Yesterday, I preached about human suffering and the relationship with God as we suffer. Normally, I am a listener in church. But preaching is an opportunity for me to offer testimony about how faith works for me. And I relish it. But talking about suffering! That is messy. I jumped into the muck of the issue. If God is all-present, why don’t I feel Him close to me when I’m suffering? If God is all-powerful, why does He not save me from suffering? These questions have plagued Christians for centuries and my sermon did not supply a clear answer. What I did offer was a message about the importance of creating meaning out of our suffering and reaching out for community and support.
Today, was a return to my usual function as a therapist. In that role, I walk with others in their journey of suffering. I let them know they are not alone in their darkness. Interesting, that every person I saw today expressed their internal struggle with reaching out for support. It felt like a flip flop from yesterday’s sermon where I strongly encouraged the power of community and support. As they voiced their thoughts about taking this path on their own, I knew what I was hearing. Shame. That dark storm cloud that tells you that you are not enough, that you are not worthy, that you are somehow globally defective. We’ve all encountered that painful experience. But in the face of suffering, it equals the ultimate heartbreak.
When I was first diagnosed, my shame told me cancer was my fault. I did not (insert anything here) or I did (again, insert here). I knew my diet was healthy, but it had not always been when I was younger. Did that cause this deadly mutation in my body? I was late to get my mammogram. Did that delay cause the cancer to be invasive? Anything cancer related I had read in my lifetime became a way to shame and blame myself. But here is the beauty… when I shared these self-shaming thoughts with safe people, like Robin, my chemo nurse they were allowed to dissipate. The suffering was still there.. chemo, my bald head, my aching bones, my fatigue, my fear. They did not dissipate. But not having the shame weigh down my spirit allowed me to look into the face of suffering and find the road to meaning, and to coping.
My friend, Monica sent me this Henri Nowen quote, “Nobody escapes being wounded. We are all wounded people, whether physically, emotionally, mentally, or spiritually. The main question is not, ‘How can we hide our wounds?’ so we don’t have to be embarrassed, but ‘How can we put our woundedness in the service of others?’ When our wounds cease to be a source of shame and become a source of healing, we have become wounded healers.”
None of us can do this perfectly and as I have written in previous blog posts, it is a process. Some people could shame me for writing this blog as the perception exists that those who communicate openly about suffering are attention seeking and emotionally needy. In contrast, I like to think of myself as a wounded healer, one who has used their suffering to be of service to others. So, my dear readers, I ask you, how have you or will you use your dark times to create meaning and be a service to others? How have you or will you become a wounded healer?
