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| Drawing of the crucifixion by St. John of the Cross (Public Domain) |
"I do not promise to make you happy in this life, but in the next."
-- Our Lady of Lourdes to Saint Bernadette Soubirous
I have not suffered as I should. I have been lucky or unlucky, depending on perspective. I've been lucky enough to have tasted love. Enough to know that I would promise to suffer anything for that love. Of course, I know I am not as reliable as all that. I am fortunate that I've not been tested to my breaking point. And I know that I should be preparing for that test, that measure of love (cf. Jn 21:15-19).
I have not suffered as I should, because someone suffered for me. On the Cross, he cried out the mystery of suffering, "My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?" Part of the resolution of this mystery (again, only a partial resolution) is knowing those words begin Psalm 22. The Psalms are the good, the bad, and the ugly of human experience. From the imprecatory "Blessed the one who seizes your children and smashes them against the rock" (Ps 137:9) to the comforting "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff comfort me" (Ps 23:4). And the Word of God became incarnate, He became human; "And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us" (Jn 1:14). And in His human nature, the incarnate God knew suffering.
The crazy part about this is that this Jesus tells us crazy things like "If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me" (Lk 9:23, see also Mt 16:24 and Mk 8:34). And His Apostle says, "pray constantly, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you" (1 Thes 5:17-18). I remember the apostle's words particularly because soon after praising the words as wisdom, I was tested. I wasn't greatly tested, but I was tested enough to remind me that I should take them seriously, and truly take these words to heart. Indeed, God seems to have that twisted sense of humor such that St. Teresa of Avila complained, "If this is how You treat Your friends, no wonder why You have so few of them!" St. John of the Cross of the dark night of the soul fame was a friend of St. Teresa.
But I have not suffered as I should, so I cannot wholly know the sufferings of those who have deeply suffered. I see some clutch desperately to their faith, and others whose sufferings test their faith beyond imagining. I am helpless. But I will pray for them. If I can, I'll walk with them. And listen.
Life as Suffering
We modern Catholics in America are not well prepared for suffering. Bourgeois Catholics are used to material well-being, and pain and suffering are unfamiliar. We don't know how to deal with suffering within ourselves or in others.
So while this post is in response to Leticia Adams' Inadaquecy, Changes and Life and Elizabeth Scalia's When There Are No Human Answers to Our Measures of Pain, and in response to observations of friends in their struggles with faith due to suffering, and although I lack the requisite wisdom to help those who are deeply wounded and surrounded in darkness, I will dare to suggest how we might prepare for suffering.
Pray: there is no way we can help without Christ. Find your own Calcutta: copy Mother Teresa by finding a ministry or situation to help others. Mortification: more than just for disciplining ourselves, consider penance for ourselves and others.
Suggested reading: Peter Kreeft's Three Philosophies of Life where I borrowed the subtitle Life as Suffering. C.S. Lewis' The Problem of Pain and A Grief Observed. Saint John Paul II, Salvifici Doloris.
Suggested devotion: consecration to Jesus through Mary. I find St. Louis de Montfort's method and 33 Days to Morning Glory compliment each other.
Final suggestion: be humble. My contribution is a Socratic I don't know a whole lot.
