Rev. Nick Cheek
Romans 5: 1-11 and Philippians 1: 12-30
Going through seminary, I worked as a chaplain at Presbyterian Hospital. I was stationed in the emergency room, behavioral health, and the ICU – and I also spent time on call once or twice a week for 12-hour shifts. I spent my time praying with, counseling, and being actively present with patients and their families. As you can imagine, over my 13 months of working there, I witnessed my fair share of pain, suffering, and death. Being designated to some of the hardest areas of the hospital was draining at times. There were plenty of moments when, during prayers with patients or families, tears were openly shed by all – including me. Even though it was certainly demanding, each room contained within it a different story of suffering, perseverance, and hope. No matter how tough a day I was having, it was my job to keep on walking in these rooms again and again. About halfway through my stint as chaplain, I met a new family in the children’s oncology wing. As I walked near room 12, I saw two parents holding hands and crying silently with half smiles on their faces. They were looking at who I knew instantly to be their son sleeping soundly in the hospital bed.
After standing still in the doorway for a few moments, his parents recognized my presence and quickly wiped their tears away, straightened up, and invited me in.
We shook hands, introduced each other, and I sat with them for a while as they told me about their son. Stephen was 14 years old and had been diagnosed one year before with a rare childhood cancer. His parents continued to cry softly as they shared more of their story. Stephen was a strong young man and had a healthy zest for life. He was a friendly, outgoing boy, and I enjoyed every minute with him. He played soccer and had a knack for drawing. As a Boy Scout, he was also into the outdoors and would camp, fish, and hike with his father regularly. In fact, he and his parents began hiking all the Great Smoky Mountains peaks when he was 11. However, because of his sudden illness, they had to put these trips on hold.
Suffering isn’t a foreign concept when it comes to the Bible. The book of Psalms is packed full of honest poems and writings about suffering and how it challenges us… makes us question our faith and even, at times, get angry with God. “I am weary with my moaning.” The psalmist says… “How long, O Lord?”, “Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am in distress.” Psalm 88 confesses that darkest is his closest friend. And Psalm 130 begins, “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord.” Instead of hiding suffering or rushing past it, the Bible shares it… It gives us permission to tell our own stories of suffering… it gives us permission to weep, to mourn, to cry out to God in anger and in hope – reminding us that all of these feelings are normal and acceptable when we deal with suffering.
Paul’s letters also reflect suffering. One of the most well-known scriptures comes from his letter to the Romans. “[We know that] suffering produces endurance, 4 and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, 5 and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”
The bible doesn’t ignore our suffering… in fact, it was God’s love that compelled the Word made Flesh to enter into our suffering… to walk with us… Cry with us… and experience along with us… the trials of our human lives.
Stephen’s parents were easy to spot as Christians. A well-worn Bible rested on a stand beside his hospital bed, its pages marked with little post-its from years of use. Because Stephen came to the hospital regularly for treatment, our paths often crossed, and I came to know the family well. More often than not, when I stopped by their room, Stephen was asleep or resting, so I found myself spending most of my time talking with his parents. We prayed together, shared stories about our families, and spoke openly about our faith. As a young father myself, I couldn’t help but think about my own children and wonder how I would navigate such a journey. And yet, despite the uncertainty they carried, Stephen’s parents possessed a certain strength about them…a steady courage that seemed to grow in the midst of their suffering.
As the weeks turned into months, there would be stretches when I didn’t see them, only to find them back again for another round of treatments. Then one morning, as I walked through the children’s oncology unit, I noticed something different outside Stephen’s room. Balloons floated near the doorway. Wrapped presents were stacked on a chair, and someone was carrying in a birthday cake. I peeked into the room and saw Stephen sitting up in bed, a bright smile stretched across his face, and joy exuding from his eyes. It was his fifteenth birthday. For a few precious hours, room 14 felt less like a hospital room and more like a family living room. Friends stopped by. Grandparents came in. Aunts, uncles, cousins, and neighbors filled the room with laughter. For a little while, conversations about scans, treatments, and blood counts gave way to stories, jokes, and cherished memories. One of the nurses quietly mentioned to me that moments like these were rare. Because the chemotherapy had weakened Stephen’s immune system, they normally had to be very careful about visitors. But on that day, surrounded by the people who loved him most, there was something almost sacred in that room…a reminder that even in the shadow of suffering, God’s grace is still present with us… among us… in that same space.
Suffering produces perseverance… perseverance character, and character, hope.
