It’s a Pain. And its a great teacher.
If you have read any of my written rantings, you know I resonate with music. There is always
“the song” that is spinning around in my head. Today is no different. Jon Foreman of
Switchfoot has the honor. The Cure for Pain:
And here tonight while the stars are blacking out
With every hope and dream I’ve ever had in doubt
I’ve spent ten years trying to sing these doubts away
But the water keeps on falling from my eyes.
And heaven knows…heaven knows
I tried to find a cure for the pain
Oh my Lord, to suffer like You do…
It would be a lie to run away.
When I was five years old or so, I smashed my thumb with a hammer, and therefore, I thought I
knew what pain was. Soon, I crashed my bike into the curb in front of our house. Then I was
certain I knew what pain was. Then my grandfather died, and I was certain that was the most
pain I could be in. Then in rapid succession, I experienced the heartbreak of a girlfriend
dumping me and basic training all in a month. I thought for sure I was an expert in pain and
sorrow.
But life kept moving forward despite the pain. And pain kept coming. A major back injury in my
mid-twenties caused a seismic shift in my life, changing my direction as I reoriented to a life
with a problematic back. I was no longer able to be a human forklift; I had to sort how I worked
and how I played. How could I carry my kids? That pain changed everything. Later, the pain of
loss, of failure, of broken dreams—all of this pain stacked up and started to slow me down. I
waded through a series of jobs, always looking for one that would fulfill my passions, would
make me feel like a success. I left jobs, lost jobs, hated jobs—all looking for something that
would make me feel alive and make the pain subside. As Jon says, I’ve spent ten years (thirty,
really) trying sing these doubts away.
But…
I realized that pain is a pretty great teacher. All of the physical and emotional pain directed me
towards a path in my life. I got more active in the martial arts to help ease the back pain that
was a daily reminder of a singular event. Flexibility and core strength helped compensate for
that pain. Sometimes I focused on the perceived pleasure of food and drink, or destinations
that were out of the daily grind, or flirting with girls to boost my ego, I focused on serving via
law enforcement to take my eyes off my physical and emotional pain. I drove fast, shot very
well, and was not afraid of the risk to life and limb. If the adrenaline was high enough, I felt
good for a while. But these diversionary tactics merely soothed the symptoms of pain for a
short time. They did not, and cannot address the root. In fact, nearly all these things eventually
compounded the pain.
Sliding through the years, I kept seeking a cure for the pain.
Finally, I found one.
It took a while to figure out. And its certainly not conventional. As I type this, I am sitting on a
tailbone that is a 6 or 7 out of 10 for pain. I am 8 weeks out from back surgery, and I am experiencing nerve pain,
structural pain, and pain in my abdomen from the 6 inch incision scar.
I just came from a massage therapist whom I paid to physically assault me, but that part will
feel better tomorrow.
Pain that stops me from sleeping well. Pain that disallows too much movement, not enough
movement, or the wrong movement. I haven’t been able to see clearly where the precipice is.
The tolerance—the ability to weather the pain—just sort of stops and I fall into a space where
the pain is the overwhelming
I know I said I found a cure, but pain is still present in my body, and I assume it will be for quite
some time. So what is this cure? Some man made chemical cocktail that dulls the senses or
fogs the mind? Nope. Some natural herbal and essential oil potion? Nope. The thing that I
found, this mysterious cure for pain is available to everyone. This cure…is called hope. Not just
a hope that the pain will stop or subside, but a hope that the pain will be completely gone, that
the tears will be dried, that my body will stop telling me how careless I have been with it. This
hope, it’s really not for this life. This is hope in eternal life, in heaven, in being present with the
Creator of my body, present with the Redeemer, filled with the Spirit who leads me. God the
Father, Jesus, the Holy Spirit.
Hope. The cure for pain. Not whimsy. Hope—solidly built upon experience, founded in faith,
shored up by the text of God’s Word in the holy Bible. Hope that He gives me the perseverance
required to bear up under this world’s pain, hope that brings joy despite trials and problems,
hope that brings peace to weather the storms that are all around me, but not in me. To quote
an old hymn, “My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness. I dare not
trust the sweetest frame but wholly lean on Jesus name.” Christ, the solid rock.
I know as you read this, you’re thinking, “Sounds nice, like some kind of mental trick, like
positive self-talk or toxic positivity.” It’s not. It is a foundational shift, and understanding that
the One I call Lord is wholly set apart, King of the universe, and has invited me, through Jesus
Christ’s death and resurrection, into sonship. Jesus is referred to as the “suffering servant.”
The prophet Isaiah describes him in Isaiah 53:
He was despised and rejected by men,
a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief;
and as one from whom men hide their faces
he was despised, and we esteemed him not.
Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed him stricken,
smitten by God, and afflicted.
But he was pierced for our transgressions;
he was crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,
and with his wounds we are healed.
All we like sheep have gone astray;
we have turned—every one—to his own way;
(Isaiah 53:3–6, ESV)
When I began to understand who Jesus is, that he certainly understood my minor pains, that
this prophecy and others were completely fulfilled when Jesus walked the earth 2000 years
ago…all of this is to say that the One I put my hope in is not some foreign god who sits on a
mountain and mocks me. He, the Lord of my life, the One in whom I am reborn, has been there
and done it on a scale that in incomprehensible. This is Who I put all of my hope in.Then I began to understand who I am in Christ Jesus, and that my identity in Christ Jesus is a
radical transformation across multiple pieces of my existence. I have been (and you can be)
fundamentally remade—my old self has passed away, and I have become a new creation (2
Cor 5:17). This isn’t merely a change in status but an experiential reality: Christ lives within me,
and that has replaced my former self-directed existence (Gal 2:20).
I live free (as can you) from condemnation (Rom 8:1), and I am filled with peace from God
through faith (Rom 5:1). I have been granted the right to become God’s child (John 1:12), which
carries heavy implications: the Holy Spirit has reformed my status as God’s heir, making you a
co-heir with Christ (Rom 8:14–17). I have been adopted into God’s family through Jesus Christ
(Eph 1:3–14), I am no longer an outsider—I belong as a member of God’s household (Eph
2:19).
I wrote this in the first person as an exercise of truth-telling and to share a critical
understanding with you. If I fail to recognize my identity in Christ—my value to the Lord—I am
missing an important truth. This truth is what allows me to have hope and to share the hope
given to me. To be a part of the body of Christ, part of his bride, a worker in the kingdom of
God. Given work that has eternal purpose. To walk into the fight against principalities and
powers. To help take back ground, working in the ministry of reconciliation which God has
given all of us who place our faith in Him.
Hope, despite pain. Hope in spite of the world’s condition. Hope, despite my self-centered
past. Hope in the saving grace provided by a perfect sacrifice, by a perfect God, who has
loved me, loved you, before the beginning of time.
Hope. The cure for pain.
