The Paradox of Joy and Suffering
“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
We don’t need to live exceptionally long to realize that pain and suffering are a byproduct of life. Eventually, suffering arrives, breaking in like an intruder and wreaking havoc on our best-made plans, upending our hopes and dreams for the future and leaving us writhing in the ruins. Sometimes, pain can even cause us to question God.
Isn’t it interesting how often we attempt to avoid pain, going to great lengths to bypass suffering, whether physical, emotional, situational, relational, or financial? We want to lead happy and successful lives with as few blips as possible. We attempt to insulate our lives with luxuries and pack them with productivity, pushing aside the very thing that can be the catalyst for incredible transformation if we let it—the pain we are attempting to ignore.
Sometimes, in its intensity, we cannot dismiss pain. Paradoxically, I've noticed that some of the most challenging and heartwrenching circumstances have led me to the most significant transformation and blessings. Eventually, they’ve led me to the heart of God.
Through trials, I’ve learned that joy can coexist with suffering and to trust God more fully.
One such experience happened several years ago. I found myself in the middle of a health crisis that neither I nor upwards of ten health practitioners could fix. My spine was contorted from the pain of a torn disc and degeneration that caused excruciating pain in my back and sciatica down both of my legs. A few months into the ordeal, I became pregnant. I found myself in an impossible situation, exacerbated by the inability to take strong enough medication to relieve the pain and no option for surgery.
After a year and a half of unbearable pain, I could barely walk, sleep, or carry my purse. It was all too much, and I finally cried out to God. Remarkably, this act of surrender, of declaring I had no way out on my own and needed help, led to my healing. God answered my prayer by showing me the deep-rooted bitterness, pride, fear, and control I was carrying—patterns of behavior contrary to the way he calls us to live—were affecting my health.
Once I repented, my body took note and began healing in a way that no health practitioner had been able to facilitate. Within a few weeks, my pain disappeared. God used physical pain to teach me invaluable lessons I would never have known had I not experienced such suffering. I learned that I can fully trust God. I experienced God’s peace which passes understanding. I learned to wait on Him with expectant hope. And inexplicably, I understood that I can experience joy amid intense suffering.
There is a hopefulness that arrives when we release our pain to God. A childlike trust when we pause our closed-fisted tantrums concerning all we’ve lost long enough to open our hands to offer the broken remains of how we expected our lives to unfold. In the sacred space of tearful surrender, peace propagates—flourishing in the scraped-clean soil of our lives like fields full of shoots in formerly deserted places—and we learn to rest in his sovereignty and provision for our lives and our loved ones, whether or not our pain is removed.
In the verse above, James encourages us to “count it all joy when you meet trials of various kinds.” I’m not sure about you, but my automatic response in suffering isn’t to offer up a “hallelujah”—it took me eighteen long months to fall on my knees and cry out to God in my pain. It begs the question, what would it look like if our response to trials was a posture of joy?
In the end, though I wouldn’t have wished for the pain, I was thankful for it because it ushered me directly into God’s presence and heart. It taught me not to wait for ideal circumstances to embrace joy but that joy and pain often handhold one another. When that season of suffering was over, I gave birth to a healthy baby girl and not only rejoiced but gave her the middle name Hope for the hope in God I had so desperately needed during that time.
Knowing that pain has a purpose helps, doesn’t it? Enduring hardships fashion a profound, transformative faith and allow us to offer compassion and hope to others in their suffering. They produce a “steadfastness” in us, making us “perfect and complete, lacking nothing.” Who doesn’t want that? Ultimately, nothing is more precious than knowing and trusting God, with the bonus of experiencing his joy.
