Losing My Religion: How Chronic Pain Took My Faith

By Crystal Lindell

Next week is Holy Week, but I won’t be spending any of it in church.

It hasn’t always been that way. Before I developed chronic pain in 2013, I was quite devout.

In fact, in the years right before my health issues, I was even working as a paid youth leader for a Methodist Church.

I taught teens every Sunday; regularly gave sermons to the entire church; and led annual out-of-state mission trips. I was a regular at Bible Study; on the board of a local youth ministry organization; and spent multiple nights a week at church functions.

I read the Bible and prayed every night.

At the time, I assumed nothing could shake my faith in God. I really thought that I’d be part of The Church until I died.

And back then, I would have spent almost every night leading up to Easter at some sort of church service or event.

Not this year though. In fact, not for many years.

When I developed chronic pain, I became too sick to continue working as a youth leader, so I had to quit that role. And then I had to move in with my mom an hour and half away, so I also had to find a new church.

And I did try. I attended multiple churches in multiple denominations. But being in pain all the time made getting to Sunday morning services more trouble than it was worth.

Eventually, church faded from something I did to something I used to do.

I really did grapple with the loss though.

Looking back, two things really stopped me from ever fully going back to church..

The first was that I had felt very let down by the lack of support I received when I developed health problems. There were almost no accommodations made for me at church, and I was honestly a little bitter that they were so quick to accept my resignation from my role as youth leader.

Maybe this is a selfish thing to confess, but the Church as a community felt like it had failed me. I had invested so much into the Church – but when I needed something back, I felt ignored.

It was not just the Church as a community that I could no longer abide. My faith in God Himself was also badly damaged.

And to be honest, one of the things I kept coming back to was my jealousy of Jesus dying on the cross.

My whole life I heard about His great, suffering sacrifice. It was always relayed to me as the worst possible thing anyone could ever go through. Carrying the cross, nails through his hands (or wrists depending on your historical reference), and a literal crown of thorns.

Because Jesus died in pain, we got to live.

But then I developed chronic pain. And suddenly, Jesus being in pain for a day before his death seemed enviable.

My pain had lingered for months, and eventually years. I wasn’t lucky enough to find relief through death. Instead, my body insisted on persisting despite the pain, forcing me to live in Hell while I was still on Earth.  

All of the reverence that pastors had tried to convey via the story of Jesus’ incredible suffering before his death on the cross now fell flat.

Instead of finding something worthy of worship, I was just envious.

After that, the whole idea of faith came crumbling down. I really hit a wall. A lot of people do and ask: How could a loving God allow so much suffering in the world? 

If He existed, He suddenly felt cruel to me. But then, maybe the answer was simple: He didn’t exist. 

To those who don’t have chronic pain, perhaps my reasons for eventually leaving the church and my faith sound self-centered or childish. But chronic pain changes your perspective of the world, whether you want it to or not.

It has shown me the reality of the human condition. And through sheer force of will I have used that new perspective to write about my experiences. I do it so that others, even in their worst moments, know that they are not alone.

Whatever doesn’t kill you can expand your understanding of your fellow human beings. If you are open to it, it can offer you a glimpse of a broader spectrum of what life on this cold planet is actually like.

Yes, I lost my faith, and my church. But I gained new understanding and more empathy. And maybe one day faith will find me again.