Pain
Caravaggio’s St. Thomas Putting His Finger on Christ’s Wound (1603)
Throughout my life, as my experiences grew and my faith deepened, the Gospel narratives became more relatable.
For example, the Wedding Cana gained more meaning after my own wedding and attending so many unions over the past 20 years. I often revisited the Road to Emmaus when I accompanied college students on their faith journey. The Prodigal Son’s three main characters all felt relatable at times and the birth of Jesus, from the eyes of Joseph, strengthened my own solidarity with this earthly father some 2,000 years ago the moments I first met my two little girls.
Until recently, what was not relatable was the Good Friday narrative, the Passion. What a privilege it is to even type these words.
I have suffered loss, and faced struggles and disappointment, but the brutality of that day could only be felt to a certain extent. Last week, after the medicine faded following my surgery, an intense pain welcomed me into a new life and spiritual experience. I imagine future pains will reveal even more wisdom, but this pain opened a new realm for reflection.
As the pain increased, I first thought of Suzie, my wife, who experienced two C-sections. My appreciation for her and all mothers grew with each contraction of pain that I felt during those first few days of recovery.
I then thought of those who were in pain this same evening, especially those who were wounded by weapons and violence. I felt a connection to them despite my place in one of the best hospitals in the world. My pain was temporary, while for so many others, their pain remains.
My imagination then brought me to that Friday when Jesus took his final steps. As the pain performed its greatest of hits, I now understood why Jesus fell three times. I even understood, only briefly, why others eventually may say, “enough.”
The volume of the pain was lowered by medicine, and before I left the hospital, I discovered my new wounds. The pain was so great, it took more than a week before I could even look at the seven marks that now cover my lower stomach.
When I returned home, out of curiosity, I gently touched the highest wound.
I was quickly reminded of Thomas and how he entered his fingers into the wounds of the resurrected Christ. In that moment, I felt immense gratitude for my surgeon and her team, the researchers and scientists who developed a technology to limit the invasiveness of the surgery, and for the prayers that were said.
As I touched my wound, I started to imagine what it must have been like for Thomas to touch the wounds of Jesus, but truthfully, this needs more time for unpacking. I sense it will lead me into a deeper reflection when the time is right.
For now, I am surrendering to the healing. Grateful that the pain, although still very present, is less than it was. I am anxious for the next steps yet remain open to what lessons are to be learned from this experience.
While I would never wish pain upon anyone else, I am grateful for the invitation into a deeper life experience that better connects me to you and to our God. Do not get me wrong, I pray this is the worst of it, but in all its irony, I know I am better for it.
