I had the privilege of being at theological college with today’s God and Suffering story contributor Trystan Owain Hughes, and I can tell you that he is just as gentle, wise and theologically astute in real life as he is in his writing. He also sings a mean karaoke rendition of Something Stupid. I’m delighted to have him here today:
Ten years ago my life changed completely when I was diagnosed with a degenerative spinal condition and required major back surgery. This story would be a far more interesting if I could write about an injury playing rugby for my beloved Wales or while skiing at the Winter Olympics. Alas, no. It was an injury sustained playing badminton in the local sports hall that led to the investigations that discovered prolapsed and degenerative disks. Within three months of the initial injury, the pain in my lower back and my legs was excruciating and unceasing. I was unable to sit or stand for longer than a few minutes. I was stuck, quite literally, lying on a sofa all day, unable to go to work or to socialise outside of the house.
Six months later I was lying in a hospital bed in the Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital in London and I opened my Bible on Psalm 22.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish? My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, but I find no rest”.
My eyes filled with tears as the words echoed the emptiness and frustration I was feeling. Physical pain, combined with the mental anxiety of facing a long-term, chronic condition, led me to ask questions most of us face at some point in our lives: What’s the point of this suffering? Why doesn’t God stop suffering? Is life really worth this pain?
During a lengthy recovery, which included hospitalisation for two months, my view of these big questions of theodicy began to change. I saw that the mystery of suffering was far less important than the mystery of love. On returning to ministerial work in churches in Cardiff, Wales, I came to realise that the most joyous smiles often mask terrible pain and tragedy – bereavement, divorce, illness, disability, addiction, or chronic pain. At some point in our lives, each of us has to face suffering. Whilst none of us are given the option of rejecting suffering, we are blessed with the choice of the path that we take through the dark night of our pain.
Through my own experience of suffering I realised that, while I couldn’t change the pain I was feeling, I could change my attitude towards the situation. Slowly, but surely, I began to re-wire my ways of viewing the world, as I embarked on a journey of forging meaning from the apparent meaninglessness of suffering. This was certainly not an easy process, and involved soul-searching, tears, and prayer. I was convinced, though, that the one thing that we have left through any amount of suffering, great or small, is a choice of how we react to what we are enduring. As an Arabian saying reminds us: ‘The nature of rain is the same, but it makes thorns grow in the marshes and flowers in the garden’.
For all of us, opening our eyes to moments of God’s light and grace, even in our times of suffering, have a cumulative ability to transform, illuminate, and bring us hope. Held as a hostage for many years in a dark room in Beirut, Brian Keenan recalls how he made a candle from small pieces of wax and string from his clothing fibres. ‘Quietly, calmly a sense of victory welled up in me’, he later wrote, ‘and I thought to myself without saying it, “They haven’t beat us yet. We can blot out even their darkness”’. Light, of course, does not avoid darkness. Rather, it confronts it head-on. ‘The light shines in the darkness but the darkness has not understood it’ (John 1:5).
Ten years on and I am still unable to sit or stand for long periods. Much of my life is, therefore, spent pacing around rooms (even during meetings) or lying down (while I prepare lectures or sermons). I also use icepacks, heat patches, and a tens machine on a daily basis. Through the whole experience, though, my view on suffering has changed radically. No longer do I regard suffering as something that stops life from being lived. Instead, I aim to find hope and meaning in those small, seemingly insignificant areas of life that I took for granted before my injury – in nature, in friendship, in family, in laughter, in the arts, in memories, and so on. Most of us, after all, are like flies crawling on the ceiling of Sistine Chapel – we are unaware of the depth of beauty and joy all around us.
I can truly say, then, that God has been vividly present in my pain. Not that he wants us to suffer, either directly or indirectly. Rather, he is present in our suffering, helping to redeem and transform it. As the Old Testament shows us, God suffers alongside the persecuted, imprisoned, and victimised. ‘In all their distress, He too was distressed’ (Isaiah 63:9). Likewise, Jesus’s sorrows on the cross show us that God truly understands our dark times. As such, he can meet us in our afflictions, bringing meaning and hope at the most unlikely times. God is love, and just a glimpse of that love can powerfully illuminate the darkness that we are going through.
