I must preface this article with the admission that I have never birthed a child and therefore am unqualified to speak on the subject. That being said, I have some experience with intense physical pain and also, I am a woman, so for lack of firsthand knowledge, I will mentally deduce some similitude of the sensation. Furthermore, I am not a theologian, nor is this an exegesis paper for theology class. The following is simply a personal reflection on Scripture as the lens through which I have observed human nature and God’s love.
As for desire, that is something everyone knows. It happens to us when we feel we ought to have something that we don’t. Sometimes it simply indicates a need that should be filled, such as feeling exhausted when it is time to sleep, or hungry when it is time to eat. However, desire can also be a very troublesome passion when in fact the thing we crave is not meant to be had. That is temptation, and it hurts. But God only allows temptation when He also offers us the necessary graces to avoid succumbing to sinful behavior. For this reason, temptation, despite seeming impossibly trying at times, is rather an opportunity for strengthening dependence on God and growing in virtue. While the experience of temptation feels like painful separation from something we want so badly, if we take the opportunity to cling to Our Lord, what really happens is an increase in union, that is, our union with the One Who loves us most.
But why am I writing about these two things, birthing pains and desire, and what do they have to do with heartache? In Genesis, God said to Eve, “…In pain you shall bring forth children, yet your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you.” (Gen. 3:16) This was the consequence for original sin. Having grasped from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, Eve let go of her blessed natural state by taking upon herself something that was not proper to her. Her punishment was not random, but a direct response to how she abused her nature.
Before the fall, Eve enjoyed a genuine and unabashed friendship with Adam amidst the splendor of creation. Her body was healthy, beautiful, and free of pain, her intellect was clear, and her soul was pure. But all these things were lost or damaged when she decided that she wanted something else. Rather than seeking help and strength in her time of temptation, she ate of the fruit and also deceived Adam. This directly undermined their open and honest relationship. Adam would never see her the same way anymore, and she would spend her days grasping in vain to regain the love and devotion she betrayed. Though Eve was surrounded by all the beauty of the garden and the blessing of Adam’s company, we are told that, “…the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes…” (Gen. 3:6) Eve lacked nothing and yet she sought after more. Because Eve forfeited her perfect relationship with Adam, generations of women after her would suffer the pain of desire for something unattainable by their own means, that is a perfect relationship with man.
Naturally, children come from the fruitful union of man and woman, so it is no surprise that childbirth should also be cursed by sorrow and pain. Eve desired to “know,” not merely in the cognitive sense of the word, but to know intimately, through experience, the things which were not right for her. This knowledge came with pain, and it cursed the center of her nature as a woman, that is, to give and nurture life. From thence, a mother’s joy would be mingled with sorrow.
Queue the age-old tale of female heartache over men and babes. What woman protagonist in any great story is without some pain of loss, separation, disappointment, or rejection? In reading great literature, I have noticed a theme whereby a young woman always is made to endure some sort of heartbreak, oftentimes romantic disappointment. But of course, that fact is no brilliant observation. What I really noticed was that in the cases where she is spared or avoids suffering at all costs, she never quite matures or finds peace and contentment. It is subtle, and seems charming at first, but when a woman is kept from every discomfort, she remains in an undeveloped, vegetative state that prevents her from participating in the suffering that has been measured out for her redemption. On the other hand, when a heroine is allowed to feel all the agony of heartache, something remarkable happens.
It begins with shattered happiness, bitter tears, and then an emptiness that causes her to seek consolation in death. By some crushing event, she loses someone she loved very dearly and consequently feels that all is lost. In a way, all is lost, because she was so absorbed by the object of her love that she could not see herself existing apart from it.
Indeed, that is the sort of unitive love woman was made to enjoy. It is fair to say that woman feels incomplete when apart from man, considering that woman was taken from man’s side and is meant to be one flesh with him. Similarly, a woman’s love for her child is so intimate that they are as one for the first nine months of the baby’s life. The first separation of mother and baby is the very pain of childbirth. Additionally, women are reminded monthly of the purpose for which they were made and an analogue of the fruitlessness of humanity when love is not given and received. Because Eve acted against God’s design of unitive love, all women suffer the disjunctive effects of fallen human nature.
Woman, who knew no pain, suddenly realizes what it is to feel hurt beyond imagination. But the crux of the story is what she does with her broken heart. Does she let the pieces scatter across the floor, to be trampled upon by passersby? Does she try to glue it back together and hide it away in a box? Does she give it away to the next beggar who comes along? In the end, the truly heroic woman does the simplest thing of all. It is so simple, most either overlook the option or scoff at it. The woman who survives heartache and comes out happier in the end, in some way shape or form takes her barely beating, broken heart and places it in the gentle, loving hands of her Heavenly Father. And then He does not merely hold it for her, but He begins to work on it; He reshapes it, stretches it, strengthens it, and expands its capacity for love. When she thinks she cannot possibly be emptier, He makes even more space and promises to fill it.
That is the perfect irony of redemptive suffering.
C. C. Bennett
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