Rescue is Coming for Those Who Suffer with Chronic Pain

(A Message from Theseus, Deep in the Underground)

            To the young woman, utterly lost and sore-afraid, imprisoned in the Underground, I say, “Hold on!” To the old man, desperate with pain and blinded by the darkness, I say, “I am coming.” Listen for my voice and follow me. I am heading out of this wicked place in due time.
            You wonder if your ears deceive you. Is there really someone else beneath the thermocline of pain, a living traveler passing through the same tunnels of heavy oil, but not staying forever? Yes. I am one of those people. I suffer with you now, but I will ascend in time. If I were not here, physically present with you, would you have heard my voice?
            Shall I prove to you that I am here, and no mere phantom? Boring into my head are eight wooden dowels: two in the back of my head, two in the ears, two in the temples, and two in the eyes. For a week I’ve been struggling to stand: the whole world is unsteady. I cannot tolerate light or sound. My back muscles are knotted into fists. Without sleep, I can hardly think. But I speak as I am able. Yes, I am with you in this malevolent Underground.
            Call me Theseus if you like, or TAT. The King has told me there will be deliverance for everyone in bondage who calls for His help.
            In the inky darkness, I am weightless, but I feel so heavy. It is impossible to breathe in oil, yet here I am, and here you are as well.
            Nothing do I carry in my pockets: no food, no drink. No apparent weapons. I cannot give you anything material. But I am not without resources.
            The things that matter, I can neither carry nor measure. I have no scale for weighty things, no measuring tape for long hardship, and no thermometer to assess the chill. But what I have, I give you.
            There is faith, even here, though we cannot feel it. Reach out into the oil with your better hand. Take hold of what seems like nothing. Press it against your chest like a patch and rub it in. Though you sense no difference inside—not the least hint of newfound clarity—you have done something. You have moved. Keep moving.
            Now reach out with your other hand and grab some hope. Do not worry that it all seems to slip between your fingers. Apply whatever you grabbed, even the least speck of it, in the very same way. Rub it in hard until you perceive the heat.
            You still notice almost nothing. I understand, and I feel next to nothing yet either. But I am with you, and I have been here before.
            The touch of a true love would seem to be better by far than these empty patches. The lover’s touch would yield not only relief of pain but the replacement of pain with pleasure. That option is not available. Not yet. Whatever you do, don’t cling to your false lovers—those mirages of help—that leave you emptier, sorer, and more hopeless than before. Let them go. Search your memory. If you have not lost the ability to be honest, you know it to be true. “But no one is around to notice what I do!” you say. “I just want to feel loved for one moment!” Such lovers will leave you naked and witless in the end. You will need all your wits and strength for the pending escape. Let go of false lovers.
            Now, unencumbered, reach out with both hands, into the oil about you, and take hold of some purpose, as much as you can grab. If your hands are like mine, then you cannot even close your grip. But what does it matter? Rub your claw hands against your thighs. You are only half dead. There is life remaining within you.
            What is the one thing you can do today, even in the pit of darkness? Can you move? Then move. Can you hear me? Then follow my voice.
            As you move, your mind will return to you. As you listen, you will notice the voices of many others all about us with the same troubles, or even worse. Some of those prisoners are more alone than you and I.
            This is my pledge to you: I will keep speaking, as I am able, for that is one of the few things I can still do. I can barely hear in this deep Underground, so great is the ringing in my ears. As for your pledge to me, if you can listen to me and follow me, then listen and follow. What does it matter if you can barely speak a word? We will find each other. And we will leave this place in due time—you, and I—and so many others.
            There may come a day when we will look back upon this hour and say, “That was a hard time, the hardest we ever knew. But it was also the best. We discovered purpose when everything seemed lost. We helped people. We walked by faith.”

Theseus

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