What could have been more perfect? There I was enjoying the surf off Hilton Head Island when zap, two at once! The jellyfish attacked, wrapping their tentacles around my legs. Perhaps it was payback for eating one of their own recently while in China, I don’t know; but suddenly the joy of the moment left me.
The pain in my legs required my full attention. Everything else was the same: the warm surf, the sandy beach, the sublime clime, the tropical scenes. But I could no longer take pleasure in them.
Jim White
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After recuperating for a time under a beach umbrella, the pain subsided enough to once again brave the breakers. And, zap! Right in my Achilles tendon, which proved also to be my Achilles heel. I was done for the day. The surf had lost its appeal. In fact, it had become a threat; the source of my pain.
The next day found me in the water again — only this time it was the swimming pool. No jellyfish. No stings. But also, no roar of the surf. No endless waves. No wide open view. No limitless deep. In short, I had accepted the limitations to avoid the pain.
That night it stormed. Torrential rains swept along the coastline and the wind kicked great breakers ashore, cancelling a fireworks display and interfering with vacationer’s plans. But after the storm, the third morning broke so beautifully that we tried the beach again.
Sun, sand, surf, warm waves, cloudless sky, unlimited visibility. And no jellyfish. The storm had apparently whisked them out to sea. My joy returned.
As I reflected later from the comfort of our air conditioned condo, I was struck by the interaction of pleasure and pain. They often come to us comingled in the same experiences. Even in the church. There are jellyfish in the pews.
It occurred to me that pain, however localized and brief, robs pleasure of its power to bless. However joyful the fellowship may be, the sting of criticism is sufficient to shift our whole attention to the pain of the moment.
People react in different ways to being stung in the church.
Some launch counter stings, launching a war among members that makes the church toxic. How tragic that the body of Christ, that great ocean-depth of God’s love, occasionally becomes a threatening source of pain.
Is it any wonder that some simply drop out in response to the stinging? While some people are so committed to their churches that they will endure whatever pain is inflicted, others are not. In fact, research indicates that after getting stung a few times, many people simply drop out.
They may even find other ways to serve: community food banks, the Red Cross, Meals on Wheels, volunteering at the local hospital. They may get hurt there, too, of course, but they expect less from secular service organizations. The sting is somehow worsened when it is delivered by a fellow Christ-follower. All these organizations are good and should be supported. But they are not the church.
Just as I had, for safety’s sake, forsaken the beach for the pool, these folk forsake the vast expanse of spiritual potential contained in the church. But when the church becomes the source of their pain, who can blame them?
Still others respond to the stings by changing churches. Sometimes it is easier to steal away and start over than to risk repetitive pain. This is true for pastors as well as church members.
The truth is pastors and their families get stung more than most. How many times does a pastor have to get stung before he or she hears the call to another church field? How many pastor’s spouses have decided to drop out — at least to the extent they can? How many PKs quit church?
Apparently, the hurtful things Christians sometimes say to each other has always been a problem in the church. James wrote, “If anyone considers himself religious and yet does not keep a tight rein on his tongue, he deceives himself and his religion is worthless” (James 1:26).
The Bible is clear about our responsibility to keep from stinging others with our words. I remember reading about a lake on the Pacific island of Palau that was filled with jellyfish. Of all places on earth, however, this lake was unique. Only here had jellyfish been free of predators so long that they had lost their need to sting. Having no need, they then lost the ability. Adventurers come from all across the world to swim with the jellyfish with no threat of being hurt. It’s supposed to be an exhilarating experience.
Where is that church, perhaps a singular body, where members have neither need nor desire to sting? While I cannot give up hope that we Christians will live up to our potential and cease hurting one another, I know it will not happen in this life. Since every Christian is as human as I am, the truth is we are going to occasionally say things that hurt a brother or sister. It is inevitable. James affirmed this when he wrote, “We all stumble in many ways. If anyone is never at fault in what he says, he is a perfect man, able to keep his whole body in check” (James 3:2).
Even in the sea of tranquility called the church, we will occasionally bump up against a jellyfish — or be a jellyfish bumping into someone else. We can’t eliminate the potential for pain. It comes comingled with the pleasure of being the church. This was true even for Jesus, who, for the joy that was set before him endured the cross (Hebrews 12:2).
If we can’t eliminate the pain, we can at least minimize it. When we are stung, the Bible says we are to go to one who has hurt us to seek reconciliation. And when we do the stinging, go as soon as we can to apologize and seek forgiveness.
There is no substitute for the church. Powerful. Limitless. Deep. Ever changing and ever the same. Great repository of God’s unfathomable love. May it be that any human being who ventures in will find the joy of the Spirit and not be stung by the tentacles of judgment.