To live is to streak through time. Many days I feel I’m on a train with my arm stuck out the window. I can feel my tie and my shirt sleeve and my hair whipping wildly in the wind as I reach out in vain at the countryside that screams by. I cannot stop the world turning.
There are times I don’t want to—please, just skip the middle part and go to the end of the movie where they lower me into the dirt and I get to sleep, one day awakening in some new place where the seeds that have fallen to the earth will burst forth with vigor.
I know, somewhere, that the suffering of this world is not good. That it is not right. We were not made to suffer. So what of the part of me that wonders how we will grow when suffering is taken away? When are we made stronger if not through the endurance of loss and pain? If suffering is a darkness over the world’s humming, we yet seem called to live in the tension of this world. To participate in its joy and know God through that joy, and also to participate in the redemption of all things, both as agents of redemption, and more dearly as those who are ourselves also being redeemed.
Redeemed, changed, saved, purified, born away on a litter of grace and resurrection. But when we reach this other shore for which we long, where will be carried from there? I don’t fear boredom… I can’t envision a world without pain.