One patient of many

It's hard to write about this topic. But, I thought I would try. Though difficult, I think it is important. Sometimes, I think the things we can't explain, are often the most important. Difficult as they are, I think it's important you at least try.

We make pastoral visits to the hospital every week. There is quite a lot of suffering there. It's difficult to see and hard to believe, but real nonetheless. There was one man we (myself & another missionary) met. He is 20. He has been there for quite some time. He has a skin disease they have not been able to diagnose, and a stomach condition that has caused diarrhea since last December. He weighed about 70 lbs, quite possibly nearing the end of his life. Yet, he was pleasant, had a calm, sort of passive attitude, with an air of contentment and positivity. As we talked to him, I was moved with complete compassion. Sure, who wouldn't be. This is the natural human reaction.

But, sitting there, talking to this young man, younger than me, it's difficult to figure where your thoughts should lie. Or, should they lie in any particular way or order at all? How can they? The bed sheets barely raise up where the legs and rest of his body should fill in. It's a struggle for him to raise a limb, let alone stand. I continue to shock myself, "He is 20? Why him?" We talk to him more. I learn he has lost both of his parents. He lost his mother before the earthquake, and his father shortly after, no doubt as a result of it. He is from a town near the epicenter. In fact, most of his family lived there, and as such, he lost many other family members. I became overwhelmed with sympathy and compassion for him. How terrible his pain must be? Chronic disease, mourning the loss of his parents and family, and possibly facing death, losing out in the prime of his life.

Compassion - from the latin word compati, meaning, "to suffer with, to feel pity." I probably felt more compassion for this man, than I have ever felt in my entire life. I could not imagine spending a day in this man's shoes. But, to "suffer with", how is this possible? We could not experience his pain, only bear witness. We could not feel the extreme sense of loss from the death of his parents or family members. We could only tell him, "they are in a better place." Small words of comfort for such huge affliction. How do I share this man's suffering? How do you suffer with someone? I don't know.

I have tried many outlets for my questions about this topic of suffering. All humans die, right? We cannot choose how we are born, what does it have to do with me? This is just the way things go, right? Some people are poor, some are not, some are born with problems, some are not, some get disease, some do not. What does it matter that this man has had a terrible run at  life? It's just the way things go. Right? It's difficult to see, it makes you appreciate life, but there is not much you can do, aside from being there for someone. Is that it? Maybe it is. Maybe this is the extent of it. Maybe this is as far as the question goes. Maybe there is no answer to this inequity, and it just has and always will be a part of this world. And, we do our best with it. But, for me, I sense something more in it. I feel there is more to be learned and gained from suffering, within ourselves and from those around us.

I think the possibility exists that there is something real and tangible revealed through suffering and compassion. Something very deep, true and great, that it's almost understandable why suffering is so difficult. For what reward would it be, if the nature and answers to such great suffering came easily? What true and perfect greatness has ever come easily in life? And, since the challenge is so great, what greatness could there be in suffering? Sure, that's a simple set of leading questions. But at a minimum, it's at least worth entertaining the thought, even as terribly inexperienced I am with it. There is something in the heart that speaks here. I don't think, "it's just the way things go" or "it will always be here, you can't explain it". Sure, we can't control where we end up, just like anything. But, I don't think such a generalization negates what is possibility contained in the suffering itself.

To use the analogy, I almost think of it as a possible stored energy, a tank of fuel, a raised object waiting to fall, a stretched rubber band. It almost unlocks what we really are; non-permanent, headed for the end, questions numerous and certain answers few. Yet, in us we still burn for the truth all the time, to know these answers. Whether we believe in God or not. We all love to feel. We are not zombies. What is this reason for feeling? Why do we enjoy friendship, and feel compassion, cry for sadness and happiness, and desire to love and be loved? Why do we feel such compassion, and long to share in it? It's as if the suffering, brings all these questions from miles away, writes them down on a chalk board, and positions the chalk board 2 feet from your face. You're backed into a corner, forced to see the humanness, the reality. It strikes a chord very deep.

What's worse, as I ponder my deep questions and feel uncomfortable as to how to suffer with him, this young man, younger than me, answers our concerns and compassionate comments with, "I think about all the people on the streets who do not have a bed like I do, and I pray for them, because they need help, and I pray to God that he helps them." A completely selfless comment from  a suffering, dying man. He is thankful for a bed? Why? It's not even a good bed. What is his reasoning or motivation for his concerns? Why does he think about others, when he has lost and continues to lose everything, even his own life? Why does he say these things, and act so graciously? Why does he have this gracious attitude? What does he know that I don't, other than possibly everything, and quite possibly the secret to life? Because in dying and having lost everything, he still seems ok. Like a perfect Buddha figure, content and peaceful. He says he prays, is thankful, and thinks about others. What do I do other than worry about my own, mostly self-perpetuated problems? How great must his faith & trust must be? How greatly do I lack what he has? It's clear, with nothing, and still losing everything, he has found more than I have.

So, what is suffering then, and what can we know from it? And, how do I feel compassion and suffer with him, and share in his suffering? Is my responsibility only to feel pity and offer comfort? Sure, absolutely. And I do. But, does it end there? Does my responsibility of the "sharing" component end there? Or, do I owe something more to this dying man? Do I owe him a true look at what he has found? Is he sharing something with me too? Do I accept what he shares with me? Do I owe this man's dying life an honest attempt at seeing or trying to understand what he has found, what he sees? Do I owe him an attempt at trying to understand what he sees as most important in the final moments of his life? Is there something to learn here, about his suffering, and how I should handle my own trials? Is he inadvertently, unintentionally, but by some grace, teaching me something? It wouldn't be so far fetched, right? How often do we learn from someone without that person even knowing they were teaching us? I am betting I do owe this man something, and that he is showing me something, intended or not, by some grace, I think it's owed the proper attention as I attempt to share in his suffering.

I apologize, though more of a deep internal monologue than a story, I thought it was at least worth the examination. There are others like him, with similar reactions to their own suffering. It's actually incredibly common. The fact that his response is not isolated is what prompted me to think seriously about what this suffering is. And, what it does to, and possibly for, people; both the sufferer and those suffering with.