It is one of the great mysteries of life that the breeding ground for blessing is often found in the depths of grave pain.
It is nonsensical and unclear how this happens, and yet I cannot look at the beauty in my life and not acknowledge the broken soil from which it came.
Because the soil of my heart has been downtrodden, burdened, and overwhelmed with sorrow at the brokenness of this world, at the brokenness within myself, and yet it is where beauty has grown. A flourishing depth of heart that would not have developed had my life been easier, different, better.
And how, in those painful moments, had I longed for my life to be easier, different, better.
I am human, after all. Capricious at worst, fickle at best. My desires change as my emotions and circumstances ebb and flow, and this could be cause for great shame. I am supposed to consider it all joy (James 1:2) when faced with trials, am I not?
But perhaps we’ve had this pain thing wrong, all along.
Scripture tells us in numerous instances to consider trials as joyful opportunities to grow our faith and produce strong, enduring character. And though this is good, I think we have, in our limited human minds, used this to bypass pain rather than let it carry us through the miry clay. We’ve considered joy and sorrow as incompatible constructs, when perhaps they are two sides to the same coin.
The writer of Hebrews says Jesus was able to face the cross for the joy set before him (Hebrews 12:2). I would argue that the garden of gethsemane was not a joyful place for him. Carrying the cross to the hill, so exhausted that someone else had to carry it for him, was not a joyful place. Bleeding from his hands and his feet while he was mocked and shamed was not a joyful place.
Scripture does not tell us that Jesus laughed it off, filled with exuberant joy because he knew what was coming.
No, he felt every ounce of pain, bloody and battered pain. And yet it was joy that carried him through. Joy did not remove the pain, but it gave him the strength to endure it.
And this is what I think these scriptures, the ones we have sometimes used to bypass pain, are telling us. The blessing is not in the removal of pain, but in the carrying through. The blessing is found when our wounds are held by another, when the tears fall and water the soil of dry ground. The joy is found as we grieve the mystery of a good God and a broken world, and allow him to comfort us in our confusion. The blessing is found as the isolation of shame is undone in the loving presence of another. The joy is found as we see God’s redemptive work, piece by piece and not always as fast as we want it to be, as he turns what the enemy meant for harm into good, glorious good.
Joy is what carries us through. It is not what we are meant to feel instead. It is something that we find as we journey, as we are refined through the fire. Joy is the knowledge that no matter what we go through, God is there.
And that doesn’t always make sense. How can God have been there when we were abandoned? How can God have been there when we were abused? How can God have been there when it all fell apart?
But the mystery of life is this: God was there. He is there. And he is still good.
When I say that blessing is found in pain, I’m not saying that pain itself is the blessing. Pain is symptomatic of living in a broken world, one that has fallen from glory. But God’s presence in pain? His redemptive power? The intimacy found as we draw close to our Comforter? The meaning he provides as we journey through suffering? The way our suffering allows us to journey alongside another?
That, my friends, is the blessing.
ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTOR:
Alexandra is a registered clinical counsellor and the Director of Relate Church Counselling. She enjoys reading, practicing martial arts, and embracing slow mornings with coffee. She shares writing and other creative pursuits on Instagram at @alexandrajfuller.
