Season 2, Episode 11: Even When It Hurts
Wow, it feels appropriate to be writing this right now.
As I begin writing, I've just finished having a *bit* of a cry session with someone about the year coming to a close, and how not ready I am for that. Ironically (or perhaps not) that's what this unit played on. That's right folks, we've hit unit 2:
If you haven't picked up on it by now, all of my blog posts from this "season" have been named after song titles. The ones that I'm typing up about Lent are all titled based on the song that I studied during that unit...That sentence may have been a bit convoluted, so let me try and re-explain myself (as per usual).
For every unit of Lent, I spent seven days analyzing scripture, and one day analyzing a worship song. For the "Love" unit, I analyzed Sinking Deep (I'm actually in LOVE -no pun intended- with this song, 10/10 would recommend), and for this unit, "Sadness," I analyzed the song Even When It Hurts.
The first time I heard this song was just a few days before Lent began while perusing the Spotify playlists of my friends from Cru in order to find a larger variety of worship music to expose myself to. *gasps for air*
I wasn't familiar with the song prior to that point and to be honest, I had my finger poised over the "skip song" button, but then the opening few notes rang out, and I paused.
You see, the thing that got to me in this song wasn't the complex piano intro, the poetic verses, or the scriptural references, but instead was the simple raw nature of the choruses.
The first chorus is as follows:
I know that feeling, in fact, I would say I'm well acquainted with the concept of having no strength, no words, and no song to lift up to God. I even wrote about it a year or two ago when I discussed losing my voice at camp during the summer. I know what that feels like, and when I'm in a moment of despair, I often find myself asking, "What next, God?" It's not enough for me to accept the trial and be content- because let's be honest, not many people view trials as the source of their contentment- instead, I need to know what's coming, what I should do, and how to prevent this sinking feeling from purchasing the lucrative real estate in the neighborhood of my soul.
But that's not what this song implies. The meaning of their words is evident when you look back at it.
"Even when X happens, I'll praise you/sing your praise."
But goodness if that isn't hard. It may be one of the hardest things I've ever done. As human beings, we are inexplicably drawn to answer the question which seems to be the pulse of humanity- "Why?"
If you think about it, that's what every student is studying, when you strip away all of the fancy names of procedures, policies, and formulae that they're required to memorize for a day, and discard after an examination.
Physicists are trying to answer "Why do things function in the way that they do?"
Criminologists try to answer "Why do people commit crimes?"
Philosophers answer "Why are we here?"
Artists answer "Why is there beauty and ugliness?"
...and the list goes on
But where in asking "why" do we find our answers?
As a Christian, my "Why" is generally answered by some seemingly-cliché phrase about God's love for humanity, but even as I typed that sentence, I found myself wondering why I chose to use the adjective "seemingly-cliché" instead of "inspiring," "transformative," or "incredible". Because that's what those phrases are to me.
So I suppose that's where this song comes in. Even when I'm hurting inside, what should my next action be? Praise. However it may manifest itself, praise is the proper way to respond to devastation. During this week, I had the opportunity to pray with multiple persons who had recently lost a family member, and I remember repeating the phrase "give them the opportunity to properly mourn the loss of this person, but also let them rejoice in the life that so-and-so lived". It was the most important part of praying for a loss, in my opinion, to be able to recognize the incredible ways that God had worked in and through the departed family member.
The irony in that statement isn't far behind, I assure you.
How many times during Lent did I pray for others to find joy through struggles? So many times. So many, in fact, that I don't even remember all of them (not that I was planning on it). So why is it that I found it such a hard block to jump over myself?
To me, it seemed as if I was constantly engaged in a battle with two opposing sides: sadness or joy. Never one without the other close behind, and never both simultaneously. When the sadness would hit, my initial reaction, while not as dramatic as "Why did God let this happen to me?" was still equally as troubling: "Why am I like this?"
It's funny to me because I throw that phrase around quite a bit in a joking manner, but when it pertains to myself, there's always a bit of a self-deprecating truth to it.
I'll have a conversation with someone and fidget a fair amount and ask "why am I like this?"- equal parts jokingly and seriously- (Trust me, the more I use it, the more I wonder if I should be letting it slip past my lips at all, because who am I to question the way the God of the Universe created me??) and in that moment, it's all laughter and smiles, but later in that month/week/day if I'm distressed, or in tears, I'll find myself asking the same question.
Whether you know it or not, every time I ask "why am I like this," I actually ask a much more sinister question: "Why am I not like that?"
Why is my life not as perfect as my best friend's life? Why do things that I love feel like a struggle right now? Why doesn't the boy I like see me the same way? Why am I not like that?"
