the grace of embracing limits
the redemptive power of the pain in your neck (or, in my case, my foot)
Hi there! You may have noticed this, but it is not Tuesday! I will keep publishing weekly on Tuesdays. But as I get the writing rhythm down more and more, I will begin publishing a little more often. No promises yet, but I’m excited to share more with you! Thanks for reading!
I began running two years ago while on sabbatical and needing something positive to pour my energy into. Two years later, I’ve run a half marathon and two marathons.
I am not fast; I’m in my forties after all. But I can say, without sheepishness, that I am a runner.
Since I was a kid, I have had a deep competitive streak. The trouble with that for me, as a pastor, is that there is literally no redemptive way I’ve been able to find to apply that competitive streak to ministry. So, running has become a crucial outlet, not only for maintaining physical health, but for my sanity. I can compete on a daily basis, against myself, and no one gets hurt in the process.
Except for me. I get hurt. That’s the biggest challenge I face—running hurts.
the redemptive power of pain
Recently I went for a run and had to turn right back around and go home. I’ve been nursing a foot issue for some time, and it got to be too much for me to push through.
The rest of that morning and early afternoon, I was sulky and mad. I hate not being able to run. I have plans! Goals! Ambitions! I need to increase my speed so I can qualify for other, future, far-off marathons so that I can… run more? And faster? But not nearly fast enough to ever win anything.
On reflection, there’s not really any good reason for me to be mad at my pain. When I ask why anger is the response I have to pain, I begin to see that, perhaps, pain is an important indicator of my non-divinity.
The redemptive power of pain is that it reminds me I am not God. It reminds me that I am a creature, subject to the physical limits placed on me by my body.
I am not excarnate. Pain helps me to embrace my limitations and submit to the wisdom of the God who gave them.
sacramental pain
As a Christian, I believe that God made, and providentially governs, all things. That means nothing escapes His notice or lies beyond His power.
So, the pain in my foot is every bit as much in His control as the rotation of the planets and the gravitational forces holding bodies together. I can react to the pain I feel. Or I can let the pain fulfill its purpose: to draw me to the One who made my body to feel it.
In my particular case, the pain I am feeling prevents me from doing what I want to do. It puts me in a (hopefully) temporary straitjacket. It thwarts my will and, thus, my pride. Pain humbles me and forces me to accept my creatureliness.
On the face of it, that just sounds bad. No upside. Nothing good about it.
But every day, multiple times a day, I pray, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” In the most agonizing moment of His life, Jesus prayed, “Not my will, but yours be done” (Matt. 26:39). What I am incapable of doing on my own, God, in His loving care for me, leads me into. I can’t empty myself of my will. In pain, He does it for me.
Pain humbles me and forces me to accept my creatureliness.
(im)perfect submission
C.S. Lewis said, “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pain: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”1 Pain sacramentally ushers me into the reality of God’s presence, my creatureliness, and my need for grace.
Pain humbles me and leads me into dependence. It empties me of my ability and leads me to cry out to God. And He promises to answer.
After all, “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble” (James 4:6). When my pain humbles me before the Lord, He scoops me right back up by His grace, reminds me of His love for me, and invites me to become like a child with Him.
I’m doing my best to let it.
C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain, 91.