Written on August 22, 2008

For the August 31, 2008 lectionary: Matthew 16:21-28

ODD, ISN'T IT by Larry Patten

I didn’t want to cry.

Not this time. There was too much to deal with and not enough time for tears. So, I found matches and placed them by the onions.

Then I started slicing and dicing. After all dinner guests were headed my way.

Do onions bring on the eye showers for you? According to my exhaustive five minutes of Internet research, some cooks don’t breathe when they chop onions. (Hopefully they only work on one small onion at a time?) Others wear goggles. A few experts recommend refrigerating the “Asian herb of the lily family” (what the onion is . . . so says Merriam Webster’s 10th) before wielding a knife. Cool herb = no tears?

There are those, of course, who order pizza.

Though I have no idea why plopping a box of combustible sticks next to the cutting board does the trick, it works for me. My extensive research (see above) left me confused about the why. There were references to sulfur, chemical reactions, and the gas the “Asian herb” produces. Huh?

Simply, matches work. No tears.

I wish I could use matches for other situations.

One of the recurring themes in Jesus’ ministry was suffering. Indeed, that was the word that lured me when I read Matthew’s chapter 16. Jesus told his disciples that he would “go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering.” In my quaint and heavy as an anvil Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible, variations of “suffer” spread across two columns of verses printed in a ridiculously small font. There’s lots of suffering in the Bible.

Suffering is everywhere. Darfur. Afghanistan. Your neighbor next door. You. Known or unknown, the next person you see.

I watched the women’s marathon at the Beijing Olympics. Great Britain’s Paula Radcliffe, the current world record holder, was near the front for a few miles. Then she faded. She was still recovering from a broken leg! She had cramps during the race! Finishing in twenty-third place, her face was a mask of pain. Suffering.

Frederick Buechner, in his Whistling in the Dark, writes of running:

The look of anguish and despair that contorts the faces of most of the people you see huffing and puffing away at it by the side of the road, however is striking. If you didn’t know directly from them that they are having the time of their lives, the chances are you wouldn’t be likely to guess at it.

Our physical suffering can be obvious. Most runners—even world-class marathoners like Radcliffe (with or without a broken leg)—will often have a look of “anguish and despair.”

For me, the suffering Jesus talked about is living life for the other. The moment we choose—and it’s always a choice—to serve, help, and join with others . . . suffering is guaranteed. But less obvious.

But, as we suffer for the other, I long to be like Henri Nouwen’s understanding of the wounded healer . . .

No minister can save anyone. He can only offer himself as a guide to fearful people. Yet, paradoxically, it is precisely in this guidance that the first signs of hope become visible. This is so because a shared pain is no longer paralyzing but mobilizing, when understood as a way to liberation. (The Wounded Healer)

In my kitchen, I can bring out the matches. No tears. That was easy.

In running, or other physical exertions, I can’t avoid looking anguished as my body suffers. But the marathon ends. More often than not, the body recovers. That was easy.

But in my faith, in the risk of a relationship with others, suffering is never-ending and yet, ironically, life-giving.

(. . . Here, I need to admit that I’ve struggled with this reflection, more so than any I’ve written in the last year. Why so many rewrites? Why the frequent, anxious staring at the computer’s screen . . .?)

First, suffering is something our culture masks with slick ads, convenient drugs, and television shows that start with misery and conclude, exactly one hour later, with triumph. Suffering ain’t sexy. It’s a hard sell. (And it was in Jesus’ time too . . . note the Rock’s reaction in Matthew 16:22!!)

Second, what do I know about suffering? On the one hand, my life has been easy compared to most. On the other hand, brilliant theologians have written whole books on the subject and still come up short.

Finally, and confessionally, it’s been over a year since I’ve ministered to and with a community of people. I don’t miss late-night meetings, or annual budget preparation, or creating mission and vision statements for the twenty-first century. But I miss people.

I miss suffering with others. And them with me. I still believe I’ve chosen the right path—of prioritizing writing—but it comes with a cost. Odd, isn’t it? Suffering as gift. Darn that Jesus. No wonder he was royally pissed at Peter.

in Peace,

Larry