Journal of Sacred Work

"Tylenol. It’s one more step toward a pain-free world."  – Tylenol commercial

   A pain-free world? It’s an interesting goal. And one that America’s drug companies have warmly embraced. There’s lots of money to be made in selling stuff that relieves pain. After all, other than masochists, who wants to suffer?
   But there’s something strange, perhaps even dangerous, about this goal. The notion that we can escape pain may live at the heart of some addictions. We all grow up with some level of desire to fill what some call the God-shaped hole. And the more empty some people feel, the more likely they are to pour alcohol, drugs, sex and gambling into the hole. The movie Mr. Brooks even portrays a serial killer who claims to be addicted to murder…

   But, perhaps there is a another reason for us to back away from the pursuit of a pain-free world. Haven’t you experienced a richer life for the pain you have had? We would never have voluntarily chosen any of it. But we know we’re stronger for having gone through it. For example, the pain I’ve experienced makes me less anxious about the pain I know lives in my future.
   Like most people, I used to fight discomfort. Increasingly, I sit with pain when it comes. I try to step back from it, orbit around it, test my ability to think clearly in the middle of it. And as I do this, pain loses some of its power. One of the best examples of this approach comes from the great Victor Frankl who describes, in his masterpiece, Man’s Search for Meaning, his success in coping with life in a concentration camp during World War II.
   Still, there are many kinds of pain that need to be eliminated. Who wouldn’t love to vanquish starvation across the world? And torture is one of the most hideous kinds of pain some inflict on others. Its occurrence may cause us to wonder about our humanity.
   So I suppose I’m talking about the discomforts that often enter our days as we pursue meaningful lives.  One of the best little fables I’ve heard about the value of our struggles is the story of the moth and the scientist. In a laboratory setting, a scientist studies a moth. As he watches the animal struggling to work his way out of his chrysalis, he becomes impatient. "Why watch him struggle and suffer?" he asks himself. So he picks up a pair of surgical scissors and carefully snips the mouth of the chrysalis, making an easier exit. The moth quickly flops out of the widened opening onto the table. The moth tries to raise his wings, but he can’t. And he dies there on the table, unable to fly.
   As you can easily see, the chrysalis is designed to build the strength of the moth’s wings. Only when his wings are strong enough to enable him to fly will the chrysalis allow him to exit – unless something or someone intervenes.
   It’s a simple lesson. And it is one ignored millions of times a day across the world as well-meaning but unthinking people seek to "help" people out of the dark woods. A wiser view says they will be stronger if they can find their own way out.
   There are many times when our job as caregivers is to actively intervene to relieve pain. There are other times when the best thing for us to do is to simply be present to the sufferer.
   Perhaps the highest goal is not a pain-free world, but the hope for a richer life for all. A life that holds more joy than sorrow. A life that appreciates the importance of filling the God-shaped hole with Love, not addictions.

-Erie Chapman