Suffering in Silence
16/01/24 07:53
The message from the minister at the Free Church of Scotland in Kyle of Lochalsh this past Sunday was from Luke, Chapter 8. It brought to mind a devotional I contributed for a Days of Lent book that M. J. Murdock Charitable Trust published in 2016. With the news from back home of friends of friends recently passing, I thought I would recirculate it.
The compacted crowd in Luke 8 would have made a claustrophobic hyperventilate. Despite the congestion, a woman with a chronic condition wormed her way through the throng and reached her intended target: the garment of a rabbi whose authority was to be her remedy. Instantly, he felt a discharge of power. Immediately, she felt years of hemorrhaging and hardship end.
The story of the afflicted woman is certainly one of faith and determination. But it goes deeper. Knowing what we do about her condition, and factoring in Jewish law, we likely have the saga of a woman who suffered in silence, living more than a decade in a culture that would have considered her unclean.
In this life there will be suffering, be it related to physical pain or mental anguish. It’s hard enough to endure when you have friends to fall back on, but to suffer solo amplifies the agony. We need to cast our cares on Christ, but we also need to be in community where we can seek solace and share the hurts of our heart. Ephesians describes this as “bearing with one another in love.”
I find it interesting that Jesus did not let the woman be cured incognito. He called her out from the crowd so she could tell her story. I’d like to think that she was quickly surrounded by peers with whom she could lose her cares and find her voice.
Christians should never suffer in silence—or allow others to do so.
PRAYER:
Loving Jesus, no one understands suffering like you do. Thank you for enduring the agony of the cross and the devastation of separation from your Father so I can embrace sacred assurances in the midst of my infirmities and grasp divine hope in the midst of my heartaches. Open my eyes to others around me who desperately need my presence and your promises in their times of suffering. Give me a deep desire to serve them selflessly. I ask this in your powerful, abiding, and comforting name, Amen.
The compacted crowd in Luke 8 would have made a claustrophobic hyperventilate. Despite the congestion, a woman with a chronic condition wormed her way through the throng and reached her intended target: the garment of a rabbi whose authority was to be her remedy. Instantly, he felt a discharge of power. Immediately, she felt years of hemorrhaging and hardship end.
The story of the afflicted woman is certainly one of faith and determination. But it goes deeper. Knowing what we do about her condition, and factoring in Jewish law, we likely have the saga of a woman who suffered in silence, living more than a decade in a culture that would have considered her unclean.
In this life there will be suffering, be it related to physical pain or mental anguish. It’s hard enough to endure when you have friends to fall back on, but to suffer solo amplifies the agony. We need to cast our cares on Christ, but we also need to be in community where we can seek solace and share the hurts of our heart. Ephesians describes this as “bearing with one another in love.”
I find it interesting that Jesus did not let the woman be cured incognito. He called her out from the crowd so she could tell her story. I’d like to think that she was quickly surrounded by peers with whom she could lose her cares and find her voice.
Christians should never suffer in silence—or allow others to do so.
PRAYER:
Loving Jesus, no one understands suffering like you do. Thank you for enduring the agony of the cross and the devastation of separation from your Father so I can embrace sacred assurances in the midst of my infirmities and grasp divine hope in the midst of my heartaches. Open my eyes to others around me who desperately need my presence and your promises in their times of suffering. Give me a deep desire to serve them selflessly. I ask this in your powerful, abiding, and comforting name, Amen.
