As he continues to reflect on the theme of suffering with and for others, noting how important this is to the good of humanity, Pope Benedict poses the following questions we would all do well to consider regarding our willingness to suffer:

Yet once again the question arises: are we capable of this? Is the other important enough to warrant my becoming, on his account, a person who suffers? Does truth matter to me enough to make suffering worthwhile? Is the promise of love so great that it justifies the gift of myself? (SS 39)

Theoretically speaking, we know that the answer should be ‘yes’ to all of these questions.  Yet when, in reality, we have to make the decision to suffer for another, for truth, for love, we can sometimes hesitate.  We calculate the cost of extending ourselves, we consider the possible pain we might experience, the rejection that we might experience, the disappointment we might experience.  The fear of how our offering ourselves might be received sometimes results in our turning back in on ourselves and deciding not to subject ourselves to possible suffering after all.

To help us in addressing those fears, the Holy Father directs our attention to Jesus Christ, who in becoming one of us, entered into the experience of suffering and in so doing, offers us hope and encouragement.  The pope explains:

Man is worth so much to God that He himself became man in order to suffer with man in an utterly real way—in flesh and blood—as is revealed to us in the account of Jesus’s Passion. Hence in all human suffering we are joined by one who experiences and carries that suffering with us; hence con-solatio is present in all suffering, the consolation of God’s compassionate love—and so the star of hope rises. (ibid.)

As I wrote about in my previous article, knowing that somebody is with us in our suffering gives us courage, for the pain of isolation is one of the greatest pains in suffering.  Though the physical pain may not be removed, the emotional pain is often lessened significantly we someone is there by our side.

It is helpful to recall the Lord’s presence with us in any form of suffering we encounter, whether it be our own suffering, or the suffering we bear with and for others when we choose to love them.  This is one of the reasons why I always keep a small crucifix in my pocket.  When I begin to feel the pangs of suffering, I can just reach into my pocket and feel that crucifix and be reminded that He is with me in this suffering, that I am not alone.  It also serves as a reminder that when I choose to enter into the suffering of another person, whether it be visiting a sick person in the hospital, listening to them as they share their sorrow for sin in the confessional, or when delivering a hard truth that my not be received so willingly, I am reminded that the Lord is extending His arms to embrace both of us – the one suffering, and me as I share in their suffering.

The pope concludes his reflection in this section by mentioning the example of the saints who in so many ways embraced suffering – sometimes heroically, even to the point of death – and now enjoy the peace of eternal life in Heave, the fulfilment of the hope that kept them from fleeing from suffering, but leaning into it with love for God and for others.  May their witness encourage us to do likewise, and so become witnesses ourselves to a world that is in desperate need of such witnesses.

I have always loved to read, and back when I was in high school, I loved to read very large books. I think I enjoyed the challenge that a thick tome presented, and also a story that didn’t just end right away. I would read fantasy, science fiction, historical fiction, adventure, fairy tales, and even saint stories. Reading was how I found my Confirmation saint, St. Thomas Aquinas. Reading was how I grew to love writing and it has been a great conversation starter over the years. Reading has also been one of the primary ways God has chosen to work in my life. By the grace of God, a book fell into my hands when I was seventeen that not only satisfied me for its size but also changed the way I thought about God. 

This book was the spiritual diary of St. Faustina Kowalska – a big red book I found one day as I was looking for something to read. Looking back, I don’t exactly know why I enjoyed it at that age. Still, the way that St. Faustina wrote about her experience of the Mass, her time before the tabernacle, her discernment of her vocation, and especially her experience of confession made me re-think all of those things myself. I think it was one of the first times I really understood how these sacraments and parts of a life of prayer can be a real and tangible means of actually drawing closer to God. 

I also needed her message of mercy. As St. Faustina writes in one of the most often quoted passages of the diary, Jesus says to her, “proclaim that mercy is the greatest attribute of God. All the works of my hands are crowned with mercy” (300). I needed to hear that God would love me and any sinner no matter what I ever did, and that the door to his mercy was wide open in the sacrament of reconciliation. I needed to hear how real his presence in the Eucharist was and how his presence in the host at Mass is a gift from his merciful heart. He is there and he pours out love from there, from his wounded heart.