And there's my go-to reaction in sadness in a nutshell: "Why?" and "How do I stop it?"
But let's go back to the second chorus for a minute.
As I begin writing, I've just finished having a *bit* of a cry session with someone about the year coming to a close, and how not ready I am for that. Ironically (or perhaps not) that's what this unit played on. That's right folks, we've hit unit 2:
Sadness.
If you haven't picked up on it by now, all of my blog posts from this "season" have been named after song titles. The ones that I'm typing up about Lent are all titled based on the song that I studied during that unit...That sentence may have been a bit convoluted, so let me try and re-explain myself (as per usual).
For every unit of Lent, I spent seven days analyzing scripture, and one day analyzing a worship song. For the "Love" unit, I analyzed Sinking Deep (I'm actually in LOVE -no pun intended- with this song, 10/10 would recommend), and for this unit, "Sadness," I analyzed the song Even When It Hurts.
The first time I heard this song was just a few days before Lent began while perusing the Spotify playlists of my friends from Cru in order to find a larger variety of worship music to expose myself to. *gasps for air*
I wasn't familiar with the song prior to that point and to be honest, I had my finger poised over the "skip song" button, but then the opening few notes rang out, and I paused.
You see, the thing that got to me in this song wasn't the complex piano intro, the poetic verses, or the scriptural references, but instead was the simple raw nature of the choruses.
The first chorus is as follows:
"Even when my strength is lost, I'll praise you.
Even when I have no song, I'll praise you.
Even when it's hard to find the words, louder then I'll sing your praise...
I will always sing your praise."
I know that feeling, in fact, I would say I'm well acquainted with the concept of having no strength, no words, and no song to lift up to God. I even wrote about it a year or two ago when I discussed losing my voice at camp during the summer. I know what that feels like, and when I'm in a moment of despair, I often find myself asking, "What next, God?" It's not enough for me to accept the trial and be content- because let's be honest, not many people view trials as the source of their contentment- instead, I need to know what's coming, what I should do, and how to prevent this sinking feeling from purchasing the lucrative real estate in the neighborhood of my soul.
But that's not what this song implies. The meaning of their words is evident when you look back at it.
"Even when X happens, I'll praise you/sing your praise."
But goodness if that isn't hard. It may be one of the hardest things I've ever done. As human beings, we are inexplicably drawn to answer the question which seems to be the pulse of humanity- "Why?"
If you think about it, that's what every student is studying, when you strip away all of the fancy names of procedures, policies, and formulae that they're required to memorize for a day, and discard after an examination.
Physicists are trying to answer "Why do things function in the way that they do?"
Criminologists try to answer "Why do people commit crimes?"
Philosophers answer "Why are we here?"
Artists answer "Why is there beauty and ugliness?"
...and the list goes on
But where in asking "why" do we find our answers?
As a Christian, my "Why" is generally answered by some seemingly-cliché phrase about God's love for humanity, but even as I typed that sentence, I found myself wondering why I chose to use the adjective "seemingly-cliché" instead of "inspiring," "transformative," or "incredible". Because that's what those phrases are to me.
So I suppose that's where this song comes in. Even when I'm hurting inside, what should my next action be? Praise. However it may manifest itself, praise is the proper way to respond to devastation. During this week, I had the opportunity to pray with multiple persons who had recently lost a family member, and I remember repeating the phrase "give them the opportunity to properly mourn the loss of this person, but also let them rejoice in the life that so-and-so lived". It was the most important part of praying for a loss, in my opinion, to be able to recognize the incredible ways that God had worked in and through the departed family member.
The irony in that statement isn't far behind, I assure you.
How many times during Lent did I pray for others to find joy through struggles? So many times. So many, in fact, that I don't even remember all of them (not that I was planning on it). So why is it that I found it such a hard block to jump over myself?
To me, it seemed as if I was constantly engaged in a battle with two opposing sides: sadness or joy. Never one without the other close behind, and never both simultaneously. When the sadness would hit, my initial reaction, while not as dramatic as "Why did God let this happen to me?" was still equally as troubling: "Why am I like this?"
It's funny to me because I throw that phrase around quite a bit in a joking manner, but when it pertains to myself, there's always a bit of a self-deprecating truth to it.
I'll have a conversation with someone and fidget a fair amount and ask "why am I like this?"- equal parts jokingly and seriously- (Trust me, the more I use it, the more I wonder if I should be letting it slip past my lips at all, because who am I to question the way the God of the Universe created me??) and in that moment, it's all laughter and smiles, but later in that month/week/day if I'm distressed, or in tears, I'll find myself asking the same question.
Whether you know it or not, every time I ask "why am I like this," I actually ask a much more sinister question: "Why am I not like that?"
