Thorns In The Flesh: The Healing Paradox
And to keep me from being too elated by the abundance of revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan, to harass me, to keep me from being too elated
As followers of this Substack and Podcast will remember, I have previously discussed the healing power of forgiveness.
Yet if we are healed when we are forgiven, why do pain and suffering remain with us, whether we are forgiven or no?
Make no mistake, pain and suffering do remain with us. At least, they remain with me—thorns in my flesh every bit as harassing as those endured by Paul.
Fear remains. Doubt remains. Thorns remain.
If I am being honest with myself, these things remain even when I pray, even when I school my mind to “let go and let God”, as the popular mantra counsels us to do.
Even as I pray, I remember all the things that cause me to be afraid. I remember all the reasons I have to doubt.
I remember the thorns in my flesh.
Even as I school my mind to "let go and let God”, I remember all that I have done, and all that has been to me. I remember my past.
Even when I strive to be just in this moment, who I am in this moment is the culmination of who I have been in the past. Who I am in every moment is the culmination of who I have been in the past, right up until this moment.
Who I am in every moment is who I am with thorns in my flesh.
What I think and feel in this moment seems unavoidably tied to what I have thought and felt in the past.
I know God is with me always. I know I can push back against the fear and the doubt at least in the moment. Certainly I strive to do exactly that.
Yet even in the moment, I am not able to forget the origins of at least some of my fears and doubts. Even in the moment, even as I push back against my fears and my doubts, I remember how they came to dwell within me.
I remember each and every thorn in my flesh.
Apparently, there is no healing from memory. At least, none presents itself.
We are what we remember. We are what we know. Certainly I am what I remember. Most assuredly I am what I know.
Prayer does not make me forget.
Forgiveness does not come with forgetfulness.
At times, I wish that it did. Life would be so much simpler but for all the things I remember. Each memory—especially the bad—is a reminder of what can happen. Each memory—especially the bad—is a warning of what I must guard against simply for my own safety.
Each memory—especially the bad—is a thorn in my flesh.
Common sense alone tells me that I do not want to forget the moments when I have been hurt, or even mistreated. Thorns or no, I want to remember them, so that if similar circumstance should arise in the future, I can be mindful, I can be wary, and hopefully I can avoid a repeat of whatever misfortune has afflicted me in the past.
So I remember. I remember not just the good, but also the bad. I remember, and I do not forget.
We are what we remember. We are what we know.
Certainly I am what I remember. Most assuredly I am what I know.
Prayer does not make me forget.
Forgiveness does not come with forgetfulness.
Yet because I remember, because I do not forget, I remember also the hurt. I remember also the pain. Indeed, the pain is largely why I remember. If I am being honest with myself, even in the moment, the pain is what stands out the most in my memories.
Cognitively, I know I should be reconciled to all that has gone on in my past. Cognitively, I know I should accept there is both pain and pleasure in my past, both negative and positive.
Cognitively, I know that I should not dwell upon the negatives. Cognitively, I know I should focus my mind on the positives.
I should displace fear with hope. I should displace doubt with certainty. Cognitively, I know I should do this.
Yet even when I do this—even as I do this—memory brings fear back. Memory brings doubt back. No matter how hard I strive to overcome fear and doubt, memory ensures they are always present, constant thorns in my flesh.
Certainly I am what I remember. Most assuredly I am what I know.
Prayer does not make me forget.
Forgiveness does not come with forgetfulness.
How, then, am I healed? If the memory remains, and from the memory comes the pain, how does forgiveness heal me?
If I am healed, why is there still fear, and doubt, and pain? Why do the thorns remain?
The easy answer to this paradox is to simply say that remembering means I am still clinging to the past and not living fully in this moment. Perhaps that is true.
Yet it is also true that who I am in this moment is the culmination of all that is in my past. Every thought, every choice, every action—and therefore every consequence—all go into who I am right here, right now. Every memory I have is a part of who I am in this moment.
But I am also reminded that, regardless of memory, regardless of pain, regardless of doubt, regardless of thorns, I am here, and I am in this moment. Even if I cling tightly to a past I would do well to let go, I am always here and I am always in this moment.
Despite the thorns, I am here. In spite of the thorns, I am in this moment.
That matters. That is no small victory, for at more than one juncture had events in my life unfolded just a little bit differently, I would not be here, nor would I be in this moment. Indeed, if I am honest, it is no small miracle that I am here and in this moment.
Because I am here, and because I am in this moment, for that reason if for no other I have at least that much hope. That hope endures even with thorns of fear and doubt.
As I am here, and in this moment, regardless of past pain and past doubt, I get to choose what comes next in my life. No matter the thorns in my flesh now, I can choose whether I will add to their number.
I have that hope as well, even in the midst of my fears. That hope endures in spite of the thorns.
Certainly I am what I remember—and also what I hope. I am what I know—and also what I choose.
Prayer does not make me forget. Prayer does give me hope.
Forgiveness does not come with forgetfulness. Forgiveness does give me choice.
That is no small healing, even if there still be thorns.
I am so sorry that you have endured so much suffering in life, Peter. You can rationalize that is has made you stronger, and is preparing you for great accomplishments in the future, but that doesn’t lessen the suffering. You truly did not deserve this - but I’d like to think that God is developing your character for future good works which will give you peace.
It has, at least, enabled you to write a worthwhile Substack that asks profound questions, and I’m grateful for that. You are building such wisdom and depth; it is a joy to interact with you.
My own experience is that when painful, undeserved things happen to you, especially in childhood, it cements a kernel of anger in your innermost soul. The result is that you might have to forgive certain people - including God, your family, yourself, and society - repeatedly, even over decades. More layers of anger and grieving keep welling up, until you gradually get it all out of your system. Maybe complete acceptance and forgiveness eludes you, but you get close to it - enough to achieve peace and closeness with God.
I am glad that you have the wisdom to have a deep, personal relationship with God. I think it will make all the difference in your future, affecting whether you sink or soar with angels. I daily pray for your happiness, Peter. “He heals the brokenhearted, and binds up their wounds” - Psalm 147:3