Kate Bowler, professor at Duke Divinity School and author of Everything Happens for a Reason (And Other Lies I’ve Loved), is a contemporary voice on suffering. After being diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer at the age of thirty-five, Bowler found herself wrestling with the same questions that we struggle with – Where is God in the midst of this? Why is this happening? Can anything Good come from Suffering? Instead of trying to answer these questions with an in-depth theological analysis… Bowler found that what sustained her most was the faithful presence of God made known through the people around her. Friends prayed with her, listened to her fears, sat with her in silence, and reminded her that she was not alone. She has a beautiful quote that sums up her experience with suffering, along with her struggle with questions of faith.
She writes, “Plans are made. Plans come apart. New delights or tragedies pop up in their place. And nothing human or divine will map out this life, this life that has been more painful than I could have imagined. More beautiful than I could have imagined. In our suffering, we must not exile ourselves from the love of God, love of others, or of our daily joys. If we rejoice in all the capabilities and opportunities that remain with us… we can grab the present by the scruff of the neck and smile—knowing no matter how diminished we might be by disease or horrible circumstance, we are not finished, not by a long shot. God is here. We are loved. It is enough.”
Those simple words capture one of the great promises of the Christian faith. God is here. We are loved. It is enough. Again and again, Scripture reminds us that God’s response to suffering is not an explanation… or a list of reasons… it is presence. “Yay… Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death… YOU are with me…” God’s grace has a remarkable way of revealing itself alongside our pain…in acts of compassion, in faithful friendships, in quiet moments of courage, and in the assurance that we never suffer alone. God does not promise to spare us from hardship; God promises to be with us through every one of them.
Not long after that birthday, Stephen’s family received the news they had been dreading. The doctors had done everything they could. After many difficult conversations, Stephen’s parents made the courageous decision to stop treatment. Rather than spending whatever time remained moving from one hospital room to the next, they decided to spend it living. They would go home. They would hike if Stephen felt strong enough. They would fish. They would laugh. They would make memories. They would simply be a family.
Knowing they would soon be leaving the hospital, I stopped by Stephen’s room whenever I had the chance. His charisma was contagious. That was the incredible thing about this young man. He knew he was dying, yet somehow, Stephen possessed a joy that could not be explained by his circumstances. Every time I visited, I walked away feeling as though I had received far more from him than I could ever offer in return. It was his perspective that allowed Stephen to smile through his pain. This strong and faithful child was unwilling to let his suffering ruin or steal away his joy. I would like to say that Stephen was not your average young man. But the more young people I have spent time with who suffer, the more I realize that he was just that, an average young man. Children seem to contain this supernatural vitality about them. Suffering for a short time adds years and years of wisdom, strength, and maturity. They find hope and life in the pain and can smile and laugh even in the darkest of moments. It is no wonder Jesus told us to long for and embrace the faith of a child.
In the midst of suffering, the Bible’s primary response is presence rather than explanation. As people of God, we are not always able to answer the question Why? Nor are we called to… perhaps that isn’t our duty in the midst of suffering. But what we can do is sit beside hospital beds. We can pray. We can listen. We can bring meals, write cards, and simply remain with those who are hurting. In doing so, we become living witnesses to God with us. We become tangible reminders that even in the darkest valleys, God’s love continues to surround God’s people through one another’s presence.
Suffering produces perseverance… perseverance character, and character, hope.
This last word is probably the most important: “hope.” Hope – because when we’re in the midst of suffering, hope is hard to see and grasp onto. But hope is what keeps us moving forward, hope is what reminds us that suffering will not have the last word… Hope is what gives us the strength to endure through even the most difficult times. [Pause] Jesus has this hope. He held on to a hope that all of his suffering wouldn’t be for nothing. Jesus walked towards the cross in pain, believing that suffering was not the end… believing that the love and grace of God it was would endure…
Kate Bowler… writes a beautiful piece about embracing the connection of Suffering and Joy.
Blessed are we who see the suffering, the damage done to body and spirit, the need that dares not hope. we who know what it feels like to languish. who live in the place where pain and joy meet.
God, today both the beautiful and the terrible are so intensely present. Help me live here, seeing the whole truth of what is.
Blessed are we who walk toward the suffering, bringing what gifts we have, and our sufferings too, whether of illness or loss, grief or betrayal, confusion or powerlessness.
Blessed are we who come to You so close that we can whisper our loves, our fears, our unspeakable secrets, all that feels too heavy to carry alone, and all that we wish we could hold onto for longer.
It is the beautiful that tells me what I love, and the terrible that tells me what I never want to lose.
Lord Jesus, may I learn to flourish here, even here! alongside the full reality of this beautiful, terrible day.
In the name of the Father and the Son and the holy Spirit.