Why is my life not as perfect as my best friend's life? Why do things that I love feel like a struggle right now? Why doesn't the boy I like see me the same way? Why am I not like that?"
And there's my go-to reaction in sadness in a nutshell: "Why?" and "How do I stop it?"
But let's go back to the second chorus for a minute.
"Even when the fight seems lost, I'll praise you.
Even when it hurts like hell, I'll praise you.
Even when it makes no sense to sing, louder then I'll sing your praise...
I will always sing your praise."
Do you want to know what I love about this chorus? They say that it "hurts like hell".
Now I'm pretty confident that the Hillsong United band wasn't trying to be sacrilegious so you may be asking what exactly I mean by loving that line in particular.
When I was in high school, I distinctly remember having conversations with my peers regarding the ways that grief and sadness can manifest themselves differently in different people, and more specifically, how different people can be affected differently by things.
For example, as tragic as it is to lose a family member, the gravity of that event doesn't invalidate someone else's grief at being rejected from their first choice university.
While there can be a tentative spectrum of grief and sadness, everyone has their own personal gauge. In the same way that everyone has their own pain tolerance, so too do they possess their own barometer for grief.
So, to get back to my point, I like that the band says that "it hurts like hell" because it very well may. In living on Earth, we as humans (regardless of our faith) have no true gauge of what Hell will be like. Oh sure, we can find bible verses that describe it as a pit, as fiery, destructive, and miserable, but we have no experience to base it off of- we can't describe it in the same way we can describe having gone to an amusement park, because it's not somewhere we've been to, or anyone else has been to and returned from.
But sometimes, you'll catch a person talking about their own "personal hell" and you'll wonder for a minute what that would entail. Because if the devil is real and alive, then what's to say he can't give us experiences that would mimic hell's misery?
Maybe I've made this too complicated, or theological, but I suppose the real reason I like that line is because our human perception of hell is to make it the equivalent of Murphy's Law: everything that can go wrong/hurt/be miserable is.
I'd imagine that the current human hell feels like a torrent of emotions that shake you to your core, and have you questioning your faith in what is right, and holy, and pure. That description, while not pleasant, is something that many people can attest to -it's crippling depression, constant anxiety, a state of misery at the way their life is playing out- and yet it's individualized to their own suffering.
So maybe what I'm saying is that I like that someone else acknowledges that we're going to suffer and that it's going to hurt enormously. Or maybe what I like is that they weren't afraid to say that the worst pain we can experience is what our version of hell feels like for us.
As I stated before, none of us truly knows what hell feels like. But what we do know is that the reality of hell is our separation from God, and as scripture tells us, God is the source of all goodness, happiness, fulfillment, and joy. It makes sense then, that a human representation of hell would be devoid of these things, and therefore the band's choice to say that the moments when they felt cut off or separated from God "hurt like hell" is appropriate.
What I love is that despite expressing a feeling of separation from God, they still point the listener back towards praising Him. Because that really is the most important part of grief. It makes me think of a saying I used to like that said: "it's not about how many times you fall, it's about how many times you get back up."
There's always the potential to be knocked down, but what's even more important is being able to praise God for the ability to stand up again.
So that's what the sadness unit was about for me, but weirdly, it wasn't for me. I remembered being worried ahead of time that studying sadness so intensely would take a toll on my mood, but in fact, I found myself more joyful than ever (okay maybe not more joyful than ever, but still pretty joyful) and was able to communicate well with people and BOY DID I SEE THINGS HAPPEN.
I've never been one to discount miracles, alright? I've never found myself doubting their validity, or whether or not God was still capable of performing them in this day and age. What was a bit crazier to me was recognizing that I could actually be an intercessor for miracles-however small they may be.
During this unit, I literally saw my prayers for others being answered and it truly was one of the most incredible God experiences of my life (after my baptism, and potentially tied with the love He showed me through Cru people when they helped with my Big/Little reveal).
Never in my life did I expect that a prayer for a teacher to have mercy would result in a close friend of mine getting soaring marks in a class where she needed a particular final grade in order to be able to transfer to another university, as she planned.
Never did I expect to pray for a snow day to not hamper plans and then find out that someone I had prayed for had gotten engaged-WITHIN 20 MINUTES OF PRAYING FOR THEM.
Never did I expect to pray for a relationship to regain its footing and then to hear that one of the parties involved had done a complete 180 and rededicated their life to their faith.
Heck, I prayed for a friend of mine to do well on an exam and when I talked to him a few weeks later, I was shocked to find out that he had set the curve for the class.
