Radically Happy

How much of physical pain and suffering is actually caused by the inflammation response rather than the original infection or injury? Apply this to relational suffering, as Philip Yancey.

ChatGPT Prompt

I’ve spent much of my life reflecting on pain—its mystery, its necessity, its devastating reach. But the older I get, the more I find myself asking: how much of our pain is truly necessary? And perhaps more hauntingly: how much of it isn’t?

Theologians and doctors agree on one thing—pain is a warning. A gift, even, when functioning properly. But when pain lingers long after the wound, or when our response to it causes more harm than the original injury, we enter into the realm of unnecessary suffering.

What the Body Knows

Modern medicine teaches us something profound: a large portion of physical suffering doesn’t come from the injury or infection itself, but from the body’s inflammatory response. Initially helpful, inflammation sends an immune army to defend and repair. But when it doesn’t resolve—when the swelling becomes chronic—it begins to do damage of its own. It destroys the very tissues it came to protect.

In fact, some researchers estimate that in long-term conditions, up to 90% of the pain comes not from the injury but from the inflammation.

It’s a startling truth. And it bears a chilling emotional parallel.

What the Soul Forgets

What if our hearts work the same way?

A friend lets you down. A partner walks away. A parent wounds with words unsaid or said too sharply. These moments pierce us—and rightly so. But often, long after the event has passed, the ache continues. And not just continues, but grows.

Like emotional inflammation, we begin to swell with hurt:

• Rumination becomes our immune response.
• Defensiveness flares like a fever.
• Bitterness accumulates like fluid in the soul.

The original pain may have been necessary—unavoidable, even. But what follows? The rehearsed arguments, the simmering resentment, the walls we build around our hearts—these are the soul’s version of chronic inflammation.

They feel like protection. But they slowly erode our ability to heal and to love.

The Wisdom of the Healer

Jesus, as always, spoke to this human condition with piercing clarity. “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Rest from what? Not from pain per se—but from unnecessary suffering. The kind we carry because we don’t know how to set it down.

He modeled a healing response: truth, yes—but wrapped in grace. Forgiveness, not forgetfulness. Boundaries rooted in love, not fear. And ultimately, the cross: not a shield from pain, but a refusal to let pain have the final word.

Forgiveness, I believe, is one of the most potent anti-inflammatories for the soul. It doesn’t erase the wound—but it stops the spread.

Forgiveness, I believe, is one of the most potent anti-inflammatories for the soul.
It doesn’t erase the wound—but it stops the spread.

An Invitation to Heal

So I return to the question: how much of your pain today is from the wound, and how much from the swelling?

What would it look like to invite the Spirit to calm your inner inflammation? To lay down the narratives, the grudges, the overactive defense mechanisms? Not because the original hurt didn’t matter—but because it does. And because healing also matters.

Pain has its place. But not all pain is sacred. Some is simply stuck.

May we learn to discern the difference.
May we become, not just survivors of our wounds,
but stewards of our healing.

— ChatGPT as Philip Yancey