy sleep and drugged stupor, we could awake with a pain-free existence. Drugs help, but nothing magically brings healing. Healing is a work in the body that can only be helped by supportive measures - creating the right environment for healing to happen. But what about in the soul? How does healing happen deep down in places that are difficult to detect, to observe, notice, or evaluate? It's not like there's a soul-thermometer somewhere. Or is there?

One soul-thermometer might be: what habits occupy the bulk of my attention? The answer to this is not meant to be guilt-inducing or shame-producing. The answer is merely to give us a signpost - a signal, perhaps. I don't know if the word 'habits' is the best one here. Is it a habit for me to knit or crochet in the evenings? Well, yes, at times, particularly in the winter. But would I call this a habit? Maybe habit isn't the word I'm looking for. I'm looking for something fuller - not just something I can evaluate by 'how much time is spent on this' but 'how much passion, desire, longing do I give to this?' I like to knit, but I am not particularly passionate about it. I don't sit around longing to knit. But there are things that I do long for: an ability to feel my feelings, an ability to hold safe space for others in their ungrieved grief, to have adequate time for rest - there are many things I long for: for my boys to not only quit fighting, but to actually learn to appreciate each other ("Oh for the day!!" I pray often!)

Here's the thing: when I knit or crochet, I'm often praying and hashing out just about everything with God in my thoughts. I go through the rows, the repetitive motions and my mind is free. In this, my attention is given as much to God (and maybe more) as to the yarn in my fingers. But it isn't always this way. Sometimes I find the catharsis is a means to numbing out and spacing out. Sometimes my mind is completely blank and my soul is shut-down. There are things that help distract me from pain in other ways: sometimes a t.v. show or movie, sometimes endless facebook scrolling, sometimes reading every random news article that strikes my fancy. Sometimes I might get caught up in others' drama in life: what others are mad about, upset about, in pain about. 

You see, I'm not sure it's about what I do, as much as the posture of my heart while I do it. I watch certain t.v. shows at times, and have had profound truths played out before me in some drama that God uses to take me in a new direction. God uses narrative to capture my attention at times - and sometimes this comes through something as basic as a screen. But sometimes I might want to just watch things endlessly because my soul is so deeply hurting that it's about all I can do to escape this pain. As I've been exploring pain and how I and others deal with it, I've discovered that this seems almost universal: When in pain, we all want to escape it somehow!

We escape it in different ways. Some people find an addiction to a substance or behaviour that suits their need for escape. Then the thing they used to numb their pain takes on a life of its own and brings more and more pain. It's easy to see the word 'addiction' and check out and say, 'Hey, this doesn't apply to me!' But I think we all have addictions of sorts. It's just that some are more easily detectable than others. Maybe I don't guzzle alcohol, but I might guzzle sugary drinks instead. Maybe I don't seek sexual liaisons, but I will fill all my extra time with a social 'fix', never entering into the painful quiet of aloneness. Maybe I don't gamble my money at a casino, but I might fill my unmet longings with endless shopping or facebook scrolling, or even playing games (video or otherwise). 

But hey, isn't escaping pain good? Yes. Absolutely it is. For a time. In its place, escape is needed and wonderful. I say, when in pain, seek an out! 

But sometimes, there simply is no out. Not in the present moment. Sometimes the unmet need closes around us like an undersized coat over a bulky sweater that we may have been forced to wear in childhood. It was hard to get on, and even harder to get off - and it restricts movement, feels awkward, cumbersome and inconvenient. Pain is like that: it gets in the way.

When there is no out, what can I do? 

There are many ways all the theologians, psychologists, philosophers, pastors and teachers could answer this. A life coach might recommend action steps for how to solve life's problems. An analytical therapist might explore all your feelings around your pain, helping you notice all the causes and effects. A pastor might sympathize with you and pray for you and give you some Bible to chew on. I have a tendency to take some of these approaches, and all have some merit. 

But I guess I'm kind of one to take from all the disciplines and simply bring my wonderings and pains to God and sometimes in desperation, and sometimes in frustration, and sometimes in resignation, open my hands before Him and say, 'What of THIS? What can You possibly do to fix it, take it away, ameliorate it?" And then, when I've said my bit, had my rant and quiet my soul, I sit quietly and knit a few rows and wait. 

And this is what I hear: 

"Who may ascend the hill of the Lord? And who may stand in His holy place?

He who has clean hands and a pure heart, who does not lift up his soul to an idol, or swear by what is false." (See Psalm 24).

