From the Rector…
Last week, I threw my back out. The moment it happened, I knew: one wrong move and the pain was like a lightning bolt shooting through my entire body. It was an intense muscle spasm, the kind that makes you wonder if someone’s twisted a dagger into your lower back or if there’s a voodoo doll somewhere with your name on it. The first two days were relentless agony, as if someone was determined to inflict the worst kind of torment. Whether I sat, lay down, stood, or walked, nothing offered relief. I was miserable.
I popped Tylenol like candy and managed to take a muscle relaxer when I finally got home after teaching class. That helped me sleep, but the next morning, the pain came back with a vengeance. By Wednesday, the constant pain had eased a bit. It was still there, but the intensity had subsided. I felt a persistent ache in my lower back, and though I still couldn’t stand up straight, things were much better. That is, until I bent over to brush my teeth. Suddenly, the pain shot back with a ferocity that made me gasp. Standing up eased it, but the incident made me realize that while I was improving, a sudden movement could still trigger a flare-up. Now, I wasn’t just battling the pain but also the fear of causing another spasm. It was a tough combo: the pain was harsh, but the fear was paralyzing.
I’m much better now—almost completely back to normal. I’ve dealt with back pain over the years, and I know how challenging it can be to live in extreme duress. Usually, I just ignore it and push through it the best way I can. This time, however, my back pain coincided with some teaching I was doing on suffering in my Compassion class and Men’s Prayer Breakfast. We’d been exploring the idea of savoring our suffering rather than ignoring or denying it. So, I decided to sit with the suffering each day last week. It was challenging—focusing on the pain made it feel even more intense—but I gave it a try.
Savoring suffering might sound counterintuitive. For me, it meant fully experiencing the pain. I pinpointed where it originated and traced how it resonated through my body. I performed a body scan to assess how tight or loose different areas were in response to the pain. I also checked in with my emotions and self-talk to see where I needed more courage and self-compassion. The biggest revelation was that the pain itself didn’t limit me as much as the fear did. When the pain was constant, I still moved around and did most of my usual activities. When fear entered the picture, I became overly cautious, staying in bed more and restricting my movements. It turned out that fear limited me more than pain.
This experience led me to reflect on how fear often plays a role in resistance. On Wednesday and Thursday, my fear of causing more pain made me hesitant to move, even more so than the actual pain. Before this experience, I might have believed that pain would limit me more, but now I see fear as a more significant factor. The world around us often confirms this—people are frequently held back more by their fears than by their physical pain. Just look at the Olympics: how many commercials showcased athletes with bruises and injuries, still pushing through? Athletes, and ordinary people alike, often persevere through pain when necessary.
Fear, on the other hand, tends to keep us from moving forward. It prevents us from breaking through and fully realizing the potential and call we have been given by God in partnering with God to do the work of building up the kingdom. If anything drives us to say “no” or resist new challenges, it is most likely fear; not pain or suffering or frustration. When we are afraid—especially when we are afraid to suffer—we limit ourselves and our relationship with God.
Light and Life,
Candice+