Suffering and Love

Although not a Buddhist, I understand the appeal of Siddharta Gautama's teachings. Life is full of suffering. And suffering is caused by desire and expectation. So if you want to eliminate suffering, just don't want anything, and lower your expectations. You'll stop being disappointed, and life will be a bowl of nirvanic cherries. Or something like that. I'm a self-professed cynic, realizing, of course, that all cynics are really just disillusioned idealists. The main difference between Christianity and Buddhism is in their respective views of suffering. Buddhism teaches that we should try to eliminate suffering by rejecting our ideals. The only ideal that remains is a life without pain.

Christianity teaches that suffering is to be embraced. Christ himself suffered and was lifted up as an example. Love is measured in pain and sacrifice. Perfection is attained through suffering. And we are promised trouble in this world.

I was born compassionate, I guess. In pre-school the teacher sent a note home to my mother commenting that I sought out the alienated and oppressed, befriended them, and embraced them as they were, while rejecting their negative behavior and helping them transition to better behavioral standards. Or something like that. Not bad for a 4-year old.

The trend continued through elementary school. I was called on by school counselors when a friend of mine was about to be kicked out of school. As they delved into his troubled family situation, they asked if there was anyone he felt could help him, he offered up my name. Not bad for a 4th grader.

In junior high, I befriended a socially inept kid. He was targeted by the kids with more athletic prowess and fashion sense. They made him feel worthless. I thought he was alright. As his friend, I became a target, too. But he said I'd helped him believe that God could love even him. Not bad for a 14-year old.

But somewhere in all of this loving, there was an intense amount of pain. Some of it was physical as I fought behind the bleachers and at the flag pole for my friends and my own dignity. I shed the blood of bullies, and bled for the oppressed. And I learned to hate.

I grew frustrated with those on whose behalf I stood. Why wouldn't they stand up on their own? Couldn't see that they were valuable? I despised those who looked down on us because their parents made more money than ours, or developed muscles sooner, or didn't wear glasses or braces.

By the time my senior year rolled around I was a brooding Martin Luther, angry and righteous. I walked away from the recruiters at Princeton and West Point and went to seminary. I took my anger to the pulpit and fought for recognition of the poor, minorities and the high ideals of a Galilean philosopher. Nobody wanted to hear it. Especially not Christians.

I seethed with rage. There was evil all around us and all I wanted was to make it go away. I gave up fighting for people's minds. There was poverty and crime and somebody had to stop it. I put on a badge and a pistol and went into the city to stop it. But most of my fellow law-enforcers were either bullies or politicians. Nobody cared about those whose rights were violated. It was a horrible charade.

I decided maybe we should just find those people who were undeniably evil and kill them. Anyone who kills women and children fit that category. So I put on a uniform and picked up a rifle and went to war against the terrorists. And in the middle of a city in Iraq while insurgents were trying to blow us up with vehicle borne IEDs, I almost killed a women and her daughter who came too close to the action. So who's undeniably evil now?

The irony of love is that the one receiving it usually has no idea what it costs the one giving it. Children don't understand the ache in the hearts of their parents until they have children of their own. The one receiving the blessing has a small sense of a debt being owed, but the one making the gift expects no repayment. There may be a longing for the love to be returned, but there's no bottom line, no balloon payment, and no lien on the property.

A father doesn't expect his kids to pay him back for the food they eat. A mother doesn't expect a cash incentive for diapers changed and scrapes bandaged. In my youth, I had no expectation for Jimmy or Matt to give me anything for the blood I shed on their behalf. They were my friends, and they were worth fighting for.

The hardest part of loving is to be able to do it and keep hoping. An ancient author wrote that "hope deferred makes a sick heart." Maybe Buddha didn't want a sick heart. But rather than suffering destroying hope, the Christian message is to the contrary. A saint wrote: "Rejoice in our suffering; suffering produces perseverence, perseverance character, and character hope..."

Somehow the Prince of Peace didn't come to bring peace, but a sword. And somehow in a world of lust, anger, chaos and immediacy, we would be full of love, joy, peace and patience. And we're supposed to sell our extra cloak to buy a sword, but not raise it against those who wrongfully arrest our best friend. Love will wound us when we give it and heal us when we receive it. Suffering produces hope? Surely, we see things dimly. And the world is under His authority, though we do not see it. And He's not long in coming, the way we think is a long time. But one day we'll see face to face. מרנא תא