Nancy E. Petty

Pullen Memorial Baptist Church

June 3, 2007 – First Sunday after Pentecost

Text: Romans 5:1-5

To Those Who Suffer

I begin today with a word of gratitude to you the Pullen family. Your generosity in supporting Jack and me on our trip to the Republic of Georgia to visit our sister church, the Cathedral Baptist Church, was indeed a gift. Some life experiences stand out as life altering and, for me, this trip will forever be one of those experiences. My perspective on the world was widened, my compassion for humanity was deepened, my soul was nourished, my understanding of what it means to have hope was challenged, and my spirit was uplifted. Although I imagine it will take weeks and months to unpack all that I saw and experienced I already feel a difference in who I am as a person and how my time in Tbilisi will offer new insight and meaning into my ministry with you.

Let me answer a couple of questions that you seem most curious about. Yes, we did finally get our luggage. I received mine five days after arriving and Jack received his seven days into our trip. All I can say about that is this—please go easy on us when you see the pictures from our trip. We really didn’t have anything else to wear. The first question many of you have asked upon our return is, “Are you and Jack still friends? Are the two of you still speaking to one another?” We all know that traveling with another can be difficult at best and disastrous at worst. Often, I will ask couples in pre-marital counseling sessions if they have ever taken a long trip together. If not, I suggest they do so before the wedding. If so, I try to unpack with them what they learned about each other the first time they traveled together. Here’s what I learned about Jack. He’s not only a great co-pastor; he is a great traveling partner. From my perspective, our time in the Republic of Georgia deepened our commitment to our partnership in ministry. He will have his chance to answer your question later and I will be interested in his perspective. We both look forward to sharing with you all the adventures of our trip and what we learned.

An awareness that I return home with is this—there is an incredible amount of suffering in our world. I’m not sure why I had to go out of the country to be reminded of this truth. For sure, there is overwhelming suffering right here in our own country, in our own state, and in our own community. There are people here in Raleigh who don’t have enough food to eat; who don’t have an adequate home to live in; who suffer from emotional and physical trauma; who suffer in oppression under the laws of our land; and who will never receive justice in this world. Maybe it was easier to see the suffering in the Republic of Georgia because it was a foreign land—a place I was visiting, a place I would eventually leave. Maybe it was because it was so prevalent and there wasn’t any masking it or trying to hide it. Or maybe it was because I was in a place where I could stop or slow down long enough to listen, really listen to the stories of the people and hear their personal stories of how they are suffering.

Like the woman whose son had gone missing six months earlier. We arrived at her home to visit just moments after the police had left. They had come to inform her that they were closing her son’s case because they believed her son had been murdered. With them they had brought a photograph of a man’s legs from the knees down. They wanted her to confirm that this was her son’s body by identifying the shoes in the photograph. She wasn’t convinced. When we arrived she was, as you can imagine, distraught. This was her only son. Her husband is blind, she has significant health issues and on top of all that, she is responsible for the care of her adult daughter who suffers from mental illness and lives with her. The suffering in that home was palpable. Much like it was in the home we visited where the father has cancer, the mother needs surgery and their two children suffer from both physical and mental disabilities.

While the faces of these individuals will linger in my mind’s eye for some time, it is the story of the 3000 refugees that will occupy my heart for days to come. On Tuesday, May 22, we traveled to the West of Tbilisi to visit a Baptist church in the region of Zugdidi. That afternoon we participated in a meaningful worship service where Jack and I both spoke and assisted Malkhaz with communion. Later that day, we visited with some of the elderly people in the community who are home-based before taking a 30 minute ride to the Black Sea. It was a meaningful but exhausting day. We awoke early the next morning for our trip back to Tbilisi. On the way back, Malkhaz suggested that we visit a refugee camp about halfway between Zugdidi and Tbilisi. We arrived at the camp, an old Soviet military base, early mid-morning. The pastor of a small Christian congregation within the refugee camp met us and took us to one of the small apartments. Within minutes, the congregation had gathered. They immediately began sharing their story with us.

They come from a break-away region called Abkahzia—some 80 miles from where they are currently living. Break-away regions are areas embattled in political maneuverings and are protected by Russian military. These refugees had been exiled from their homes during the political fighting that occurred in their region in 1992. They fled their homes into Georgian territories for safety. For fourteen years they have been living in this refugee camp waiting and hoping that one day they can return to their homes—their homes which are now occupied by Russians. Their story is heartbreaking. They have nothing. The government gives each refugee $11.00 a month to live on. They have no schools, no access to medical care, and no hope for their future. Fourteen years and the only hope they still cling to is that one day they will be able to return to their homes. We were told that their young men are dying at alarming rates from heart attacks. Their suffering is easily seen in their eyes, on their faces, in their voices, resting on their shoulders. At one point Malkhaz turned to a young man sitting beside him and asked him what he hoped for. Quietly, he spoke, “I don’t know.” The children’s faces even cast the shadows of those who are suffering.

Before we left, we worshipped with them—celebrating the Eucharist and offering our prayers. Each time we worshipped Malkhaz would, without fail, ask Jack and me to say something. As he turned to me and gestured for me to speak that day, I looked into the faces of those around me and I didn’t know what to say. Life seemed so cruel and so unfair and I wasn’t sure what word of hope or word of faith there was to offer. So that’s what I said to them. I said, “I don’t know how to make sense of your suffering and I don’t know what word of hope my faith has for you. I do know that no one should endure the injustices that you are enduring. No one should have to live the way you have to live. I can say to you that I will pray for you. And I will tell your story to the people of my church. Know that you will not be forgotten.” Then I stopped talking.

Paul says, that “suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”

Paul was a person who knew about suffering. He suffered for his faith, for what he believed in, for his faithfulness in following Jesus. And maybe for him his suffering did produce endurance and character and hope. But I must tell you that I am a little skeptical of applying such a formula to the suffering I experienced in the Republic of Georgia. I do think that in the end most of us try to make sense out of our suffering and maybe this was Paul’s attempt to make sense out of his own suffering. But I’m not sure it’s that easy, or that explainable, or if it can be so neatly wrapped up in such a formula. I’m not sure our faith always has such a clear and precise word for life’s experiences such as suffering and evil and why bad things happen to good people.

And yet, I find myself turning to my faith when I encounter such as I did on that day when I sat with those suffering in that refugee camp. I prayed that I could be fully present to their story. I prayed that I wouldn’t forget their faces. I prayed that God would comfort them. I prayed that I wouldn’t cut myself off from their hurt and pain. I prayed for hope in the absence of seeing any hope. And I trusted that God was listening.

To those who suffer, I believe that our faith has given us a gift in that our faith acknowledges our suffering. I’m not convinced that Paul’s word is the best word on suffering that our faith has to offer. What I do believe is a much larger affirmation of our faith—the affirmation that we are not alone, that God is with us in all of life. And when we suffer, God is with us in our suffering. Not rescuing, not taking it away but living through it with us. And maybe that is the only hope we need.

For all that I am not sure of, I am sure of this…sometimes the only way we can know that God is with us in our suffering is by risking being with one another in our suffering. It is what God does for us. It is what Jesus did for us. And it is what we can do for one another. I believe that if we are willing to risk being with one another in our suffering it is possible that we will find the endurance, the character and the hope to make it through whatever suffering we experience—whether it is living in a refugee camp for 14 years; or dealing with a chronic illness; or struggling with an emotional trauma.

Helen Keller reminds us that, “Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of overcoming it.” I ask you to join me in praying regularly for our sisters and brothers in the Republic of Georgia as they work to overcome their suffering.