The Thing About Pain
A quote comes to mind often, especially when I have conversations with people about pain, and it is this: “That’s the thing about pain, it demands to be felt.”
It comes from John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars.
I think we can all attest to this: pain demands to be felt. Some seasons of life are more painful than others. They bring more grief, more trouble, more heartache, and more confusion. Yet whenever these seasons come, I think we are often struck by the intensity of our pain. And certainly, as people shaped by Western culture, we tend to flee from it. Even in this year alone, I can think of painful moments when I’ve caught myself thinking:
Please, I can’t take any more bad things happening.
I just want to feel better or feel happier.
I don’t want to have to deal with all this pain.
And yet, pain meets me at some point in my life, uninvited and beckoning to be seen.
But why does pain or suffering really need to be felt? Truthfully, I’ve come to the conclusion that pain demands to be felt so that its antonym can be felt as well: joy.
Jesus speaks about both pain and joy in His conversations with His disciples. First, He uses the imagery of a vine and its branches to describe our connection to Him. He calls His disciples to abide in Him, to give the Father glory through their abiding, and to remain in His love by keeping His commandments.
He then says:
“These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.” (John 15:11, ESV)
Later, He continues:
“Truly, truly, I say to you, you will weep and lament, but the world will rejoice. You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn into joy. When a woman is giving birth, she has sorrow because her hour has come, but when she has delivered the baby, she no longer remembers the anguish, for the joy that a human being has been born into the world. So also you have sorrow now, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.” (John 16:20–22, ESV)
What Jesus is communicating to His disciples is that they will experience sorrow, but their sorrow will eventually turn into joy. He is preparing them for the reality that they will experience both in this world. And perhaps that is where our first acceptance begins:
1. We will experience both joy and suffering in this life.
Attempting to avoid suffering and experience only joy is futile.
Listen closely to what Jesus tells His disciples. He specifically says, “You will weep and lament.” He doesn’t say, “Avoid weeping and lamenting at all costs.”
We know that our Lord experienced profound suffering, not only in an earthly sense but also in a spiritual sense through His work on the cross. He willingly walked toward suffering, accepting it as part of the work He came to accomplish.
When we attempt to avoid suffering, we can create a false sense of reality, building layers of denial and disillusionment to keep ourselves from feeling or processing our pain.
Consider the stories we find throughout Scripture. Moses fled Egypt after killing an Egyptian who was beating a Hebrew man. Fearing Pharaoh, he left Egypt behind and eventually settled in Midian, where he began a new chapter of his life.
We also see Naomi return to Bethlehem from Moab after the deaths of her husband and sons. She asks the people to call her “Mara,” meaning bitter, because she believes the Almighty has dealt bitterly with her. Her suffering has profoundly affected how she understands herself and her circumstances, and she openly expresses her feelings about how God has treated her.
When we try to avoid pain, we often feel compelled to run from it. In doing so, we risk denying a part of our authentic selves and our stories.
But what if we allowed pain to become part of our stories? What if we allowed it to shape us into something new? I’m not suggesting that Naomi’s life was better because her sons died, nor am I suggesting that every painful experience automatically makes us better people. Rather, I’m suggesting that suffering can become part of a story in which God brings forth something new.
Which brings us to our second point.
2. Joy can emerge from suffering if we allow God to work in and through it.
James writes:
“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.” (James 1:2–4, ESV)
Paul echoes this sentiment in Romans:
“Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.” (Romans 5:3–5, ESV)
In May of this year, I experienced the death of a friend. It was a whirlwind of emotions. Intense shock and sadness hit me like a slap in the face, confusion and doubt bubbled to the surface, and somewhere behind it all lurked regret and guilt. All of this happened within seconds of hearing the news.
In the weeks that followed and the months that came after, I remember feeling just awful. Then, somewhere in the middle of my morning run, I noticed the light bouncing off the sidewalk. It caught my eye, and I stopped to look at it. Suddenly, the words from Romans 5 came to mind. It felt as though the Holy Spirit was speaking to me, ironically, while I was physically trying to build endurance by running farther and faster.
Suffering produces endurance.
I was beginning to understand this physically, but mentally and spiritually, I hadn’t quite gotten there yet.
Key word: yet.
Suffering → Endurance → Character → Hope → Freedom from Shame → God’s Love Poured Into Us
I experienced grief and suffering, and yet the Father was calling me toward something through that experience. There was an opportunity to endure, to develop character, to become more capable of relating to and connecting with others, and to experience suffering in community. Through these things, I began to find hope for deeper relationships and a deeper understanding of love and friendship.
I got to love my friend for the time I had with her. I still love her. I still get to experience her through my memories and through the people who knew and loved her, too. And if I allow myself to see it, even in the midst of grief, that love can bring me joy.
This doesn’t mean I have to stop grieving to experience joy. It doesn’t mean I need to rush through the pain or pretend that losing her didn’t hurt. Rather, it means that grief and joy can coexist. I can miss my friend deeply and still be grateful that I knew her. I can mourn her absence and still rejoice in the love we shared.
Returning to Naomi’s story, we see another beautiful picture of redemption. At the end of the book of Ruth, Ruth marries Boaz and gives birth to a son named Obed, who becomes the father of Jesse and the grandfather of King David. (Don’t even get me started on how cool this is!)
The women of Bethlehem say to Naomi:
“Blessed be the Lord, who has not left you this day without a redeemer, and may his name be renowned in Israel! He shall be to you a restorer of life and a nourisher of your old age, for your daughter-in-law who loves you, who is more to you than seven sons, has given birth to him.” Then Naomi took the child and laid him on her lap and became his nurse. And the women of the neighborhood gave him a name, saying, “A son has been born to Naomi.” (Ruth 4:14–17, ESV)
Notice how Naomi’s story begins with the deaths of her husband and two sons, leaving her feeling empty and bitter. Yet, by the end of the book, she is holding a child in her arms, surrounded by love and community.
The child is not a replacement for the sons she lost, nor does his birth erase the grief she experienced. But the Lord has brought new life into a story marked by loss. What began as a season of profound suffering has become a story of redemption and unexpected joy.
Perhaps Naomi’s life was not better in the sense that her losses were somehow made worthwhile. Perhaps it was joyful in the sense that her story did not end with those losses. Her life was still unfolding, and God was still at work.
A life not untouched by suffering, but a life in which suffering did not have the final word.
A life redeemed.
So perhaps the question or strife is not how to avoid pain, or why it’s in our lives. Perhaps it’s an invitation to let this pain be felt, and to seek our Father who redeems and creates restoration from our pain, showing us ultimate joy, and letting it become complete.
By Brittany Ertz, LPC
Brittany Ertz is a Licensed Professional Counselor specializing in trauma, anxiety, depression, and life transitions for teens, adults, and couples. Drawing from her own experiences and trained in EMDR, EFT, and CBT, she connects clients' past experiences to their present struggles to foster deep, lasting healing. Britt enjoys traveling, finding new coffee shops, going to the gym, and reading. She and her husband, Cisco, love serving at their church and enjoying the company of friends.
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