The Struggle

 I’ve heard it said that struggle and difficulty make us stronger.

But in all honesty, it doesn’t feel that way to me right now. I don’t feel strong. Right now I feel weakened by heartbreak, by sorrow and by disappointment. I feel like a broken vessel emptied of strength.

I’ve heard it said that the struggle we go through prepares us for our calling.

But what if it doesn’t? What if there is no purpose in the pain? What if this is simply part being alive?

I remember being at ministry school being told that on average students start to thrive after two to three years after graduation. I am about to hit that three-year mark. And I am feeling anything close to thriving. This is one instance when I don’t want to be an above average student. There are a group of students from said ministry school ministering alongside our church at the time of writing. You may judge me, but I have chosen to have very little involvement with this team of students this year. Their presence reminds me of how I am not thriving outside of the cultural bubble of ministry school.

I wish that I were stronger. I wish that I could bury it down and perform for you. Wind up the music box and watch me dance.

Why are the broken ones considered the strange ones?

I wonder how long a winter season is supposed to last. I have been on the edge of Spring so many times in the past several years. I have glimpsed it. I have tasted it.

I wonder what Christ must have felt like that evening in the garden. Broken and shattered. With even greater sorrow awaiting him.

What does it mean to share in the sufferings of Christ?

Is there something of an intimacy with Christ that we only get to experience in that place of fragility?

What did it feel like to be Christ, alone in that garden? Abandoned and rejected by those who had committed everything to him. What disappointment did he feel when his friends slept through his dark night of the soul? Did Christ experience hope in the midst of his suffering? Or did He see himself as surrendering reluctantly to the will of another?

Pain is insufferable without hope. Without hope we could never participate willingly, freely in the full experience of our pain. I would rather dull my pain with distraction. I would choose to participate in the resurrection over the crucifixion any day.

When Christ was crucified he was naked. His hands nailed to a wooden beam, he couldn’t cover himself. He couldn’t hide. The public display of pain can be a shameful experience. We are exposed and can do nothing to cover ourselves. We feel humiliated and ashamed. Misunderstood. Even with people singing the praises of (other people’s) vulnerability, the awkwardness is palpable.

I want to make a giant neon sign and hang it from every building. Don’t praise vulnerable. Be vulnerable.

How many of us ever allow ourselves to identify with Christ in this way?

Would our knowing that we can experience a deeper sense of intimacy with Christ through the embracing of our suffering, help us to see our suffering differently?