From “Walk with Me: A Journey through the Landscape of Trauma” by Ellen Corcella
The patient believed people who were faithful, devout, and kind were shielded from trauma and tragedy. Yet, with accident after accident, the patient’s emotional strength collapsed as she rummaged through her life history to identify where she’d stumbled. If the innocent did not suffer, then the only logical conclusion was to reexamine her life and uncover the sin that justified God’s punishment. Her anguish was greater than her physical pain; it was embedded in her internal conflict: Am I or am I not a good human being? And, if I am a good human being, then why am I caught in a recurring nightmare of car wrecks?
I wanted to declare, “You are a good person. God is not punishing you. Things just happen.” But my patient had come to that conclusion on her own. If I directly challenged her deeply held beliefs, she could have become defensive and stand firm in her certainty that suffering rained down solely on those who deserved misfortune. My mind raced through biblical passages, trying to find a story that compassionately reminded her that “rain falls upon the just and the unjust.”
“I wonder what you think of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane.”
She tilted her head and leaned forward.
“We know Jesus is innocent, has done everything required by his father. Jesus cried from the depths of his soul, he threw himself on the ground and prayed “Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me. Jesus, who was sinless, went on to suffer on the cross.:
I let the image of Jesus’ innocence and crucifixion hang between us. The patient sat back, staring into space for several minutes.
“I never thought about it that way. Jesus suffered, and he did nothing wrong.”
I waited for her to make the final leap in the analogy.
“I guess I don’t know what to make of these accidents, what they mean for my life.”
I was relieved. The patient transformed the existential question from a search for her own wrongdoing into a search for meaning and purpose.
“I am so sorry these accidents have repeatedly disrupted your life,” I said.
“Yes, I am a few years yet from retirement. I love my job, but I do not know whether I can keep traveling.” A physical therapist arrived, so I ended our conversation.
As I stand up to leave, the patient thanked me then added, “Next time, I will just ask for a chaplain. The psychiatrist just wanted to give me a pill. You gave me hope.”