I never remember missing an Easter Sunday in church. I'm sure somewhere in my travels I have, but I can't remember it. Today I missed church. Of course, I can watch the service online but today I missed even that. For several weeks, I've been waking up in the wee hours of the morning with excruciating cramps in my calves. I live alone in a stone house, so my screams didn't disturb the neighbors.
Walking is painful. It is the same feeling as a pulled muscle. Not since I was pregnant with Michael have I had leg cramps this bad. That was 42 years ago. Back then, I learned in Lamaze classes how to "break" a cramp. You stretch in the opposite direction of the cramp. If your foot goes down, you pull it up. Only, these cramps won't let me. I have to get out of bed and put my foot down, and that stops it. I'm left with a very painful calf muscle and have to hobble down the hallway.
For three hours, I sat in my chair and kept telling myself I'd go to church at 11. I didn't. So, I would go to the noon service. Each time I got up to dress, I had to deal with the sore calves and finally just gave up. It hurt and depressed me.
I know today is the day we remember the price Jesus paid for our freedom, our salvation. He allowed himself to be crucified to pay the penalty for our sins on our behalf. My pain seems unimportant compared to what he endured. I live with constant pain and still can't imagine the horror of his. How dare I miss church for such a little pain?
I remember a place in the Bible where it says "he was wounded for our transgressions". In another, "by his stripes, we are healed." His pain had a purpose. And he agreed to be wounded for the purpose. He had a choice. He endured the pain because he had a plan.
There is no purpose for my pain. It doesn't make me a better person. I don't magically become more sensitive, compassionate, or understanding. I didn't agree to feel pain, to have rheumatoid arthritis, fibromyalgia, and whatever else this may be. No one asked me. No one gave me a menu to pick the pain I wanted. I wanted none of this.
This is a consequence of my genetics. I can't fix it or change it. My pain is a consequence of a fallen world that corrupted my DNA. Someone else made the choice for me. They chose unwisely.
So, there are days I can't walk well or put on a blouse or brush my hair without pain. I can't focus on what you're saying, let alone listen to a long sermon. I love my pastor's preaching and teaching. When I have to exert more effort to listen, I become frustrated and exhausted. So, I stay home. Whether I go or stay, I'll experience frustration and depression because my body has robbed me of the things I enjoy once again. There is no purpose in that.
This isn't much of a praise post, is it? I don't feel like praise today. I want to curl up and cover my head. But I didn't. Instead, I read my Bible and praised in the pain. There is a purpose in that.
The next time you're suffering from some malady, don't beat yourself up if you can't get to church. And don't let others beat you up for it either. If someone makes you feel bad because you didn't go to church, give them a menu and ask them to pick their pain.
And praise God anyway.
