This week, Andrew Taylor-Troutman reflects on words that guide people of faith. Find his blog series here.
Romans 5:3 identifies the need for endurance in the face of suffering. As the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, Jesus had to endure the cross (Hebrews 12:2). But other kinds of suffering, such as racism and sexism, should not be tolerated. A false concept of endurance may sacralize suffering, thereby maintaining injustice. For example, it is abusive to expect that a woman should endure sexual innuendos in the classroom or workplace.
The root of “endure” (dur-) comes from the Latin for “hard.” Etymologically, endurance is a hardening for self-preservation — think of the concept of “a stiff upper lip.” In our culture, men and women are taught to believe that strength means not breaking down, not showing any weakness. Research by Brené Brown has proven the opposite is true — the most resilient people practice self-awareness and are open to expressing their feelings. Yet the popular notion of endurance as a type of emotional hardening may work against practicing what Brown calls “courageous vulnerability.” A friend shared that after a cancer diagnosis, what she most needed was “a good breakdown cry.”
As I’ve tried to reframe unhealthy concepts of endurance, I’ve learned that the root of this word is also related to the Greek word for “tree.” Thinking of endurance in terms of trees, another Scripture comes to mind. Colossians 1:11 correlates endurance with patience, which reminds me of Emerson’s lines: “Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.” I might even say nature’s superpower is patient endurance. Over the span of decades, a tiny sapling becomes a mighty oak.
This growth image for endurance becomes even richer alongside a reading of Peter Wohlleben’s “The Hidden Life of Trees.” A tree is not the strong, silent type I had always assumed. Trees communicate with one another through their root systems — an underground network that exchanges information about water supply and parasites. Survival of the fittest is not the only law of nature. Instead of pure competition, trees actually cooperate. Therefore, enduring like a tree would mean I take the long view and also spend each day rooted and growing in community.
As an adjective, “enduring” relates to longevity. An enduring image is one that passes scrutiny and stands the test of time. I carry the stories of suffering loved ones with me as walk through the woods. At the suggestion of that same friend who needed that good breakdown cry, I’ve started praying with my eyes open. As I meditate upon the venerable trunks, the trees seem still, but I know they are patiently growing. I remember the roots buried underneath me. The image of a hidden network of support and cooperation helps me to walk forward with those in pain. Despite the baggage that comes with the word, I do believe that “through endurance … we might have hope” (Romans 15:4).
