We are called
“The reward of suffering is experience.” This quote is attributed both to Aeschylus and Harry Truman. I’m guessing Truman, who died 50 years ago on December 26, 1972, was quoting Aeschylus when he said it, though perhaps not remembering the source.
Two major feast days this week remind us that suffering, a topic generally avoided this time of the year, is part of the Christmas season. On December 26 the church commemorated St. Stephen, the first martyr, killed by a mob because he dared to minister and preach in the name of Christ.
On December 28 the church commemorated the Holy Innocents, the children aged 2 and under killed by Herod the Great as he sought to eliminate the supposed rival for his throne who had been born in Bethlehem. Describing what happened, Matthew (2:18) quotes the prophet Jeremiah (31:15): “A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.”
The holiday season wants to make suffering go underground in at least two ways. One, by muting the suffering of people who feel pressured to observe a “holly jolly Christmas.” Society tells them no one wants to hear their weeping and lamentation. So, people bury their suffering by pretending to be happy, or they isolate themselves to escape the jolliness of others.
Two, the holiday season offers simple ways to help those who are suffering, ways that, while good, usually offer only temporary relief. We who contribute feel good about our efforts. But our contributions too often fail to alleviate the root cause of the suffering, whether that be economic injustice, racism, homophobia or whatever else marginalizes and excludes human beings from the privileges so many of us take for granted.
I don’t think Aeschylus and Truman are wrong. I’ve certainly gained experience through personal suffering. But the experience one gains from suffering imposed by oppression, exclusion and hatred is not a reward. Often, the experience is that society does not care, that they are forgotten.
So, each year on December 26 or 28, I read Howard Thurman’s poem, The Work of Christmas, to remind myself what it is we Christians are called to do as followers of the Word made flesh.
When the song of the angels is stilled,
when the star in the sky is gone,
when the kings and princes are home,
when the shepherds are back with their flocks,
the work of Christmas begins:
to find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people,
to make music in the heart.