Your suffering is not actually pointless
The woman behind the counter looked frightened as she pleaded to see her son. I stood on the other side in the tiny cubicle known as the nursing station. It was early evening, and I was the psychologist on duty that night. I wondered who had let her into the locked facility, but her urgent request took priority.
Moments earlier, her son had been treated for severe side effects of antipsychotic medication. His face was twisted, mouth open and frozen, a haunting image of distress.
I gently explained to the mother that he was experiencing side effects from the medication and suggested we talk downstairs in the guest area, hoping she would follow me. I wanted to spare her the distress of seeing her son's contorted face. However, driven by desperation, she stormed through the nursing station, searching from room to room until she found him. The nurses tried to redirect her, but her determination led her to his bedside. Seeing the bond between mother and son, I asked the nurses to leave them alone and joined them in the room, offering comfort and answering her questions. She held her son's hand as he lay in bed, his face immobile, mouth agape, and tongue stiff. A single tear rolled down his cheek.
Thirty years have passed since that evening, yet the images remain vivid — the anguish on the mother's face, the son's frozen expression, and the shared moment of suffering and comfort. Her presence brought an inexplicable calm to the room, an embodiment of shared pain and love.
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This memory resurfaced as I reflected on the sufferings of Christians in my practice as a psychologist. Stories of suicide, drug overdoses, divorce, and cancer are all too familiar. Friends often ask, "How do you face such suffering daily?" It’s not that my friends haven’t had their sufferings or shared in the suffering of friends or family. It’s more a statement of degree — to see suffering “every day.” To what degree can you stare into the face of suffering?
I think of that mother and her son, her unwavering gaze into his suffering. It makes me wonder, what if Jesus Christ invited us into a house where each room holds His suffering — from His birth to His cry on the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Would we dare to enter and see the face of God and His suffering?
To what extent does God let us see the face of Jesus in His house of suffering? Do we enter that room when a loved one dies, when diagnosed with cancer, or when we lose our job or home? When wickedness overwhelms us, do we dig deeper into His suffering because of our mistakes and regrets? How much of Christ's face do we see when sharing His suffering? Are we confused or surprised when invited into His house, only to turn away from the face of His pain and sacrifice?
The Apostle Peter admonishes us, "Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal among you, which comes upon you for your testing, as though some strange thing were happening to you, but to the degree that you share the sufferings of Christ" (1 Peter 4:12).
Why does Peter say, "Don't be surprised"? Being surprised or bewildered often stems from focusing too much on our experiences and perspectives. When we encounter suffering that doesn’t fit within our preconceived assumptions, we are surprised. This unexpected suffering can lead to anger and resentment because our understanding of suffering does not align with the reality of Christ’s experiences and teachings. Peter’s warning encourages us to shift our focus from our limited perspective to a broader, Christ-centered understanding of suffering, essential for spiritual growth and resilience. Peter wants us to see Christ’s face in our sufferings, not ask, “Jesus, where are you in my sufferings.”
Reflecting on the mother and her son, I realize she showed a love like the one I should have for my Savior. She was willing to share in her son's suffering despite the pain it caused her. Her presence highlighted the powerful impact of shared pain and love. During times of suffering, whether in a hospital room or in our everyday struggles, we are invited to see Jesus' face, share in His suffering, and find comfort in His presence. In these moments, we experience God, not just hear about Him, but encounter Him deeply in our shared hope.
Dr. David Zuccolotto is a former pastor and clinical psychologist. For 35 years he has worked for hospitals, addiction treatment centers, outpatient clinics and private practice. He is the author of The Love of God: A 70 Day Journey of Forgiveness.
