Pain as a Means of Grace

Inch

• Publisher: Wipf and Stock
• Year: 2009
• eBook ISBN: 9781498274685
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Religion

This text provides a novel approach to a critical issue--the potential of pain. Initially, the potential of pain is explored by way of paradise lost, as an explanation of why things are as we experience them. The book then entertains the classic Job narrative, as it pertains to addressing the question of why the godly suffer. The passion narratives next invite our attention and the collective voices of the martyrs appear as a logical extension of the sufferings of Christ. This leads into a more analytical treatment of the topic, highlighting key aspects of the extended discussion. Moreover, the text begins and concludes with examples meant to illustrate pain as a means of grace.

1

Paradise Lost

I am reminded of a youngster who habitually tuned in late to a conversation. As a result he had difficulty getting his bearings. It helps immeasurably to start from the beginning; in this instance, with paradise lost—so as to engage the topic of suffering.

Initially, consider pain as such. We first encounter it in conjunction with the Almighty’s foreboding announcement to Eve: “I will greatly increase your pains in childbearing; with pain you will give birth to children. Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you” (Gen 3:16). Physical pain is thus identified with travail. I have heard it said that a severe attack of kidney stones is the closest approximation for a male.

Then, too, pain is associated with emotional duress. In particular, to love and cherish becomes to desire and dominate. In other connections as well, so that the psalmist feels utterly forsaken; coupled, it would seem, with a sense of abject futility (cf. 22:1). Or, as otherwise expressed, he was in the depths of depression.

“What do you read?” the learned rabbi inquired in a manner characteristic of traditional inquiry.

“In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth,” his student dutifully replied (Gen 1:1). In the beginning likely corresponds to the time of the gods in pagan literature. This was before humans made their appearance, and the gods characteristically jostled with one another for position. In this instance, God existed in solitary splendor. Moreover, he was lacking in nothing.

Qualifications aside, the Genesis account resembles other high god narratives. The term high god pertains to the supreme god in polytheistic religion, as well as the sole deity in monotheism. Additionally, the prime creation metaphor in the high god narratives is that of a potter casting his clay and fashioning a vessel.

I remember the scene well. We were looking on as a Hebron potter cast an amorphous lump of clay, paused momentarily in anticipation of what would transpire, and began to spin his wheel. Incidentally, he was referred to as the old man, considered a compliment in a society where age is revered. In astonishing fashion, a vessel soon began to take shape. Those observing murmured their approval

“What else do you read?” the mentor again inquired.

“Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep,” the youth responded, “and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters” (v. 2). This combination of terms (formless and empty) is found only here and in Jeremiah 4:23, the former concerning the physical conditions and the latter of the disintegration of society resulting from the Babylonian invasion. In terms of analogy, it resembles the previously mentioned lump of clay.

Whereupon, the Spirit was hovering over the waters. “Much as would a potter’s hands hover over the formless clay, in preparation for the task ahead. So, likewise, to solicit the interest of the listener in what would follow.”1

The formula God said is used repeatedly in the first chapter of Genesis, as indicative of his sovereign power and creative disposition. As for the former, it is in the form of a mandate. As for the latter, it reflects God’s innovative character. Consequently, it ought to not surprise us when he works in some unexpected manner.

And it was so or its equivalent is employed in response. As clay responds to the artisan’s touch. In an orchestrated manner, each aspect of creation serves the harmonious whole. Were the Creator less precise, life as we know it would assuredly be impossible.

And God saw that it was good. In each instance, he then pronounced it very good (v. 31). It is good in the dual sense of being functional and aesthetically pleasing. Illustrative of the former, when one drinks a refreshing glass of water after laboring through the heat of the day. In regard to the latter, as when watching a waterfall cascading down sheer rock.

“What do you read concerning the creation of mankind?” the rabbi continued. He supposed this would be of critical importance.

“Then God said, ‘Let us make man in our image, in our likeness,’” the student diligently responded, ‘“and let them rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, over the livestock, over all the earth, and over all the creatures that move along the ground’” (v. 26). Let us appears to be a royal idiom, still in use today—as were the monarch to say, “It seems to us” rather than “it appears to me.”

In our image has been extrapolated in three connections. First, as expressive of a privileged ability to commune with one’s Maker. In analogous terms, as a child would converse with its parents. Hence, regarding relatively simple matters.

Second, concerning the delegated authority to exercise stewardship over creation. This is in keeping with the maxim that God does not require us to do something which we are incapable of by his grace. It, in turn, recalls Mother Teresa’s humorous observation: “I don’t doubt that God will enable me to do his bidding, but I wished he were not so optimistic.”

Finally, more specifically concerning the endowment for his unique role in the universe. Such as the ability to employ language so as to reflect back on the past, anticipate what will likely come to pass, and make wise decisions. Then, too, all that is associated with his rational, emotional, and volitional nature.

“So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him, male and female he created them” (v. 17). Thus are we alerted to the fact that the term man can be used either in a generic or inclusive sense. God also blessed them, and said: “Be fruitful and increase in number, fill the earth and subdue it.” Conversely, he was not to ravage his environment.

“What else do you read?” the mentor shortly inquired. In proverbial terms, “He was not content to leave any stone unturned.”

“By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work,” his protégé obediently replied. “And God blessed the seventh day and made it holy because on it he rested from all the work of creating that he had done” (2:2–3). From a rabbinic perspective:

while it is certainly true that the Shabbat rejuvenates man’s spirit, replenishes his physical strength, and revitalizes him so that he is able to face another work week, the deeper meaning of the Shabbat is that it is observed not for the sake of the rest of the week, but that the rest of the week is the prologue for the arrival of Sabbat2

Since it provides a means for sanctifying time. Moreover, in Jewish tradition it is customary to count toward the Sabbath: six days, five days, etc. This served to heighten one’s anticipation, and make for a joyous celebration.

“Now the Lord God had planted a garden in the east, in Eden, and there he put the man he had formed. And the Lord God made all kinds of trees grow out of the ground—trees that were pleasing to the eye and good for food” (8–9). The imagery would be familiar to anyone acquainted with the Middle East. In particular, I recall walking in the garden in the cool of the day, after the oppressive heat earlier on. Then, too, of the pleasant assortment of trees and shrubbery. We would also gather from the text that there was ample provision.

“In the middle of the garden were the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.” Whereas, the former would appear self-explanatory, the implications of the latter are more obscure. One is minimally assured that it pertains to moral discernment. However, it may also comprise a comprehensive idiom—similar to as far as the east is from the west; and, if so, eating from it would imply that man meant to assert his autonomy. In addition, the garden was well watered.

Whereupon, the Lord God took the man and put him in the garden to tend it. And he commanded him, “You are free to eat from any tree in the garden; but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat of it you will surely die” (vv. 16–17), thereby losing access to the tree of life.

The Lord God also determined, “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.” “Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man.” The man said, “This is now bone of my bones a...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Preface
• Acknowledgment
• Chapter 1: Paradise Lost
• Chapter 2: The Sage
• Chapter 3: The Passion Legacy
• Chapter 4: Voices of the Martyrs
• Chapter 5: A Reasoned Faith
• Chapter 6: Highlights
• Bibliography