‘And here in dust and dirt, O here,’ wrote Welsh poet Henry Vaughan, ‘The lilies of His love appear’.
Those times when the still small voice of calm seems mute may well be frequent for us, but my own experience is that, even in that silence, we can actively listen for his voice. By doing so, we affirm the importance of love, joy, hope, and meaning in our dark times, rather than dwelling on the horrible reality of suffering. Even though it may not feel like it at the time, our trials and tribulations are, therefore, turned into triumphs of our will and spirit. After all, like diamonds, which sparkle all the more brightly the more facets are cut, our lives reflect God’s light all the more brilliantly when we have many cuts.
Trystan Owain Hughes is vicar of Christ Church, Roath Park, Cardiff, and director of ordinands for the Diocese of Llandaff, Wales. Born and raised in North Wales, he speaks Welsh fluently. After being diagnosed with a degenerative spinal condition, Trystan wrote Finding Hope and Meaning in Suffering (SPCK, 2010). He is also author of The Compassion Quest (SPCK, 2013) and the advent book Real God in the Real World (BRF, 2013). He is a regular voice on BBC Radio 2’s “Pause for Thought” and BBC Radio 4’s “Prayer for the Day”. He is married to Sandra, and they have three children. Trystan’s blog can be found at www.trystanowainhughes.com/blog
You can get Trystan’s book Finding Hope and Meaning in Suffering on Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com
I reviewed his second book, The Compassion Quest, here. You can get it from Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com.
His advent book Real God in the Real World is available from Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com (Contains my Amazon Affiliate links, which help this site at no extra cost to you).
[tweetit]”Is life really worth this pain?” – @Trystan_Hughes’s story about hope, despite a degenerative spine condition:[/tweetit]
[tweetit]“The mystery of suffering is far less important than the mystery of love” – @Trystan_Hughes’ God and Suffering story[/tweetit]
[tweetit]“Most of us are like flies crawling on the ceiling of Sistine Chapel – unaware of the depth of beauty around us.”[/tweetit]
[tweetit]“God suffers alongside the persecuted, imprisoned, and victimised.” – @Trystan_Hughes talks God and Suffering[/tweetit]
[tweetit]“Like diamonds, our lives reflect God’s light all the more brilliantly when we have many cuts.” – @Trystan_Hughes[/tweetit]
Over to you:
- “Is life worth the pain?” When those kinds of thoughts come to you, what do you tell your soul in response?
- “Most of us are like flies crawling on the ceiling of Sistine Chapel – we are unaware of the depth of beauty and joy all around us.” – To what extent does the beauty and joy in the world help you when you suffer?
Such a lovely post. I feel like it gave me a lot to think about. I am trying to change my attitude towards my situation, but it’s taking some time! 😉
Thank you for your kind words, Rebecka. I am very pleased you got something from the blog post. I know what you mean about things taking time – do be patient and kind with yourself 🙂 God bless you and your journey, Trystan
I love this post, and your response to the limits of your life. I am much older and my limitations are in some way to be expected, but as you say, we all have to come to terms with suffering and physical limits. I recently wrote this (not exactly) poem.
Little Things I Can Still Do
I can sit.
I can lie down.
I can talk while sitting or lying.
Sitting, I can write letters to my nieces
Who lost their father this past summer.
Sitting, I can save a booth at the café for a friend
Who first takes her children to school.
Lying down, I can nap with my young granddaughter
So my wife can practice or get some exercise.
Lying down, I can pray, thinking of all those I know
With love in my heart.
Sitting or lying, I can make sure there are no unsaid words
To my daughters, after adolescence.
Sitting or lying down, I can express love for my wife
Who gives me all I could ever need.
And I can require nothing of others that isn’t necessary.
Hi Newell. I could really relate to your poem – thank you so much for sharing it. I am very pleased you got something from the blog post. God bless you and your journey, Trystan