Meyu Changkiri
Pastor Ray Ortlund once said, “We don't have to go looking for it. It will come and find us. Sooner or later, suffering at a catastrophic level will wreck our lives.” These words resonate deeply, reminding us that suffering is an inevitable part of the human experience. As followers of Christ, we do not get a pass on pain. Instead, we are called to face it with hope anchored in something greater than ourselves.
When I embarked on full-time ministry over two decades ago, I envisioned a journey filled with preaching, praying, mentoring, and guiding others spiritually. I imagined moments of celebration, breakthroughs in people’s lives, and the joy of watching lives transformed by the Gospel. What I didn’t anticipate was that this path would also lead me through seasons of excruciating personal losses - losses that would reshape my understanding of pain, hope, and God's sustaining grace.
A Decade of Deep Loss
Between 2003 and 2013, I endured the loss of my elder brother, two sisters, my father, a brother-in-law, my infant son, and my beloved mother. Each loss carved a unique hollow in my heart, testing my faith, breaking my spirit, and forcing me to dig deeper into the truths I had preached to others. These were not abstract theological lessons anymore; they became the bedrock of my survival.
In 2003, my elder brother - who lived with me and had been a constant presence - was diagnosed with cancer. His battle was long and painful, and watching him wither slowly was my first deep encounter with the raw fragility of life. I prayed fervently. I hoped against hope. But in the end, we lost him. It was a painful introduction to the sorrow that was yet to come.
In 2006, my eldest sister passed away after undergoing extensive treatments for her illness. Her death came like a silent wave, sweeping through my already bruised heart. The following year, in 2007, the joy of fatherhood turned into a nightmare when my firstborn son died just three days after his birth due to a forceps injury. I remember holding his tiny lifeless body, asking God why this had to happen. There are no words for the ache of a parent burying their child.
In 2008, my father passed away after a prolonged illness. He was my anchor, my source of wisdom, and a quiet spiritual giant in my life. His absence created a vacuum that still echoes in moments of decision and doubt. The subsequent years felt like an unending cascade of sorrow: another brother in 2009, a sister in 2010, a brother-in-law in 2011. Then came the deepest wound of all - in 2013, my mother, whose faith and prayers had carried me through the worst, went home to be with the Lord. Her passing brought a silence to my soul that no sermon or song could immediately heal.
Grief and Grace Walk Together
Yet, amidst this profound sorrow, I began to sense a quiet presence - an unseen strength that upheld me. When I could no longer pray, the Holy Spirit interceded with groans too deep for words (Romans 8:26). When doubts overwhelmed me, Scripture became my light. When tears blurred my vision, the
suffering of Christ reminded me that I was not alone. I realized something deeply spiritual: grief and grace often walk side by side.
I share this not to seek sympathy but to speak honestly about a truth we often overlook in ministry and in life: even those called by God are not exempt from suffering. In fact, sometimes the call of God leads us into deeper valleys. But in those valleys, He is with us.
Every tear, every heartbreak, every moment of weakness has changed me. They have deepened my compassion, softened my sermons, and given me new eyes to see the pain of others. They’ve reminded me that I preach not from a platform of perfection, but from the ground of shared brokenness and hope.
The Reality of Christian Suffering
If you are walking through your own valley of sorrow, please know this: you are not alone. God is near. Your story is not over. Hold on to that truth. It matters - not just for your faith but for your perspective on life and your understanding of who God is.
Suffering is not optional. It doesn't matter how faithful we are; pain finds its way into our lives. Jesus Himself said in John 16:33, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” That’s not a warning to live in fear - it’s a promise that in the midst of chaos, there is One who has already overcome.
Good Friday reminds us of the depths of that suffering. Jesus, the sinless Son of God, was betrayed, mocked, scourged, and nailed to a cross. He felt every thorn, every lash, every ounce of human cruelty. And yet, through that unimaginable agony, redemption was birthed. The cross is not a symbol of defeat - it is the foundation of our victory.
Pain, then, is not a detour from the Christian life. It is part of the path. But it is not purposeless. The Holy Bible doesn’t shy away from suffering. It tells stories soaked in it - Joseph in prison, David hiding in caves, Job stripped of everything, Paul shipwrecked and imprisoned, Jesus weeping in Gethsemane. In all of it, God was not absent. He was working, redeeming, transforming.
If we believe life should be easy, suffering will shake our faith. But if we understand that suffering is a place where God often meets us most intimately, our faith becomes resilient. As Paul writes in Romans 8:18, “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” What a powerful promise to hold onto!
The Hope of the Cross
The Christian message is not “Avoid pain.” It is “God redeems pain.” Even when everything is broken, He rebuilds. He is close to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18), and nothing - not grief, not loss, not failure, not even death - can separate us from His love (Romans 8:38–39).
These aren’t just comforting words. They are anchors for our soul. When the storm hits - and it will - we are not adrift. We are held.
Who Understands My Pain?
You might ask, “Who will understand my pain?” It’s a question I’ve carried many times. When you're hurting, it can feel like no one sees the full depth of your anguish. Even those closest to you may not grasp the weight you carry. But Scripture tells us that Jesus does.
Hebrews 4:15 reminds us: “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are - yet He did not sin.” Jesus understands. He walked where we walk. He was misunderstood, betrayed, abandoned, falsely accused, and crucified. He knows pain from the inside. And He doesn't just observe our suffering - He enters into it with us.
You may not find someone who fully understands your journey. But that doesn't make your pain any less real. There are others who carry scars like yours - maybe not the same story, but the same ache. Sometimes, hearing someone say, “I’ve been there” can lighten the load.
But maybe the real question isn’t “Who will understand me?” Maybe it’s “Where can I go to be fully seen and heard?” The answer is: in the presence of God, who knows you completely, and loves you unconditionally. Even when words fail, when friends fall short, when explanations feel hollow - God understands.
It’s okay if not everyone understands. What matters most is that your pain is seen by God. It is valid. It is worthy of compassion. Healing begins when your suffering is acknowledged - even if only by God, even if only by you.
A Sacred Reminder on Good Friday
So this Good Friday, as we remember the cross, let us also remember what it means: God entered into our suffering to redeem us. Jesus endured the worst pain - not just physical agony, but spiritual separation, emotional betrayal, and public humiliation - so that we could know the depths of God’s love.
When suffering comes - and it will - hold on. You are not abandoned. Even in the silence, God is speaking. Even in the chaos, God is working. Even in the wreckage, God is rebuilding. Even when you feel shattered, God is near. Christ is with us - and He is enough.
Let this Good Friday be more than a solemn observance. Let it be a sacred reminder: that no matter what we endure, no matter how deep the valley, God is with us. We hold on - not because we are strong, but because He is.
And we hold on because Sunday is coming.