But I shouldn't have been, not really. Yeah, if I were to try and accomplish the things I had prayed for, I wouldn't have succeeded, but does it really surprise me that the God of the ENTIRE UNIVERSE is able to do them in the blink of an eye? No, not at all.
I think what was more surprising (and maybe fulfilling) for me was to know I had been a part of it-if that makes any sense...?
I was emotionally invested in every conversation I had during this unit. I called some of my closest friends, I had some hard conversations with people, I went out of my way to let them know that I care about them in whatever way was necessary, and in many cases, that was prayer.
But somewhere in my mind, half of the prayer was for God while the other half was for the person I was sitting across from. Sure, part of it was being lifted up to our incredible Savior, but another part of the prayer was to affirm the worth of whoever I was talking to. There wasn't a single prayer that I had during the entirety of Lent where I didn't include the phrase "thank you for this person..." and went on for a few sentences (or minutes) about the joy and encouragement that they had brought to my life. I was intentional about that because a part of me knew that these prayers had the potential to be incredibly intimate, and I wanted to make sure that whoever I was talking to was made aware of how grateful I was for their vulnerability and transparency in our conversation.
I think in focusing on the person though, I forgot a bit about the fact that I was conversing with God too. That's not to say that when I was praying, I treated it solely like a conversation between me and my "prayer person" with a "Heavenly Father" and an "Amen" tacked on. I was definitely conscious of the spiritual element of taking my prayers and the prayers of others to God.
I guess I just forgot that He could actually answer them.
When I was younger, I was taught in some bible study or Sunday school that God only has three answers to prayer: "Yes," "No," and "Not Yet". When I was praying with people, I think my initial assumption was that I wouldn't get to hear the outcomes of the prayers I had spoken, and so for me, the involvement in the prayer ended there, as I wasn't a big part of the prayer request itself.
Somehow I managed to forget that I have friends who like to keep me informed on their lives.
The first prayer that I saw work was quite possibly my favorite: (not sure if that's a fair thing to say but....)
A close friend of mine was in the midst of tech week for a show at her college and had forgotten to do a major art portfolio assignment that was worth a significant part of her grade. When she called me, she told me that the assignment had been due the day before, and now it was Friday, and she didn't know what to do about it exactly. She'd been planning on transferring schools, and she knew that her current grades were aiding her chances at getting financial aid, and she didn't want to risk losing the scholarship she had received over this portfolio grade. I suggested that she try to contact the teacher to see if she could maybe turn it in late, but I didn't want to push any advice onto her, so instead, when we settled down to pray, I prayed for understanding and mercy on behalf of her teacher.
A few days later, I get this message:
"AMANDA. Remember that homework assignment I asked you to pray for? Okay, I didn't do the assignment at all. I didn't even try to turn it in late. I just didn't do it. But I saw my professor during office hours to do a teacher evaluation right? So I do it and I'm about to leave and she said: "by the way, you got a 95%on the art packet." I said, "the one I didn't do?" She just nodded and said, "that better be one good evaluation"... She gave me a 95% because I took her class last semester and did the assignment already. She said if I brought in my old one I could get credit. But I didn't. But she knew I did it so she gave me the credit for it anyway."
I think I actually screamed when I read that. First, that everything worked out so well for my friend, in a "go God, go you" sort of way. But the more I read that text over, the more I love it because it's so representative of God's love for us-except He gave us the 95% with NO reasoning whatsoever.
If you look at the part of her message that comes after the ellipses, you'll see that my friend stated that the professor gave her a chance to try and redeem herself and her grade, but that my friend didn't take it. In the same way, God gives us chances every day to rectify our relationship with Him, and even with those opportunities, we can never have a right relationship with Him on our own-just like how my friend had an opportunity, but couldn't save her grade without the intervention of her professor.
The cool thing with this professor is that she had some prior knowledge of my friend, which helped her to make a decision about her grade. She knew my friend had succeeded in the past, and so she showed grace by giving her a grade she didn't deserve.
God took that analogy to the extreme on SO many levels, starting with the fact that we really don't have any good reputation going for us. We didn't "take the class of life" already, no. Instead, we were born into a sinful world, and have grown up committing sin left and right. We are literally the antithesis of a student that deserves a "good grade" on holiness. And yet, God chooses to show us grace again and again by offering us life in Him, love in Him, and Joy in the knowledge of both of those things.
God's incredible, you know that? He turns messy, disorganized, ugly parts of our lives into incredible, breath-takingly beautiful works of art, and honestly, the more I'm getting to see it happen, the deeper my love for Him grows.
I hope yours is too.
"Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God, for I shall again praise Him, my salvation and my God."- Psalm 42:11
"Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God, for I shall again praise Him, my salvation and my God."- Psalm 42:11
Signing off,
Amanda
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