Is there no balm in Gilead?
Is there no physician there?
Why then has the health of the daughter of my people not been restored? (Jeremiah 8:22)

There is a balm in Gilead
to make the wounded whole.
There is a balm in Gilead
to heal the sin-sick soul. (Traditional Hymn)

“Always look on the bright side of life.” (Monty Python’s Life of Brian)

---

Sometimes life just feels discouraging, eh? I said to a colleague recently that ministry feels like wading through mud. It’s a hard slog, full of hidden quicksand, and there doesn’t seem to be an end to the muck. The news this week has been especially heavy. I could list the stories, but then I’d risk leaving some out and feel guilty for not naming whole communities of suffering. So maybe it’s enough to say: the mud is thick these days, and the quicksand is everywhere.

On top of this, I’ve been knee-deep in planning an educational event for clergy on Medical Assistance in Dying (MAiD). It’s not an easy subject, and with the 2023 introduction of “Track 2” (removing the condition of a “foreseeable death” for eligibility), it’s become even weightier. This shift forces us—not just clergy, but all of us—to grapple with suffering and what it means to bear it. It also compels us to confront our own ableism, and the unspoken expectation that suffering must always be endured.

Because in our culture, enduring suffering—especially in silence—is often seen as heroic.

My instinct, as clergy and as a self-confessed Pollyanna, is to want to put a positive spin on things. To tell you, in the words of Monty Python, to “always look on the bright side of life.” Once, years ago, I saw a colleague coming down the hall with a scowl. Without thinking, I quipped, “Hey! Turn that frown upside down.” They growled at me. And honestly, I deserved it. I had no idea what they were carrying, and with that flippant remark I dismissed their whole reality.

We are not comfortable with distress. We’re even less comfortable with suffering.

That’s exactly the point in Life of Brian—when those on crosses suddenly burst into a jaunty tune. The dark comedy is that we can’t bear to sit with suffering, so we turn it into entertainment. In much the same way, our beloved hymn There Is a Balm in Gilead flips Jeremiah’s raw lament into something upbeat. Jeremiah says with heartbreak, “There is no balm in Gilead.” Yet in church we sing as though he simply needed to cheer up.

But what if we really are suffering? What if there is no balm in Gilead for us—no jaunty song on the cross, no ability to “turn our frown upside down”? What if life feels like endless mud, or like suffering beyond endurance, beyond all heroics?

“If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.” (Psalm 139:8)

What if, instead of denying suffering, God calls us to face it honestly? To recognize it as part of life, part of our community, part of ourselves. Not to glamorize it as heroic. Not to sanitize it with cheerful platitudes that make it easier for a suffering-phobic society to swallow. But simply to acknowledge: sometimes life is hard. Sometimes it is a slog. Sometimes it is not redeemable.

And yet—we are not alone. Not one of us. God is with us in the depths, in the mud, in the suffering. And God calls us into community together, not in spite of our struggles, but right in the midst of them.

Blessings today, my friends. You are loved—fully, deeply, tenderly—in all of your experiences.

~Rev. Lynne