Some Theological Thoughts on Suffering

Hello Folks,

A fair warning:

The following post is Tracy's thoughts on the Theology of Suffering. I love hospice work, but one of the side effects is that you have all sorts of thoughts related to God, human suffering and the impact this all has on creation. If you're a seminary friend or someone who is especially interested in God's role in human suffering, read on!! Trying to figure out what we were supposed to learn in systematic theology? This is your place!! If you read this blog to see cute pics of Shahra and updates on adoption, you may want to stop:


Living in the Ashes

I welcome living in this time of lament.

As a chaplain, I feel we have the choice to minister to people in a distant, safe way, or we can join them in their despair. This doesn’t mean we take on their grief as our own or become consumed. I see it as entering the season of Lent. I don’t know how long I will live in this Season of Lament. I never liked living in the ashes before and dreaded Lent as a child. It felt like a punishment as I heard: “you are sinful and bad and this sin killed Jesus. You need to go to church twice a week and think about what you did. Lucky for you, God swooped in and resurrected Jesus. That was close. Now go eat some chocolate bunnies.”

Here in hospice, we reflect. We sit in the silence and allow the darkness to envelop us. Surviving this time is possible because we can always see the ray of light and hope in Christ—we know Easter is coming. It is impossible to have the resurrection without the cross; it is impossible to truly live if we are unwilling to look at death. In this season of lament, I simply join the person in their ashes, and envision pouring these ashes over myself as described in the Bible. All around me there is wailing, the cries of death and suffering. I wail with people. I cry out with and for them. I honor their grief as their own, not taking it as mine. It is in these places that I have begun to understand the meaning of the liturgical “flood prayer” spoken at baptism “we are children of a fallen humanity.” The world is utterly and completely broken due to human sin and separation from God. A woman with cancer is at hospice because her family can't care for her at home. They may lose that home. A 64 year old isn’t old enough to qualify for Medicare. Her husband has to make the choice of keeping his job to pay the mortgage or giving up his job to qualify for medical assistance. Our world is utterly shattered.

“The people in darkness have seen a great light. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness shall not overcome it.” Through the ashes, I see hope and the promise of a resurrected and restored world.

Living in a time of lament has utterly altered my view of the Trinity. God the Father used to be a distant God to me…think the God of Moses speaking to Charlton Hesston in the 10 Commandments. God was a booming, powerful voice that could be felt at a distance. You can never look at or truly see this God because He was so powerful and mighty, able to heal and cure but too big to wrap my mind around. In hospice, I finally get to see and feel the presence of God. God the Father completely saturates the room. His presence enters us and can be felt as death draws near. He is not a distant creator God in hospice, but His full being surrounds each person in their sorrow.

Before hospice, I knew Jesus as divinely human and I truly believed He walked with us in our sorrow. Certainly, he felt the pain of suffering and death, but I still felt it was as if He was patting us on the back, telling us it would all be ok. At times, this felt condescending, like Bill Clinton expressing “I feel your pain.” Now, I see Christ as a savior who submits Himself to the pain of the world. Christ is in the patient’s bed, crying out in pain, feeling death closing in around Him. Christ is with the widow, sitting helpless by the same bed, unsure of the future. Christ is with the confused young chaplain, angry that situations beyond our control lead to unquenchable suffering.

The Holy Spirit was a mystery. Perhaps the soul of a human? Perhaps “the church” as I was taught in Seminary? No, the Holy Spirit dwells in all of us and manifests through the thoughts, words and deeds of every person in the room. The Spirit is released into the room through the cries of the patient. The Spirit is revealed as God to the world through us. While still a mystery, God’s power, Christ’s presence and the Spirit’s hope for the world are released to carry on hope for the future.


In hospice, I feel comfortable, even blessed to sit in the ashes with others. We can not have resurrection without the cross. We can not have hope in the future without acknowledging the pain of the present. We can not have life without death.




**I send this out as a prayer that God will be with all those who suffer tonight. Our family who remembers the anniversary of Riley's death this week. At the same time, we thank God for the reconnection some of us have found as a result of her death. Thanking God that He said "wake up" and helped some of us remember our heritage. I pray for Baby *E* family who remember her death a year ago in Ethiopia. I lift up praises, that through her death, more people have learned of the struggles of Ethiopia and have chosen to give money to fund a new care center. I pray for baby *S* and her family who openly share their faith and obedience to God in the midst of suffering. I pray for our Luther friend *S* and his family as they face cancer. May God protect you, guide you and bring you peace. For all the hospice families who ask "why now" to a diagnosis. For the families who ask God "why have you waited so long" as they pray for death and peace. That the spirit may fill these people and all who suffer. That we may remember the ray of hope we find in the cross, knowing the resurrection is upon us.**