It is not uncommon for me to get something out of a sermon or lecture that really had nothing to do with the sermon itself. Certain things the speaker says that don't necessarily fit in with the topic nonetheless stick out at me and it can be very difficult to stay focused on the real subject. Sometimes, it's only the comment that I can remember from that event, the original topic is lost from memory.
During the PMOC (Protestant Men of the Chapel) retreat last October, such a situation occurred. I don't remember who he was, or what he talked about, but I do remember that he was on crutches and had recently been through some kind of surgery. During his introduction, he referred to a Chris Rice song where he sings about how God's voice can be heard in every language. Then he made the one comment that really stuck with me. He said, "Lately, I have been becoming very familiar with the language of pain."
He said nothing further on the matter; he didn't even state the connection with the song he mentioned. He didn't need to though, as the silence in the room confirmed. I don't think anyone doubted what he was trying to say; we all know the verses that confirm it. Somehow though, coming face to face with that fact is encouraging, whether or not we already "knew" it. It can also be a sobering thought. It may very well be that sometimes God needs to speak in that language, and that is not necessarily a comforting thought.
Living in Sicily has made me keenly aware of how a language barrier can inhibit communication. Most Italians who work on base know at least enough English to cover the basics and pantomime usually covers the rest. Still, one can't stay on base forever and the farther you get from the area, the harder it can be to communicate. Despite the fact that I have 3-year orders here, I haven't been proactive about learning the language. I guess I just don't think it's worth the time. I like it here, but not enough to come back. Basically, I don't think I'll come in contact with the language enough to need it long term.
Pain is an entirely different matter. It is a universal language. Everyone has felt it in some way or another; it is not a foreign concept. And yet, it is so very foreign. One person's pain is different than another's. In the medical field, pain is the most difficult assessment to deal with. We ask patients "On a scale of 0 to 10, with '0' being no pain and '10' being the worst pain you can possibly imagine, how would you rate your pain?" A young healthy male who has never broken a bone before may give you an '8' with such an injury. Meanwhile, a mother of 2 will probably give you a 4 for the same exact compliant. That's just physical pain; we have no idea how to measure emotional pain.
Emotional pain is almost completely different from its physical counterpart. It is entirely based on experience (some people tolerate physical pain better than others). You can't speak the language fluently until you have been immersed in it, and that's for just one single cause. I can lose a cousin to cancer and have no idea what it means to lose a sibling, parent, or child to the same thing. Even if I were to experience one of those, say a child, I still would not know what it felt like to lose that same child to a drunk driver. When trying to comfort someone experiencing pain, the last thing you ever want to say is, "I know how you feel."
Pain is the one language you never want to learn, but it's also the hardest to ignore. It's hard to see a loved one in pain and not make some attempt to express some kind of support. Lately though, that's been my position. There are many people around me who are going through a lot of pain, and it's like I don't know the language. I've been through my fair share of struggles, but I can't honestly say that I've really experienced pain like most people I know. I've tried to show some kind of support, but it's hard when I don't understand what each person is experiencing.
As I consider all this, I find myself asking the question, "Am I willing to learn this language?" It's a daunting task. It requires little effort from me, but it does demand an incredible sacrifice. It requires loss, but thankfully, God promises gain. Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too. If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer. Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort (2 Corinthians 1:3-7, ESV, emphasis added). Based on these verses, there is yet one more requirement. I must pass on the comfort I receive.
Pain is not purposeless, but to serve its purpose, it must be experienced. Pain is not good; but good can come of it. God did not create the world to be painful, but He's not about to leave anything under the Enemy's dominion. I may regret writing this, but to answer the question, yes, I am willing to experience pain to learn its language. Unlike Italian, I will be surrounded by it for my entire life. Fortunately, I worship a God who is fluent in pain, and even there His voice is heard.
During the PMOC (Protestant Men of the Chapel) retreat last October, such a situation occurred. I don't remember who he was, or what he talked about, but I do remember that he was on crutches and had recently been through some kind of surgery. During his introduction, he referred to a Chris Rice song where he sings about how God's voice can be heard in every language. Then he made the one comment that really stuck with me. He said, "Lately, I have been becoming very familiar with the language of pain."
He said nothing further on the matter; he didn't even state the connection with the song he mentioned. He didn't need to though, as the silence in the room confirmed. I don't think anyone doubted what he was trying to say; we all know the verses that confirm it. Somehow though, coming face to face with that fact is encouraging, whether or not we already "knew" it. It can also be a sobering thought. It may very well be that sometimes God needs to speak in that language, and that is not necessarily a comforting thought.
Living in Sicily has made me keenly aware of how a language barrier can inhibit communication. Most Italians who work on base know at least enough English to cover the basics and pantomime usually covers the rest. Still, one can't stay on base forever and the farther you get from the area, the harder it can be to communicate. Despite the fact that I have 3-year orders here, I haven't been proactive about learning the language. I guess I just don't think it's worth the time. I like it here, but not enough to come back. Basically, I don't think I'll come in contact with the language enough to need it long term.
Pain is an entirely different matter. It is a universal language. Everyone has felt it in some way or another; it is not a foreign concept. And yet, it is so very foreign. One person's pain is different than another's. In the medical field, pain is the most difficult assessment to deal with. We ask patients "On a scale of 0 to 10, with '0' being no pain and '10' being the worst pain you can possibly imagine, how would you rate your pain?" A young healthy male who has never broken a bone before may give you an '8' with such an injury. Meanwhile, a mother of 2 will probably give you a 4 for the same exact compliant. That's just physical pain; we have no idea how to measure emotional pain.
Emotional pain is almost completely different from its physical counterpart. It is entirely based on experience (some people tolerate physical pain better than others). You can't speak the language fluently until you have been immersed in it, and that's for just one single cause. I can lose a cousin to cancer and have no idea what it means to lose a sibling, parent, or child to the same thing. Even if I were to experience one of those, say a child, I still would not know what it felt like to lose that same child to a drunk driver. When trying to comfort someone experiencing pain, the last thing you ever want to say is, "I know how you feel."
Pain is the one language you never want to learn, but it's also the hardest to ignore. It's hard to see a loved one in pain and not make some attempt to express some kind of support. Lately though, that's been my position. There are many people around me who are going through a lot of pain, and it's like I don't know the language. I've been through my fair share of struggles, but I can't honestly say that I've really experienced pain like most people I know. I've tried to show some kind of support, but it's hard when I don't understand what each person is experiencing.
As I consider all this, I find myself asking the question, "Am I willing to learn this language?" It's a daunting task. It requires little effort from me, but it does demand an incredible sacrifice. It requires loss, but thankfully, God promises gain. Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too. If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer. Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort (2 Corinthians 1:3-7, ESV, emphasis added). Based on these verses, there is yet one more requirement. I must pass on the comfort I receive.
Pain is not purposeless, but to serve its purpose, it must be experienced. Pain is not good; but good can come of it. God did not create the world to be painful, but He's not about to leave anything under the Enemy's dominion. I may regret writing this, but to answer the question, yes, I am willing to experience pain to learn its language. Unlike Italian, I will be surrounded by it for my entire life. Fortunately, I worship a God who is fluent in pain, and even there His voice is heard.
