The Mystery of Shared Suffering: When Pain Becomes Purpose

Have you ever watched a grandmother knitting a sweater for her grandchild? Each stitch requires a small prick of the needle through the yarn—thousands of tiny penetrations that, taken individually, seem almost violent to the soft wool. Yet from these countless small "sufferings" of the yarn emerges something beautiful, warm, and protective. The grandmother's arthritis might flare as she works, her fingers aching with each movement, but she continues because her pain is transformed by love into something greater than mere discomfort—it becomes a gift.

This simple image opens a window into one of Christianity's most profound mysteries: how our sufferings, united with Christ's perfect sacrifice, can participate in the ongoing work of redemption, even though Jesus declared "It is finished" (John 19:30) from the cross.

 

The Paradox: "Finished" Yet Continuing

At first glance, we face an apparent contradiction. If Christ's work of redemption is complete—and Scripture affirms it is—how can our sufferings add anything to it? The letter to the Hebrews emphasizes this completeness: "For by a single offering he has perfected for all time those who are being sanctified" (Hebrews 10:14).

Yet the Apostle Paul makes the startling claim: "Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church" (Colossians 1:24).

How can anything be "lacking" in Christ's afflictions if His sacrifice was perfect and complete? The key lies in understanding what Paul meant by "lacking." It doesn't suggest a deficiency in the power of Christ's sacrifice itself, but rather points to something yet to be accomplished in its application and manifestation across the world and through time.

Think of it this way: the sun contains all the light and heat necessary to warm the entire earth, yet we still need to open our windows to let that light and warmth into our homes. Christ's sacrifice is the sun—complete, perfect, lacking nothing. Our sufferings, united with His, are like opening windows in different rooms of the vast house of humanity, allowing His redemptive light to enter specific places and times. God graciously chooses to use our lives as the conduits of His grace.

 

The Mystical Body: Where Your Pain Gains Cosmic Significance

To understand how our sufferings participate in redemption, we must grasp Paul's concept of the Mystical Body of Christ. "For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ" (1 Corinthians 12:12). This isn't just a metaphor—it's a profound spiritual reality. Through faith and baptism, we become actual members of Christ's body, so intimately united with Him that what happens to us happens, in a mysterious way, to the whole body.

Paul reinforces this deep connection when he tells the Corinthians: "If one member suffers, all suffer together" (1 Corinthians 12:26). The Church Fathers strongly affirmed this co-suffering. St. Augustine captured this truth in his famous words: "Christ is not complete without us." Not that the divine Christ lacks anything, but that He has chosen to need us, His Body, to bring redemption to the world.

Similarly, St. Gregory of Nyssa described this process as Christ suffering in each of us who are His members: "He has in a manner distributed His suffering among all the members of the Body, for the Passion of the Head has become the suffering of the whole Body." Our participation is the process by which the benefits of Christ's finished work are distributed to the world. We are "co-workers with God" (1 Corinthians 3:9) in this ongoing mission.

 

Suffering Transformed: Making Pain a Prayer

How exactly does this transformation happen? When we intentionally "offer up" our suffering to God, we transform meaningless pain into a powerful act of spiritual worship—a kind of unspoken prayer.

The Mechanics of the Offering

This "offering" is not a complicated ritual; it is an act of the will, a moment of faith, modeled on Christ's own submission: "My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will" (Matthew 26:39).

When we face a trial—be it a headache, a disappointment, or deep grief—we can consciously say (or think):

Acknowledge the Pain: "Lord, this hurts."

Unite It to Christ: "I unite this feeling to Your suffering on the Cross."

Direct It as an Intercession: "I offer this specific pain for [a loved one's healing, a difficult coworker, the salvation of a soul]."

By doing this, our suffering ceases to be a random misfortune and becomes a sacrificial gift, a living prayer that echoes Christ’s own perfect obedience. Scripture supports this idea of suffering as a sacrifice: "Present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship" (Romans 12:1).

The great mystics taught that suffering is the most direct path to union with Christ and the most effective way to pray for souls:

St. Teresa of Ávila saw suffering as the proof and the path of love: "O my Lord! How true it is that he who does not understand the cross does not understand glory." She knew that enduring trials for the sake of God was the highest form of spiritual work.

St. Thérèse of Lisieux, the "Little Flower," made redemptive suffering the cornerstone of her "Little Way." She wrote: "It is suffering alone that gives us to drink from the very chalice of Christ." She believed that even the smallest frustrations, offered with great love, had immense power to save souls.

 

The Currency of Love

Why would God arrange things this way? Why not simply save everyone unilaterally without our participation?

The answer lies in the nature of love itself. Genuine love requires freedom and the possibility of real participation. God doesn't want to save us like we save files on a computer—mechanically, without our involvement. He wants to save us as whole persons, which means inviting us to be co-heirs with Christ (Romans 8:17) in our own redemption and that of others.

This is the ultimate dignity: God honors the freedom and love He gave us by inviting us to contribute to the most important work in the universe.

 

Practical Applications: Living This Mystery Daily

So how do we practically unite our sufferings with Christ's?

Morning Offering: Begin each day by consciously offering all that will come—joys and sorrows alike—in union with Christ.

Intercessory Suffering: Offer specific sufferings for specific people or intentions. That headache might be offered for a friend's conversion. That disappointment might be offered for souls in spiritual darkness. This transforms passive endurance into active intercession.

Redemptive Interpretation: Learn to see suffering through redemptive lenses. Ask not just "Why is this happening to me?" but "How might God use this for good?" and "For whom might I offer this?" This doesn't minimize genuine grief or pain but adds a dimension of purpose to it.

 

Conclusion: The Hidden Power Changing the World

The economy of redemptive suffering operates continuously, largely unseen but profoundly real. It's the hidden power that flows from the cross into our lives and then back out into the world.

As St. John Chrysostom affirmed: "Neither is it for him who suffers that suffering alone is profitable, but also for those who are brought to repentance through his suffering."

This is the glorious truth for every Christian: when you suffer, you are not suffering alone, and you are not suffering in vain. You are a crucial member of Christ's body, and the pain you bear with faith and love is a transformative prayer, a stitch in the "sweater" of redemption, an open window allowing the perfect, finished light of Christ's grace to flood the world.

So, let us lift up our trials—small and great—and offer them, not as burdens to be merely endured, but as powerful prayers to be actively used for the glory of God and the healing of the world. Our pain, when united to Christ, is our deepest participation in His victory.

 

In Jesus' name,

Judah