The Allure of Redemptive Suffering
Deep thoughts stemming from child viruses
We have been sick in my household this past week. It’s my oldest’s first year in preschool, and she’s doing her duty of catching all the viruses and bringing them home to us. I think she’s been sick with something or other most of the days of October. Between frantically sanitizing the baby’s toys from her germs (yes, to no avail; just let me be neurotic), sleeping off the illnesses she brings me, and sneaking ibuprofen into her applesauce, I’ve been reaching out to friends who have had kids in daycare with this question:
“DOES IT GET BETTER?”
I want to know if there’s a purpose to the slew of illnesses her body hasn’t figured out how to fight off yet.* If there’s a reason to keep her in preschool besides the fact she loves it and it’s been so good for her socialization. If there’s a real purpose to all the sickness.
Basically, I’m asking if our [relatively small and very common] suffering is redemptive.
*side note: this WaPo article lists some interesting theories about why pandemic babies, like my two, are hit especially hard by viruses right now: including that they’ve been protected by masking and social distancing for so long that their immunity didn’t grow gradually like other kids; plus Covid may have weakened their immune response even in mild or asymptomatic cases!
The question itself makes me think of how much we humans want to grab tight to the idea that suffering is redemptive. That when we’re going through pain, there’s a purpose.
Obviously, I do it too - not just for toddler sickness but for, like, everything! (Also, if you are a more seasoned parent who’s gone through these trials DROP ME A COMMENT AND REASSURE ME! Or tell me it’s not redemptive. Whatever your experience was).
Sometimes there is goodness that arises from seemingly bad situations. You’re fired from a job, but then you find one that’s much better for your mental health. The relationship you tried so hard to salvage ends, but you find one that’s - oh wait - much better for your mental health. You miscarry, but then your rainbow baby arrives at the perfect time and in the form of the sweetest little chunk. (Why yes, these are all personal anecdotes).
Does that mean the bad thing was “supposed” to happen? To use evangelical-speak (religious trauma trigger alert), does it mean that I am being “sanctified” through my suffering and that God’s glory is being brought to fullness through my pain?
There’s a big difference between getting through hard situation by offering yourself pep talks (e.g. in the form of “this is a literal season, we will not always be this sick, kids will grow up and learn to blow noses and wash their hands better!”), and saying the situation is for a reason. It’s the difference between saying that immune systems build by exposure to viruses, versus that viruses exist to make me a better person and glorify God.
One remnant from religious trauma is often that people have a hard time being angry or even upset when bad things have happened. To be angry at a situation out of your control would mean you’re angry at God, and that’s obviously not allowed. The logic goes that God is in charge of the situations of our lives, and that God has a plan for everything. But if we mere mortals don’t like the circumstances of our lives, we’re not just mad at chance - we’re mad at a Divine Creator who has orchestrated everything for the fulfillment of His glory (to use evangelical speak again).
Even in the book of Job (a book of very questionable ethics, as a reader pointed out, filled with pain and suffering for innocent people just to prove a point about divine supremacy), Job is angry about his pain but never questions the will of God or God’s supremacy. And the story ends by God basically being like, “Look mortal, are you God? Did you make all these creatures? No? Didn’t think so. Guess who is God? Me. So don’t question me.”
You have to go along with the Big Guy’s plans regardless how you feel about it, and by gosh, you ought to be grateful because God is working all things together for our good… as they say.
And if we’re honest about it, there is something comforting in the belief that Someone, somewhere, is orchestrating the things in our lives. We’re hurling through space on this tiny blue ball and life can feel so chaotic and random — it’s actually terrifying to look all that square in the face. Deconstructing your faith is not for the faint of heart.
I am currently walking with someone through the hardest experience of their life. She is making meaning of her situation by believing that God has a plan and her loved one is safe now with God. I have a hard time stomaching the thought of a God who plans things like the death of children. But her grief is not my grief to bear or to decide how I make it through.
I understand the allure of redemptive suffering, because I too want whatever suffering I experience to be meaningful. And I understand the allure of believing that God has a plan in even the worst of situations.
To let go of a god orchestrating everything is to let go of the vigilance to never be angry at God… but it is also letting go of the strange comfort that my every situation is occurring at the will of God instead of random chance. I’m free to feel whatever I feel at the situation, but I no longer have a net that will catch me when I feel lost and afraid — at least, not the net I thought I had.
I suppose, in very tangible terms, my net in my current situation is my friends who have walked the road I’m on and offer their advice. It’s in the offer of chicken soup and in the care of Grammy’s babysitting support. It’s in knowing that whatever suffering we are experiencing, we’re not the first who have gone through it, nor will we be the last. Stretching back millennia and stretching on as long as humans can survive on this planet.
This, I suppose, is comfort enough for me.
You know the drill. I delight in hearing your thoughts and comments. Drop me a line about how much this season sucks with all the sicknesses even if you’re vaxxed for all the things; tell me you survived the first year and more of kids being in public settings; or tell me your own deep thoughts about suffering, meaning-making from pain, or why the book of Job is so sadistic!
I’m sorry you’ve all been sick, Christine. Definitely no fun! Kids are little germ factories! We live with grandkids so also get some exposure but less than the parents since our cottage is separate. The good news is after maybe age 10 or so, they get sick less often.
About redemptive suffering, I’ve seen good come out of every painful event of my life—usually personal and/or spiritual growth—so I do experience a kind of redemptive suffering. But of course it still can hurt like hell while you are in it, and I’d never point out the good of suffering to anybody who is in the midst of it. They just need love and comfort. They will (hopefully) find the growth that came from it at a later time, and in their own way. Take care and feel better!
I agree that hoping for an “end product” of suffering is not always the best or right or helpful way to cope. It’s far to American and Western. Eleonore Stump has a profound book on Job (and other biblical stories of suffering) called Wandering in Darkness: Narrative and the Problem of Suffering. I was stunned by her simple observation that Job has the longest face-to-face conversation with God of any character anywhere in the Bible. And that God says of Job twice, speaking to his “friends”: “You have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has.” Job got really, really, *really* angry with God. And yet God says Job “spoke of me what is right.” I use those observations a lot with my clients. You can read an interview about the book here: https://cct.biola.edu/wandering-in-darkness/.