As a result, I spend quite a bit of time thinking about pain, and its place in our lives.
In particular, last Friday I was thinking about the people I love who have never experienced the gospel of Jesus Christ in their lives. My heart ached as I thought of those whom I loved, who have never experienced the level of healing (see my upcoming piece on hatred) or forgiveness that I had. My stomach dropped and refused to breach as I wondered if people I cared about would ever understood what I did -- if they'd ever get to feel that sincere joy I feel almost daily.
My thoughts turned to my mission, to teaching others about the gospel, and how it applies to our lives. One major application is the way it deals with pain. I thought about the ways that Jesus Christ and His gospel deal with pain, and I thought about why we need that. In other words, I tried to figure out some of the ways that the gospel enables people to endure pain, or to avoid it.
As I thought, I came close to articulating that, "the gospel of Jesus Christ helps us to avoid pain in our life." I never finished that thought, because I could instantly feel that it was not only inaccurate, but counterintuitive. Pain is a necessary part of life. Jesus Christ taught moderation and balance; not extremism and chaos. The things we experience in life are meant to harmonize and form a grander whole, not tear each other apart and fade into nothing. That means that pain is far more integral than I give it credit for.
So, what does the gospel offer then, in regards to pain? If it can't erase it, then what does it do? I've realized that the gospel offers us something unique, and invaluable: it allows us to decide what type of pain we let into our life.
For example: if a person strives to repent daily and practice forgiveness of self and others, they will quickly find the amount of guilt, regret, and shame in their life dwindling.
If one follows the path of self-improvement and growth outlined by Jesus Christ, they will find that their self-esteem will grow, and insecurities shrink. Service pulls us away from self-pity and self-indulgence, while lessons in humility prevent disastrous hubris. Through living the gospel of Jesus Christ, I have been able to transform crippling pain into the kind of manageable pain that inspires growth. When individuals die, my pain is that I'm separated for a short while; I know that I'll see them again, and I'm confident in my knowledge of what lies beyond this life. My pain is not existential despair, or doubt, or worry over their condition, but instead it's the ache of saying goodbye to a friend when moving away.
Of course, while the gospel path has helped me heal, helped me grow, and helped me transform negative pain into (long-term) positive experiences, it still refuses to shield us from pain. In some ways, I feel certain pains even more intensely.
Most of the time, I hurt on the behalf of others, people who don't know what they're in for. It might sounds pretentious, but I worry about other people's futures, because they lack the safeguards I have, they don't have the clarity, the surety, the promises I have, and I worry because all around me I can see people who tell themselves they're happy even though they're not. Not by a longshot. I want my friends to be happy, and I want to help them, but there's nothing I can do. It's like reading about a disaster across the world. Aside from token remarks, there's not really much I can do but watch the flames ascend.
However, I wouldn't trade that pain for the world. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I want to live with my heart on my sleeve, no matter how many injuries it accumulates there. That's better than receding from the world. If I want to make a change, if I want to help people through their pain, I have to experience a part of it. I'd rather share others' burdens and sufferings than steer clear. Pain matters; just like you and me.
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