Forced Slow Down

I just read my post from last week and laughed. In it I mentioned having to slow down due to being temporarily laid off from my other job because of the pandemic. Apparently that wasn’t enough of a slow down for me. What I thought was a minor injury has turned out to be a sprained hip tendon and I’ve been forced to take it easy for just over a week now.

I’m not good at slowing down, but not doing so has been literally painful. My hip is improving, not nearly as fast as I would like, but I’m still likely recording my parts of this weekend’s service from home. As I talk to others about the need for reflection in Lent and being less busy, I’ve been forced to take my own advice. And yet I’m still trying to maximize my time and to prepare for the avalanche of busy that is the lead-up to Holy Week.

It’s a long time since I’ve been injured - being sick with a cold or migraine is far more recent. Having to think and plan carefully for the simplest things like turning over in bed or getting up from a chair can be exhausting. Navigating managing pain and household tasks like meal preparation and laundry takes lots of planning. I have a whole new understanding and empathy for people living with chronic pain. Mine has not been absolutely debilitating, but it’s still there as I move toward healing.

I’ve been reflecting on this being an interesting metaphor for Lent and where humanity finds itself. We’re all enduring at least some pain caused from our own choices (in my case, lifting a heavy box in a stupid way) and collective selfishness and having to own up to the result. We are living in a time of, hopefully, acknowledging the role we’ve played in our own issues and those of the world and having to sit with the consequences. We are in a time of waiting for the Messiah to overcome the result of what is happening to us and to change it all, to redeem and heal it. Because we just don’t have it in us to do that ourselves.

As I reflect on the hobbling around I’ve had to do within my apartment and the pain, I also reflect on the Telehealth doctor, people in the congregation offering prayer and meals and anything else needed, and being forced to let go of control of my body and instead to rest and trust in the One who is in control. I know that I’ve regained perspective. I’m so grateful for the body of Christ around me who care, for gifted healthcare workers, for a God who doesn’t leave me alone even as I struggle and complain about pain I inflicted on myself.

The pain I’ve been experiencing is nothing like the pain Christ endured. It’s nothing like the pain many carry for years due to invisible illnesses, racism or discrimination due to gender identity or any other part of who they are. Pain reminds us that we are alive, and that something needs to change to bring us to wholeness and wellness.

Even though pain is inconvenient, I’m glad that my body tells me when something isn’t right. I hope that I am as sensitive to which of my attitudes and words are painful to Christ and other people and ultimately to me. I hope that by not avoiding pain or masking it I will recognize the need to change to find freedom in healing, for myself and for others around me.

May we allow ourselves to feel the pain that moves in and through us so that we can identify it and allow the Healer to take it away. May we let go of things that hinder our walk with Christ and with brothers and sisters on the journey. May we rest long enough to recover our first love and be restored to His joy.