Painful Days

Have mercy on me, LORD, for I am wretched.  Heal me, for my limbs are stricken.  Psalm 6:3  Robert Alter

My limbs – Now you will read a reflection that I wrote more than a month ago.  My left knee still hurts, every day, all the time.  But it isn’t excruciating.  No wheelchair.  Nevertheless, it’s not normal, and for that reason, I’m still in “crisis” mode.  With that in mind, here’s what I wrote when all of this was happening.

By the time you read this either one of two things will have happened.  Either my left knee will have miraculously improved so that I can walk without pain, or I will be back in a wheelchair for the third time.  I sincerely hope for the former, but today as I write this, I am, quite frankly, very afraid of the latter.  I’m taking a break from our venture through Mesillat Yesharim to write about the connection between physical pain and spiritual discouragement because that’s exactly where I am today—and perhaps you will empathize if you have also been in this dark place.

As of this writing, I plan to be free to travel here in Europe, and later fly to the USA to see my new grandson and the rest of my children.  For months I’ve been anticipating these trips.  It feels like the specter of COVID has lifted and the real excitement of moving to Europe is about to break free.  You know, I’m sure, that shortly after we moved here I spent many months recuperating from surgery on my right leg.  A torn Achilles.  Then, just as I was about to enjoy movement again, I was hit by a truck while riding my bicycle and spent the next six months learning to walk again.  Broken leg, broken hand.  And now, just when I feel as if I am ready to venture into all the places I am so excited about, it looks as if a knee problem will put me back in that dreaded chair with wheels and all my hopes for traveling will fall to ruin again.

Now, this might not seem like a huge battle.  After all, it’s just age that’s catching up with me.  But for me this is a spiritual crisis, not merely a physical one.  Why?  Because my hopes seemed dashed in spite of my trust in a God who could fix all this in a second.  I have been in so much pain that I can’t sleep at night.  I can barely walk to the bathroom in the apartment.  All of this seems incompatible with the promises of God, and more specifically, with the belief that God is not only sovereign but also compassionate.  I think to myself, “If any one of my children had this much pain and I had the power to do anything about it, I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment.”  I consulted my rabbi.  He sent me on a journey through the Psalms (6, 20, 30, 41, 51, 62, 142 and 146).  But the verses in Psalm 6 really say it all:

LORD, do not chastise me in Your wrath, do not punish me in Your fury. Have mercy on me, LORD, for I am wretched.  Heal me, for my limbs are stricken. And my life is hard stricken—and You, O LORD, how long? Come back, LORD, deliver my life, rescue me for the sake of Your kindness.

I don’t expect Him to heal me because I am worthy.  I am not.  But the unworthiness of my children wouldn’t prevent me from rescuing them because my love for them isn’t based on their merit.  It’s based on my care.  I know I am wretched, just like David.  The Hebrew is ʾūmlal.  It doesn’t mean a worthless sinner.  It means feeble, in a state of exhaustion, withering away.  That is, in fact, the condition of being in constant pain.  You get to the point where all you can do is endure.  Oh, yes, modern medical science can provide pain-killers, but what if they don’t work?  Then what?  Pray for sleep.  But there is no sleep.  The pain won’t let you sleep.  Exhaustion.  More prayers.  More tears.  And pretty soon you begin to wonder, “Does He really care?”  Now it’s no longer a battle against a body that’s screaming at you.  Now it’s a spiritual crisis.  As David says, “Come back, LORD, deliver my life.”  God left.  I hurt.  Come back.  I’m begging You.  But not because I’m begging You.  Come back because of Your kindness.

That’s the Hebrew word ḥesed.  We didn’t expect it.  We thought the word would be “compassion” (from rāḥam).  But no, David doesn’t ask God to heal Him because God is compassionate.  He asks God to heal him because God has a relationship with him.  ḥesed!  Connection, obligation, reciprocity, action.  Everything that matters in relationship.  Ah, and now we see something even deeper.  As we learned yesterday from Luzzatto, “Love is a desire for the other’s good in which reciprocity or mutuality is no longer a significant factor.”[1]  I’m not asking God to involve Himself in my desperation because it will enhance His relationship with me.  That doesn’t have to happen at all.  God doesn’t need reciprocity and mutuality to be God.  He gains nothing from healing me—except my praise.  That’s all I can offer.

I hope that’s enough.

By the time you read this, we will all know.

Topical Index: ḥesed, ʾūmlal, wretched, compassion, rāḥam, pain, healing, Psalm 6:3

[1] Ira F. Stone, in Moses Hayyim Luzzatto, Mesillat Yesharim: The Path of the Upright, p. 117.