Quiet Fire Devotional | Phantom Pains of the Soul

Herbert Berkley
Jul 24
4 min read

Managing Phantom Pains of the Soul

But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal…" — Philippians 3:13–14 (ESV)

I. The Limb That Isn’t There, and Yet Is

Everyone carries something invisible—but not weightless.

It might be a relationship that left you fractured, or a regret sealed into the folds of memory that still rises without invitation. Perhaps it’s a decision that, had it gone differently, would’ve put you in another city, another life, another future. Or maybe it’s sin—repeated, secret, and still clinging to your conscience like smoke to a coat. It’s what we might call a phantom limb of the soul—something once a part of us, now severed, but still felt.

Paul doesn’t ignore this. He doesn’t gloss over the emotional and spiritual remnants we drag behind us. In fact, in Philippians 3, Paul is confronting his own past, a life once filled with pride, legalism, and persecution. He names his pedigree—but then he discards it, saying:

“Whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ.” — Philippians 3:7, ESV

The Greek word for “loss” here (zēmia) implies not just letting go, but the recognition of something as damaging. What we often mourn—relationships, titles, or sinful pleasures—may have once seemed meaningful, but in the light of Christ, are revealed to be injuries dressed as intimacy.

But the ache remains, doesn’t it?

II. Phantom Pain in the Heart

Phantom pain is real, even when the limb is gone. In a neurological sense, the brain continues sending signals to a body part that no longer exists. It’s as if the body refuses to believe the loss.

In the spiritual realm, the heart does the same.

The late-night flashbacks. The way a scent or song transports you. The guilt that spikes randomly during joy. The sudden sorrow in the middle of worship.

These are not figments of imagination. They’re spiritual echoes. They are what the Psalmist might describe as:

“Deep calls to deep at the roar of your waterfalls; all your breakers and your waves have gone over me.” — Psalm 42:7, ESV

The Psalmist isn’t denying pain. He’s tracing its depths.

Here’s the truth many fear to say aloud: We hurt over things God has healed. Why? Because healing doesn’t always silence memory. And memory doesn’t always honor redemption. This is the tension we must bring to the Lord in worship—not just praise, but pieces. Not just gratitude, but grief.

III. Forgetting Does Not Mean Amnesia

When Paul says, “forgetting what lies behind” (Phil. 3:13), he isn’t commanding spiritual amnesia. The verb used in Greek (epilanthanomai) suggests a deliberate act of neglecting—not the loss of memory, but the refusal to let that memory dictate present direction.

We will not always forget the severing. But we can decide to no longer serve it.

That’s the distinction of those who walk forward with God: they walk with wounds that no longer write the script.

Phantom pains may arise, but they need not rule. The enemy wants those pains to become identities. But the gospel calls us to a higher claim: “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation” (2 Cor. 5:17, ESV).

A new creation doesn’t mean the scars vanish. It means the story gets rewritten.

IV. Devotion: The Therapy for Phantom Pain

Just as physical therapy can retrain the mind to stop signaling a lost limb, spiritual devotion retrains the soul to stop serving lost idols.

But beware: devotion is not escapism.

Worship is not a sedative; it is a surrender. It is not the refusal to feel pain, but the daily declaration that Christ is Lord over it. When the phantom ache of an old desire or broken path surges again, let it become an alarm bell—not of danger, but of dependence.

Paul models this in his prison prayers. Affliction did not cause his faith to retract—it caused it to deepen. His epistles are filled with tears and theology, chains and joy. He didn’t just survive his phantom pains. He transfigured them into doxology.

V. Pressing On With Christ, Not Without Pain

There will always be a lure to turn around, to inspect what might have been, or to chase an echo from the past. But remember what Lot’s wife forgot: the backward glance can petrify the soul.

So, we press on—not because we’ve numbed the pain, but because we’ve submitted it.

“Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own…” — Philippians 3:12, ESV

To “press on” is not a motivational slogan. It is a declaration of war against stagnation. It is a defiant step forward in the face of phantom griefs.

Because one day, the body will be remade, the mind renewed, and the pains will vanish—not because we forgot, but because the Redeemer has made all things new (Revelation 21:5).

VI. A Word to Those Still Bleeding

You may not be ready to “forget” yet. The phantom pain may be more than occasional—it might be a daily surge. That’s okay. Jesus meets people in gardens of sorrow, in upper rooms of fear, in prisons of isolation, and even in graveyards of regret.

But He doesn’t leave them there.

And He will not leave you either.

So today, offer the ache as incense. Let the severed part of your soul be a testimony, not a trap. Let it remind you that this world is not your home, and that wholeness is not found in reclaiming what’s been lost, but in receiving Who has been given: