Hard knocks

Every once in a while things in life hit you that just make you say, “Wow, that hurts.” They seem to come flying out of nowhere and, even if they’re things that don’t touch you, your family, or even your close friends directly, you can still feel the knock on your soul and empathize in bleeding heart with those who are going through the unimaginable pain. Within the past week, Colegio Privado Adonai and the AC Church here have both been hit with news that wrenches at the heart; news that makes us question the basic justice of the world and leads us out wondering and wandering around in a mess of pain and unanswered questions.

The first hard knock came about a week ago. I found out in my first class last Friday that one of my second-grade students, Josué, was nearly burned to death in a dreadful accident that ravaged his tiny body. What makes the situation even more tough to comprehend is that even before the accident Josué’s story was so sad to begin with. Abandoned by his mother and having a father who works so much that none of the teachers at Colegio Privado Adonai had ever seen him before, Josué was basically being raised by his ten year-old brother who cooked and looked out for him. In the classroom, although a kind and quiet student, he was unable to concentrate and learn in any significant way because of the problems at home.

Then, a week ago Wednesday, seven-year-old Josué tried to finish up the job of burning a trash pile in his back yard. In the process he was doused in a large quantity of gas that, quite naturally, was quickly absorbed by his warm winter clothing. When the fire jumped up to meet him, Josué’s clothing burst into flames like the ignited tip of a sulphur match. His brother made a good effort to save him by taking off Josué’s burning fleece sweatshirt, but in the process he also took off half the skin from his little brother’s face. He then put Josué in the shower to douse the flames, but the burning continued to the point of charring one of Josué’s entire legs beyond much good future use.

I went with the second-grade teacher Liliana to visit Josué in the hospital on Saturday. He’s in the I.P.S., a massive communist-looking government-run run-down complex offering sub-standard medical care to the thousands of poor Paraguayans who can’t afford anything else. It’s a hospital comprised mostly of medical-student doctors because all the good professional ones work in private practice. It’s a place with broken windows and leaky roofs, where cleaning ladies mop the floor without putting up signs warning against the slippery surface and where surgeries are delayed because the surgical instruments haven’t been sterilized well enough.

There we found out more details about Josué’s condition. He’s in the burn unit all alone, without anything to occupy his mind except for pain and where he is able to be visited only by closest family members infrequently. If infection from his wounds doesn’t kill him soon, he will be having reconstructive surgery sometime next week to transplant the skin from his hindquarters to the charred portions of his leg. They say he’ll need six units of blood for the operation: six units of blood that, with one look at Josué’s small size, you’d imagine could probably fill him up two or three times with a little extra to share. Needless to say, he won’t be returning to school any time soon.

Just knowing that an innocent child, who perhaps has never hurt anyone in any significant way, is in such a state of agony seems to entirely protest the idea that any Good could exist at all in the world when there is such clear evil.

The second hard knock to the church community came with the unexpected death of a dear sister from the congregation. Doña Irene, 59, had been a member of the church for no few years, a founding member of the prayer ministry, the church cook on retreats, and a faithful visitor to and prayer warrior for those who were sick themselves. They say that she prayed several family members to salvation; indeed, today both her husband and son are recently-established although not unimportant pillars of the church and the church’s ministry.

About four or five months ago Doña Irene was re-diagnosed with a form of cancer from which she claimed to have been miraculously healed about ten years ago. She stopped coming to church for her sickness and underwent aggressive chemotherapy treatments—the best and most expensive in the country, we were told—that left her weak, tired, and discouraged. Her last treatment, a milestone for her and the completion of a long, painful process, took place last Friday. I almost took her flowers to celebrate, because I thought it would be a big relief for her to have finally triumphed over the treatment.

Little did I know, however, that those same flowers would have still been fresh enough to send to her funeral. Early Monday morning, perhaps the coldest of the winter, Doña Irene was taken to an urgent-care facility where she passed away after a night of agony. After such a long fight against cancer and the completion of such a dreadful treatment, how could she have passed away so easily? The news took us all aback, as we expected her improvement and a new strength after the ravages of the treatment.

I could probably think of a thousand good theological and very Christian explanations for the presence of evil and suffering in the world. Yes, we are fallen sinners and we suffer the consequences of death. Certainly, the world is broken by our choice and every one of us is culpable. And sure, we even serve a God who, in His grace and mercy, knows our pain and has experienced death for us. There’s no doubt He entered it and redeemed it by His own blood, and then triumphed over all the suffering of the world through His resurrection. Absolutely, as Christians we participate in that reality and we have a hope that we, too, do not suffer in vain and that one day we will be bodily resurrected to an eternal relationship of peace and complete joy with our creator.

Having all of these explanations, though, doesn’t necessarily ease the pain. No, life can be really hard sometimes. There is real agony to be felt, no matter what theologians or pastors or anyone else can say to try to ease it. Little innocent children get burned alive, and godly women who have passed through rigorous chemotherapy treatments die of their cancer anyways. And these hard knocks sting.