The Thorn in the Flesh

I’ve been thinking a lot about a passage of scripture I’m wrestling with. It’s Paul’s “thorn in the flesh” passage, which I’m sure is familiar to you.

In his second letter to the Corinthians, Paul writes that he doesn’t boast about receiving great revelations from God. (Though I think just pointing it out might seem a bit boastful!) Instead, he says, he will boast about his weaknesses. Here is what he says about them, from the New Revised Standard Version, 2 Corinthians 12:7b-9:

Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me.  Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me.  But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

My struggle is no longer with God’s statement there at the end, though it took an embarrassingly long time for me to realize I was misreading it (as a statement of cause-and-effect—Our weakness makes God strong—rather than a reassurance—Our weakness requires God’s strength if we’re to survive.)

No, the part I continue to struggle with is the suggestion that we should be happy with our weaknesses, because: a) God allows them in order to humble us, and b) We should therefore appreciate them.

I’ve pretty much come to terms with the first statement, that God allows painful things to happen. Or I have at least moved past the idea that God causes pain, reaching down from on high to point a finger and zap us. (That, in itself, took a lot of time to wrap my head around.) What I’ve come to believe is that God created us with these imperfect, fragile lives, and as a consequence, painful things will happen. Which I guess some could argue means that God, in a sense, causes our pain by having created us this way, knowing full well that it would mean we would suffer. But that’s a question for another day. You’re welcome.)

However, the idea that we should feel in any way feel good about the pain…that seems too hard, impossible.

You may know that I lost clear vision in one eye last year, due to complications of a detached retina. It has been a long process of trying to adapt to it, to learn how to do the things I’m used to doing easily—things like reading (both far and near), and driving. The notion that I should be grateful for it because it’s caused me to rely more heavily on God’s strength is more than I can accept—at least fully, at least at this point.

And of course, I know that you have experienced suffering. You too have likely, at some time, struggled with the same questions: How do I accept that the God who loves me has allowed this to happen? How can I possibly feel grateful for this “thorn in the flesh” of my life? 

If you’ve read previous blogs, you won’t be surprised to learn that I found help with my confusion in the writings of theologian, mystic, and Franciscan priest Richard Rohr. In his book, A Spring Within Us, he offers another way to think about the pain and imperfections of life. This book is a year of readings and meditations. The big picture of God that he embraces has been building throughout the book towards the overarching assertions that GOD IS LOVE. Not something we just sing about, acknowledge, or take for granted, but something that transforms us. (There it is again…Romans 12:2.)

Today, in week 48, I read this:

“True spiritual encounter changes you [transforms you] at a deep and unconscious level. Henceforth, the most important thing is to grow deeper and deeper in love. What spurs you on in that journey into love is actually the constant experience of your own lack of love: your impatience, irritation, or self-centeredness. Paul called these ‘thorns in the flesh’…You will have them until the end of your life. They allow you to love God and others by reason of a Larger Love flowing through you, not because ‘you’ are doing it right or even know how to love.”  (The emphasis is mine.)

I think what he means is that God’s strength, which is manifested in Divine Love, flows freely into our lives when we are most wounded, most upset with ourselves or others or our situations, most focused on what we think and feel. These times can drive us to harden our hearts.

But more often, believers are led to recognize God’s presence throughout our pain. Often, we don’t see it until we’re through the other side. But what Rohr is suggesting is that when we live for God’s love—when we live in it, through it, even beyond it, sharing it with others—we can experience a peace that surpasses understanding, through the darkest of times.

This does not mean that, when we are unable to feel that peace, we are somehow not measuring up to God’s standards, that we are unworthy of the Grace that we are promised. It simply means that we are the humans God created us to be—flawed, often weak, sometimes doubting—so that God’s love can reach into our souls with comfort and yes, with strength.

May it be so for you, and for me.

Lou Ann