I have a friend who is one of the “walking wounded” of this generation. He served as an officer with our armed forces during military operations in Bosnia, Afghanistan, and Iraq. Caught in the open during a special operations mission, he was hit by sniper fire in his right wrist, his left knee, and the left side of his chest. Considered 100% disabled, he was honorably discharged from the Navy. Yet, the average person cannot see his disabilities. He walks slowly and only for limited distances. He uses a voice-activated computer, because he has limited use of his hands. But, if you saw him on the street, you would not know the pain that he suffers on a daily basis from his wounds… wounds that are both physical and mental.
You see, he is the sole survivor of his U.S. Navy SEAL team. In addition to the daily reminder that he is no longer physically capable of doing things that he used to do with ease, he also lives with the memory of colleagues killed in combat. One of those colleagues, in his final courageous act, saved my friend’s life by stepping into the path of a bullet intended for him. My friend lives every day with the guilt of knowing that he survived while his colleague died. He lives with a sense of being unworthy of the gift of life that his friend gave to him. They call it “survivor’s guilt.” It is experienced by those who survive a traumatic event in which others are killed. The unanswered question that runs through each survivor’s mind over and over again is “Why?” “Why was I spared?” “Why am I alive?” In the agony of introspection that follows… these relentless questions… nightmares… flashbacks… and other aspects of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder… these individuals relive the event over and over again… and see their colleagues die many, many times again. So, my friend wakes up in the night, running and attempting to fire his gun at an elusive enemy.
This is a pain that no one else understands. Despite graphic descriptions of the violence and terror, no one else knows the sense of helplessness and hopelessness of reliving those moments in endless replay. No one else understands the deep well of guilt caused by the memory of friends and colleagues who were killed merely by the circumstance of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. “What if they had stayed and talked a few minutes longer…?” “What if rescue transport had arrived sooner…?” “It could have been…or should have been… me.” There is nothing that can soothe the pain… and no one who understands it.
Hannah also had a deep, personal, and private pain. She could not have children and, even worse, everyone knew it. She and Elkanah had been trying for years. Hannah was his first wife… his first love. She longed to have a child… his child. She had dreamed of this all her life. It was the fulfillment of her role as a married woman… as a wife... in these ancient times – to have her husband’s children… his heirs… and to raise them. It was the fulfillment of God’s command to “be fruitful and multiply.” A household with many children was a sign of God’s blessing on that family. Instead, month after month went by with no sign of pregnancy. Then, year after year of well-meaning relatives asking “how long” they were planning to wait to start a family. And the teasing… “Perhaps, next year… in Jerusalem…” It was humiliating. People were talking about her. They were saying that she had been cursed by God… but she had done nothing. They began to gently push her aside at family events. Cousins who had many children were pushed to the center. She was stigmatized… and Elkanah along with her… for they had no children. She was worthless. Her tears never seemed to stop.
Then, finally, the ultimate insult… a second wife. Elkanah had to have an heir. Hannah knew that. Hannah could not provide one. He felt he had no choice, so he married Peninnah, whose very name means “fertile.” And she proved she was. In less than a year, the first child arrived... then another… and another. Each year, with each child, Peninnah solidified her position in the family. Each year, Hannah was pushed further into the background. And Peninnah never lost a chance to lord it over her… with snide little comments… or, perhaps, by simply asking for her help with the baby… the newest one. Holding that little one in her arms must have pierced Hannah’s heart. She knew that Elkanah still loved her. “Am I not more to you than 10 sons?” he would ask. She would smile her little Mona Lisa smile through her tears. But no one really understood her pain. No one understood how much she hated the body that had betrayed her. No one understood the pain of knowing that her husband was sleeping with another woman… perhaps even the pain of hearing them together in the next room.
I’ve shared two stories of personal pain: the private agony of survivor’s guilt and the stigma of infertility. These are the kinds of pain no one else can understand. Pain we cannot share. What other example of private, personal pain exist? I can think of mental illness… eating disorders… impotence… incontinence… chemical addictions… sexually transmitted diseases… and so on. Even children and youth can have a private pain that no one understands… that they feel they cannot share. These may include bedwetting… incest or sexual abuse… dyslexia… neglect or abandonment… thumb sucking… stuttering… being bullied by others… or being rejected by others.
These people are all around us… every day. They sit beside us in church. They pass us in the aisle at the grocery store. They are in front of us at the checkout counter in Wal-Mart. They are dressed the way we are. They talk the way that we do. They attend the same meetings. They drive the same cars. They look “normal.” They do not wear red flashing signs that say, “Be gentle. I’m hurting.” They look like ordinary people… They are ordinary people. They are you… and me… with a different set of circumstances. They are you … and me… in another time, another place. They are you and me… trying to survive each day. Many of them, like Hannah, are praying for a solution and waiting for God to act.
