I’ve never read C.S. Lewis’s "The Problem of Pain". I suppose I have avoided it altogether, despite my reverence for his writing. Today in class we were asked what would make us effective teachers. I wondered how I was supposed to teach anything without being vulnerable to my own experiences, my own pain. But, how could I possibly be effective without it?Feeling pain is not fun. Stating the obvious, I know. So what do we do when there is so much of it? When it is inescapable? We must adapt somehow. How could I allow the emotions I experience to simply pass through me and not be transparent?
At times it’s as though the tears flow from my person while my mind remains unaffected. But as I sat in class, I could not imagine how I would explain why, should I sometime reveal intense emotion when teaching concepts I had learned were true. True not only because I had experienced them, but because of the degree to which I had experienced them.
While I’ve decided that when at all possible I don’t want to feel pain, I cannot avoid the visits of my intimate and frequent companion. It’s not even a matter of whether or not she is a welcomed guest. She has become a featured reality, like breathing, outside of the realm of choice. Inviting her in is unbearable. Keeping her out is impossible. I wish to stop fighting her, allowing her instead to simply be. To resist my contempt for her and look in her face, acknowledge her presence, and continue on.
Joy, I am told, exists in pain’s opposition. Yet her supposed reality continues its elusion. Are they co-existent, and do I simply lack the ability to recognize both? Or must pain be eradicated to make room for her sister?
I don’t have the answer. Maybe C.S. Lewis does. For today, I surrender to the pain, not in defeat, but in simple acceptance to the absence of greener grasses. Today, I make peace and hope that its presence will belie that which I wish to keep hidden in plain sight.
