Last night I went to dinner with a friend. Though we’ve been acquainted for a while, this was the first time the two of us hung out alone. I was looking forward to a casual dinner and expected casual conversation. I had no idea the two of us would still be talking long past our food was finished and that our conversation would turn the direction it had.
A month or so ago I saw Rob Bell speak at his Drops Like Stars tour, which deals with the topic of suffering. At no point did he attempt to explain the “why” of tragedy with a trite explanation of why bad things happen to good people. Sometimes people just want their heartbreak acknowledged and the opportunity to grieve in the midst of others who are hurting as well. The news of my niece’s brain cancer was still fresh so the timing of his message was truly divine. At one point in the evening he asked members of the audience to stand if they had a relative impacted by cancer. I stood…so did a hundred others. I attended the show alone, but as I stood amongst this multitude of strangers, I instantly felt part of something much bigger. It was a “standing on Holy Ground” moment. The point Rob was making was how suffering bonds us. He is right. For the first time since Hannah’s diagnosis, I felt like we weren’t the only family to experience cancer. I can’t quote Rob exactly but he made a comment that when someone just utters the word cancer it’s like the molecules in the room start to change. I never asked for membership into this club, but I can’t begin to articulate the profound comradery I felt that night with the fellow war weary.
My dinner date lost her mom to cancer just a few years ago. Cancer barely came up in our conversation. Suffering is universal. The simple knowledge of our shared pain was enough. Rob said suffering makes you honest. Last night we were honest. Before I knew it we were sharing secrets and swapping war stories. I couldn’t believe the skeletons that were coming out of my closet. It was like therapy…with chopsticks and soy sauce. Honesty disarms people. For every failing I revealed she reciprocated with a fear of her own. This wasn’t just therapy, this was confession. It’s a powerful experience to expose your wrongs and the wrongs committed against you to another person only to have them met with acceptance instead of judgment, grace rather than criticism, and compassion in the place of indifference. The evening was a tangible example of the truth in James 5:16, “Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed”. I left the restaurant feeling like we had been through battle together and like we had treated each others' wounds as well. Who knew shrimp tempura could be a spiritual experience?
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