Which brings me to the main question today: What is the role of the church in people’s lives as they wait for God to act? What should we be doing for these people who are in pain? I would like to suggest a framework for thinking through what our role might be… one you have heard me introduce before… and that framework is the cross. I have told you that the cross can be thought of in two dimensions: the upright post (or vertical axis) and the crossbar (or horizontal axis). The vertical axis represents our relationship to God. It is the connection between earth and heaven. If we look at it from the top down: It is God choosing humanity before the creation of the world. It is God’s grace showered upon us. It is God’s love coming down to us Incarnate in Jesus Christ. If we look at it from the bottom up: It is humanity praising God. It is humanity responding to God’s grace. It is humanity rising redeemed to God. It is the prayers of the world rising to God. In many ways, the vertical post represents the first of the two great commandments: “You shall love the Lord your God with all of your heart, with all of your soul, with all of your mind, and with all of your strength.”
The horizontal axis of the cross represents our relationship to the rest of creation. It is our connection to our fellow human beings and all living things. Since the ends of the crossbar point in opposite directions, it encompasses every part of creation, from the east to the west and everything in between. Because it is horizontal, it puts all of creation on an equal playing field, demonstrating that we are all equal in the sight of God. There are no distinctions of color or class, wealth or poverty, ability or disability. It is the Christian reaching out to others in the name of Christ. It is our mission to the world. It is love incarnate… in Christ and in us. Thus, the horizontal bar represents the second of the two great commandments: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”
In light of this image, I want to suggest four things that we can do for those in great personal and private pain. First, like Hannah, we need to continue to praise God for the gifts that God has given to us. We need to continue in constant prayer… even when our prayers seem to go unanswered for years. And we need to share our private pain with God. Hannah never stopped going to Jerusalem. She never stopped praying. She never stopped believing that God loved her. She never stopped being in that relationship… that vertical relationship.
Secondly, we need to examine ourselves to identify our own personal, private pain. We cannot cover it up. We cannot gloss it over. We cannot lose it in alcohol or mind-numbing drugs. We need to identify this pain and seek ways to heal our own hurt. At the beginning of this message, I told you the story of my friend. When I spoke with him about a Christian response to those in great pain, he shared with me that, when he was at the bottom of his own pit of agony, he could not have helped anyone else, for he was drowning in his own personal pain and grief. Even now, when he is in a much better place physically and mentally, he still has many wounds to heal. He had to face his own pain… to acknowledge… to own it… and to seek ways to deal with it. He did this through a combination of factors: his faith in God, friends and family who surrounded and supported him, and professionals who were trained to help him work through both his physical pain and his mental anguish. Here, both the vertical axis and the horizontal axis play an important role in healing.
Then, thirdly, we need to reach out to others… not in a condescending way… not in a judgmental way that puts us above them… but in the same way that Christ reached out to us… as our brother… as a friend. We need to offer a hand… a smile… a shoulder… a cup of water… to those we encounter each day. Be a friend. Not intrusive. Not demanding. Not expecting anything in return. Just be there. Be open... be welcoming… be loving… be patient. So, how do we find these people who are in pain? We don’t. They will find us, if we simply treat everyone as if they have a deep, personal, and private pain that they cannot share. This is another aspect of the horizontal axis of the cross.
Fourth, we need to be like Elkanah, never abandoning our relationships with others. It is said that two of the most difficult relationships to maintain over time are relationships with those who are chronically ill… physically disabled… or terminally ill… in other words, those who never show signs of being restored to “normal” physical functioning… and relationships with those who are mentally ill… depressed… or grieving… those who never show signs of being restored to “normal” mental functioning. These relationships are the most exhausting for caregivers… for the demand is unending and the rewards are few and far between. Yet over the years, Elkanah continued to love Hannah, to offer sacrifices for her, and to hold her up, despite society’s rejection of her. We cannot forget those who are in pain… even when times passes, the memory fades, and there is nothing to remind us of their pain. We need to remain in relationship with them, as God has remained in relationship with us. This is another aspect of the horizontal axis of the cross and part of the circle that binds us together for eternity.
This is a time of year when all the pain in people’s lives seems to come to the surface … a time when it seems impossible to hide it… or camouflage it…a time when it erupts in all its terrible agony. We build such a fairy tale of perfection around the images of the holidays that those whose lives don’t fit those pictures seem to drown in the incongruity of it. This is the time when suicide rates hit their peak… when accident rates are highest… when those who are ill die rather than linger on. And much of the explanation for this can be traced to a deep pain in their lives… to discouragement… to a sense of unworthiness… and to a lack of hope. As we start the mad rush toward Christmas… and the days get ever more maniacal… I challenge you to reach out to someone in this community… in this congregation… and take the time to be the one who shares that burden of pain… the one who shows the love of Jesus… not in the gifts that you buy, but in a ministry of love that changes lives. For as Christ has said (in that great Judgment Day passage in Matthew 25), “Truly I tell you, just as you do it for one of the least of these who are members of my family, you do it for me.” And isn’t that what Christmas is really all about? Amen.
1 Samuel 1:1-10; 1 Samuel 2:1-10