Steward Your Suffering

"There is no hurt like church hurt.”

It’s part of my testimony. When my parents divorced (I was 16), we’d been attending the same church for 10 years. Despite that we had been active in service, when they divorced, I felt like the church turned its back on me. Sure, pastors had preached sermons that rubbed me the wrong way over the years – especially about the role of women – but the hurt in 1993…well that was something that left me feeling betrayed. I spent the next 10 years determined that I could talk to God in my house just as easily as I could in His – which is true – but it also allowed me to avoid having to face the hurt that I felt as a teen. More importantly – it allowed me to avoid forming relationships with people that *may* eventually hurt me.

It wasn’t until I began dating my ex-husband that I began to feel comfortable in church again, as he brought me with him to his church on the weekends. I remained skeptical of certain topics, and anyone who serves in leadership at my current church will tell you that I often serve as the voice of the more liberal, more feminist portion of our congregation. Which is why I was a bit surprised when I was asked to emcee at this past weekend’s IF: Gathering women’s conference. See, I’m not into arts and crafts, I love my ultra-competitive and gritty job, I don’t cook or bake, I frequently tell my boys to “rub some dirt on it and let’s go,” and my eye starts to twitch a bit at the word “obey.”

One of the speakers was none other than Joni Eareckson Tada – who, for this woman who grew up “churched” in the 80’s, is Christian royalty. She made a statement that resonated with me –

“Steward your suffering well.”

Say what?

“Stewarding” is for things we’re *blessed* with, right? Our money, our talents, our kids, our homes. “Steward” my suffering?!? Sounds a bit crazy.

Then I thought about it, and talked to the ladies about it Saturday morning at the opening session. See, if I take a $100 bill today and bury it in my backyard, it will be protected. I can call all my friends over and describe the $100 bill. I can tell you what it looked like, what it felt like, and how I got it. I can even post pictures of me sitting in my backyard by the burial spot and say “Here’s where my $100 is.”

And in 20 years, I can dig it up, and I’ll have that same $100 bill…..but it’ll be worth maybe $5.

Because I didn’t steward it well. I didn’t invest it – I didn’t put it in the boys’ college funds, pay off debt, tithe it, buy groceries for a struggling single mom, take a friend to lunch with it. I just sat and talked about it. And in doing so, I missed the opportunity to turn it in to so much more.

And I think that’s what Joni meant. So often in life, when we suffer hurt – even hurt from those we trust – we are tempted to protect that hurt, to describe it to our friends, and to discuss it on social media. “Come, see my hurt!!” I’ve done it. Maybe you have, too.

And at the end of that talking, we’ll still have that same hurt….but it won’t be worth much, because we didn’t invest it well – we did not *steward* it. We did not take the lessons we learned and encourage others on the path behind us. We didn’t ask God to show us the blessing in the suffering, and allow Him to exchange it – redeem it – for something way more valuable than pain.

Christians, if we say that we believe that God works all things for His purpose and our good, why do we not look at suffering and pain in the same way as we look at the cash our wallets? Why do we not look at the pain as something God has *gifted* us in order to bring more people to Him? Why do we not look at offense as an opportunity to learn another perspective? Why do we shy away from having uncomfortable conversations that might actually grow us? Why do we not look at the suffering as something that can transform us into the bright image-bearers we were created to be – oozing love, compassion, accountability, responsibility, fearlessness, empathy…boldness?

This morning on my way out of my hometown, I drove by my old childhood church, and for the first time in nearly30 years, I thought maybe it was time to cut them some slack – after all, “divorce” was still a pretty new term back in 1993 in churches. We didn’t have Divorce Care or recovery back then. They were just as thrown off guard by it as I was. Should they have reached out? Probably. But you know who else could have? That sassy 16 year old who had spent time investing in that congregation. Instead, I bore my offended chip on my shoulder like a prize I had earned.

Because as I drove by that church, you know what else I remembered? I remembered the way the caramel-colored shag carpet smelled in the church library, where I checked out Joni’s book as a 12-year-old. I remembered Vacation Bible School and making cross bookmarks out of popsicle sticks, hot glue and yarn. I remembered standing between my parents as they sang the old hymns – one of which brought me to tears Saturday morning at the conference. I remembered sneaking into the sanctuary to play on the baby grand piano. I remembered Brother Monte Shinkle baptizing me. I remembered my mom decorating her 3-year-olds’ Sunday School room with Sesame Street characters. I remembered my GA leaders and how they always made me feel special. I remembered lock-ins and youth weekends. I remembered Super Summer and Windermere.

There was a lot more in that building than hurt. There was my spiritual foundation – the start of my relationship with God and His people. The experiences that would encourage me to learn about God and the parts of His nature that He put in me - including the parts that can be a bit feisty and challenging - parts that have happily found a church home where that's encouraged and I'm fiercely loved.

Churches aren’t palaces – they’re hospitals. Hospitals full of people with bad days, the wrong words to communicate an idea, their own pain, their own hang-ups. And when they have those bad days, when they use the wrong words and speak from a place of unresolved pain or hang-ups, they can unintentionally inflict suffering.

And when we only listen through the filter of offense and hurt, we aren’t likely to give the grace that we so desperately need - and expect.

But we can choose what to do with that. Like any other suffering, we can protect it and get all chatty….or we can steward it well – resolve conflict through respectful conversations, get involved in service to help others who have been hurt, and realize that it’s not about us…it’s about Jesus and trying to live like He did.

Let's steward our suffering well, friends. The world is watching.