The Senselessness of Senseless Suffering

A few years ago, a doctor friend and I would argue about human suffering. Our discussions were not academic. He was a pediatric oncologist and palliative care specialist working with children at the end-of-life, and I was a pediatric chaplain working with the same population. It doesn't get more real than that. He stated that all suffering had meaning but I wasn't buying it. There is some suffering so outrageous its only purpose is to degrade, debase and destroy. For me, the death of a child falls into this category.

Maria was a bright and energetic 13 year old whose cancer had come back for a third time in her short life. There would be no cure. As the family gathered around her bed in her darkened hospital room for what would be her last night on Earth, Maria's mother made an unusual request; she wanted to hold her daughter one last time. Unusual because Maria was an adult-sized child but it didn't stop her father from picking her up, gently as if she were a baby again, and placing her in the arms of her mother. Mom cuddled her child while Dad stroked his daughter's head. As Maria drew her last breaths, her mother's heel bobbed up and down in a nervous tic like a needle in a sewing machine.

"This is the hard part," she cried over and over until Maria took her last breath. There are no words to describe the sound the parents each made when their daughter died -- a hound from hell would sound more pleasing.

When I remember the pain and heartbreak of Maria's parents, I don't see dignity or grace. I see only suffering and it is impossible to make sense of senseless suffering. It stings. It comes with no easy answers. It doesn't make us better people.It doesn't make us stronger and sometimes it kills us. It isn't part of some grand plan by God to teach us or train us or punish us. It doesn't go away with words of comfort or our best dishes. It wounds, maims and destroys and we are never the same. Never.

So what do we do in the face of such suffering? Do nothing and be help-less. Don't do. Be. Sit and listen to the pain expressed. Or sit and be silent if the one who suffers doesn't want to talk. Be willing to hear the death story, the illness story, the horror and the violence story one hundred times or more if necessary. Have soft tissues or hankies available. Don't flinch at the details no matter how horrible. Resist the temptation to check the time. Be available. After a few weeks or months when the time seems right, gently offer outings and excursions and gracefully take no for an answer because one day there  maybe a yes. Don't stop asking. Don't give advice unless asked. And don't ever say, "Aren't you over this now." 

And why do such gestures make a difference? A pastor once said, our roll as ministers was to bring the wounded into the light and snarky me thought: "Hello. You had better be willing to go into their darkness first." Be in the darkness with them. At least with you there, they are not alone.