Though I'm not inclined toward depression, on certain days, you can catch me being very pessimistic about the human condition. Too much in life happens that just isn't fair - disease, death, decay - broken hearts, clouded minds, wrecked economies. But sadly, this is the pastor's bread and butter. If life were neat and tidy, if it were always lollipops and roses, then maybe we'd all understand this concept of an all-powerful, all-loving God a little bit better. It would make more sense to us if we knew the T-shirts to be true, and could echo with them, "Life is good." But that's not how it works. Life is at times painful, and broken, and an absolute mess.

Pastors, and all of God's people for that matter, are called to minister in and to the mess. I've learned this best from the nurses who have been partners in ministry with me. A little secret about nurses - they all seem to be hypochondriacs. Perhaps it's because they know too much about human pain. Think about what happens in the hospital. It's the "nurse" button you push when the pain medicine has lost its effect. It's the nurse button you push when you need help just to get to the bathroom. It's the nurse button you push when your beloved has taken his last breath. It isn't typically the doctor who will pat your hand or stroke your hair; it's the nurse. But taking in all that pain can be almost too much to bear. We have our limits - so I think that's why whenever a nurse actually gets sick, she imagines the worst. She's seen some of the worst. She's taken it all in. She's cried with her patients, and lingered a little bit longer with the one who was dying alone.

Paul reminds us that the church is not just like a body, it fully personifies Christ's body in the world. When one part hurts, all the other parts hurt with it. When a part is healed, all experience the healing and rejoice. What we might be tempted to glean from this metaphor is that we ought to rush out and fix every little thing that hurts, or even more so that we need to try to prevent as much of the pain as we can. But what nurses and pastors and anyone who works with people long enough knows is that the hurting and the healing, more often than not, go hand in hand.

Try as we might, we cannot will away someone else's pain. We cannot make someone else be happy or joyful, and even the changes that we do see in our relationships over time are more the work of the Spirit than anything profound we ever said or did. Feeling always like the helper, like the savior can be something we do to stroke our own ego, to make us feel more important than others. We may be called to emulate the Savior in word and deed, and yet God especially knows that our human limitations will not only cause us pain but cause us to fret about the pain of others. God loves us for our compassion, and yet reluctantly knows that it's that very same compassion that may spur us to try to play God.

Being that the downside of compassion may be difficult to see for such caring folk like I know this congregation to be, it may help to think about an example where too much caring can be a detriment. What about the child that never loses his childishness? We've all seen some examples of the parent-child relationship that gets out of whack. It may be a whole lot easier for the twenty-something to live at home, to have Mom do the laundry and have Dad prepare the meals. It's nice to have a rent-free, fully furnished place to live with no responsibility. But Mom and Dad can be reluctant to give that little push out of the nest. It hurts. They may have to see their child mess up. And I'm sure you can create your own scenarios multiple times over. We don't always do anyone any favors by trying to alleviate their mess. It may, in fact, be halting someone else's growth by stepping in too far. Pain is sometimes the only catalyst that will get us up and moving in a different direction. Pain is the body's way of reminding us to take care of ourselves.

I'm glad to say that this congregation has shown great wisdom as we've had this conversation about our mission projects. We yearn to be partners in mission when we build water projects, be they in Belize or Appalachia. In fact, if we don't simultaneously teach the recipients of the systems how to keep them going, all our work may be for naught. Doing something for someone else without their investment or participation sometimes smacks of paternalism. But there will be times we do give just because - just because someone asked - just because we see a need. Then it's as much for the giver as for the receiver. It may very well be only one kind gesture in a whole series of kind gestures, but it just may be the one that softens the heart of the person who has become stone-cold with pain. However, it's not the giver's job to judge the "success;" to determine if the receiver was thankful enough or motivated enough to change a desperate situation. That's God's job to see the much broader purpose, to weigh out the intentions and motives behind the request or the gift.

But I think this is the secret treasure of Jesus telling us that when we join with him in ministry the yoke is easy and the burden is light. We choose to share others pain and offer ourselves to others, not because we can control any of the outcomes, but precisely because we are not able to control any of the outcomes. We are part of the healing because we are indebted to our Savior who is the only one who can truly bear the pain of the world in his body. Trying to keep others from hurting is about power, sharing in the hurt is about love.

In the web of relationships that is the invisible church, as Calvin called it, including all those whom God knows to be in communion with the divine, it is indeed true that when one part hurts, all other parts hurt with it, and when one part is healed, all experience the healing and rejoice. This is the work of the Holy Spirit.

More than anything else, I pray for this congregation of God's beloved church to grow in connection to the life and breath of the Holy Spirit. That may mean more numbers and a bigger budget, one day, but it may mean feeling the hurt now, sharing in the pain of our world so that we can also share in healing and hope.

I'll close again with the words of the Psalm - because I'm rooted in Appalachian soil - and the steadiness of the mountains, their unchanging presence that seems to take in my pain and breathe out new life always comforts me, and may offer comfort to you as well. I invite you to pray these verses in your heart as I call out to God: I'm hurt and in pain; Give me space for healing and mountain air. Let me shout God's name with a praising song, Let me tell his greatness in a prayer of thanks.