And I'm like, 'Huh?!'

Then, I wait some more.

"What's the first commandment?"

"That's a no brainer! Have no other gods before Me. And the second: No making idols."

It is SO random, the things that come up when I sit quietly. Maybe I should sit quietly less and my thoughts would be more ordered. 

For real, this is the stuff that goes on in my head.

And I think it's so random, but it really isn't.

I can't give an answer to how to fix pain. But I can see how I've sought to fix it and it hasn't worked. When I think of Job and how he had a good life at first, and Satan says, 'You know, Job would curse God if he suffered!' and that grand, horrible experiment proved that he wouldn't, I think, Job tells me something about pain. Job shows me that it is possible to go through suffering and not lift up my soul to idols. Job tried to soothe his welts and wounds by scraping them off with broken pottery (yuck!), so he wasn't averse to getting rid of pain. But he didn't give his soul over to a different god. He didn't try to satiate himself with idols or yearnings after other things. Of course he wished his life was better! Of course he wanted his kids not to die, and his house not to burn down, and his illness to go away! Of course he wanted these things, but in his pain he cried out to God!! Job wins the day by showing us that we can navigate pain in life with an open heart before God - even when those closest to us have all the right answers.

You see, I can binge watch shows, scroll on facebook and distract myself from pain, but these leave me empty. I could likely find a substance that suits my fancy that gives me all the feels or helps me escape from all the bad feels, and when that substance wore off, I'd find the sickening knot of pain in my stomach crying out to be heard, noticed, held, and most of all: LOVED. 

I think that's what pain ultimately tells me: I need LOVE. The way I need oxygen.

Love - only the purest, most unadulterated, highest, loftiest, most abundant, clean, filling, satisfying LOVE. This is what my soul needs. And this is what God offers: God IS Love.

Pain is an inevitable part of the human condition. I'm thankful I've only had seasons of it throughout my life in one form or another. But ultimately, pain is a teacher, a signal, an invitation.

It teaches me that I am dependent.

It is a signal of my need.

It is an invitation to satiate my soul from the purest stream of Love.

I wonder if in my need to escape there isn't an element of fear: if I sit in my pain and suffering it may just kill me. This pain is too great; I need an out. And I find my out in whatever way my appetite demands in that moment.

There is another way, and that is to remain in the pain, to open myself to what it tells me, and to bring it to God Who sent His Son to be a Suffering Servant. The mystery of Christ is many things - but one of the greatest mysteries is that this God-Man would enter our world, take on our flesh, not to build an earthly kingdom through force and power, but to build an eternal kingdom through the path of suffering, sacrifice, and humility.

My soul longs to be satiated by the purest love imaginable. And pain tells me when my soul is thirsty. It tells me to drink deep from the well of Love. To join my sufferings to Jesus' sufferings. To know I am not forgotten, unknown, unseen, but that the Lord of the Universe, King of all Creation (of which I am a part), is my closest, most intimate sustainer and Lover of my soul.

I will not lift my soul to what is false - the things that promise false fulfillment. I will not give my attention, allegiance, adoration or devotion to an idol, no matter how subtle an idol it is - the idol that creeps in that seems to innocuous, but ultimately is a pursuit of self-glorification or indulgence. 

The first commandment is significant. God doesn't give this command because He needs us to be loyal to Him. It is a commandment of LOVE. God says, 'If you start loving false things, things that are not me, that cannot supply the love-tank of your soul, you will be lost, empty, starving. I give you this command out of my deep love for you. Love me more than anything, and you'll find yourself drinking from the pure stream of my love.' (This is the Sarah, uninspired, off-the-cuff rendering of the first commandment).

I have to end with a hymn, you know? Because I just can't help myself: others have said these things so poetically, beautifully, and richly, that I would be shirking my duty to you, dear reader, to leave it out:

Jesus, Lover of my soul! Let me to Thy bosom fly!

While the nearer waters roll, while the tempest still is high!

Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, 'Til the storm of life is past!

Safe into the haven guide! O receive my soul at last!

Other refuge have I none, hangs my helpless soul on Thee!

Leave, ah, leave me not alone. Still support and comfort me!

All my trust on Thee is stayed; All my help from Thee I bring!

Cover my defenseless head, with the shadow of Thy wing.

Plentious grace with Thee is found; grace to cover all my sin.

Let the healing streams abound. Make and keep me pure within!

Thou of life the Fountain art! Freely let me take of Thee;

Spring Thou up within my heart! Rise to all eternity!

(Charles Wesley...of course :D)