I bring this up today because if today, October 5, weren’t a Sunday, it would be the feast day of St. Faustina. Her message of mercy was nothing new, but it was God’s timely reminder to the world to turn back to him. While we’re on earth there is always time to turn back to him. Plus, once we have received his mercy, our task becomes that of helping others draw near to God’s mercy also. 

I think most Catholics have had the thought after Confession – “If the world ends now, that would be ok” – said with a grin. We recognize that the more time we have here on earth, the more time there is to mess up! But, seen in another light, the more time we have on earth, the more time we have to seek God’s mercy. Time is one of God’s greatest gifts. As St. Augustine comments on a passage from Psalm 60, he counsels us, “Don’t try to chop down the bridge of mercy after you have crossed over yourself. Let it remain in place forever” (Expositions of the Psalms, 60.6) This “bridge” is the time we have left on earth. 

While we have the time, we can enter the door of the confessional, we can receive that mercy, God’s greatest attribute. We turn to St. Faustina today and ask her intercession to help us never fear the “size” of our sins or the love of God. Pray for us today, St. Faustina, and pray for all those in need of God’s mercy!

In last week’s article, we explored the importance of not turning away from suffering, as we are so tempted to do.  Rather, by turning into our suffering, it can become a means by which we mature “through it and find meaning through union with Christ, who suffered with infinite love.” (SS 37) In the next paragraph, Pope Benedict explains how accepting our own suffering not only helps us get through suffering, but it also equips us to assist others in their suffering.  On this point, the Holy Father notes the impact that accepting personal suffering can have on the society in which we live:

A society unable to accept its suffering members and incapable of helping to share their suffering and to bear it inwardly through “com-passion” is a cruel and inhuman society. Yet society cannot accept its suffering members and support them in their trials unless individuals are capable of doing so themselves; moreover, the individual cannot accept another’s suffering unless he personally is able to find meaning in suffering, a path of purification and growth in maturity, a journey of hope. (SS 38)

One who is unwilling to endure suffering themselves will be less likely to help others when they are suffering.  But there are times when somebody close to us begins to suffer that we put aside our fear of suffering and enter into their suffering.  Though we may not be experiencing the same suffering, nevertheless we suffer with the other person, and the Lord uses that experience of suffering in another to strengthen and purify us, even as we support the one who is suffering.  Even if we cannot take away the suffering of another, our presence removes the particularly painful experience that so often accompanies suffering, loneliness and isolation.

I have a vivid memory of this from my childhood after I had a rather major surgery.  I woke up very briefly in recovery, feeling a lot of pain and feeling scared.  I did not even open my eyes, but I sensed somebody was there in the room.  When the voice spoke, it was that of my mother, and though I still felt so uncomfortable, I fell back asleep in peace, knowing that she was there with me and that I was not alone.  The following morning, I awoke early in the ICU, but nobody was there.  I do not exactly remember how I felt physically, but there was an overwhelming sense of fear of being alone.  The nurse assured me that my parents were on their way, and when they did arrive, I was able to be at peace again.  Throughout my childhood, whenever I had to stay home due to being sick, which was always miserable, my mom was always there.  Though she could not suffer what I was suffering, she was suffering with me and for me as only a mother can and her presence always made the experience much more bearable.

In that regard, we recently celebrated the Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows.  This feast recalls the beautiful truth that as Jesus was dying, Mary stood by the Cross.  Her standing signifies a posture of readiness to do whatever she could to help encourage her Son in His final hours.  From the Cross, Jesus entrusted His mother to us when He said to her about St. John, and by extension, all of us: “Behold, your son.” (Jn 19:26) Mary always stands close to us in our suffering, ready to offer her motherly encouragement, reminding us that we are never alone in our suffering.  May that truth bring us true consolation, and may we imitate her example of standing ready to assist anybody who the Lord invites us to assist in their suffering.

A question St. Augustine asks frequently throughout his many commentaries on the Psalms is, “Who is speaking here?” He reads the Psalms as prayers composed by a human author called the “psalmist,” and yet, they are also inspired by the Holy Spirit and destined to be prayed by many more people than just that psalmist, even one particular person known at first only to God. Insofar as they are inspired, the words of the Psalms come from the heart of God and are a true communication of the divine Word. This Word became flesh (John 1:14) in Jesus Christ, and therefore, the primary answer St. Augustine gives to his question, “Who is speaking here?” is Jesus Christ, the Lord. He is speaking here.

Though Jesus is the one St. Augustine understands to be speaking in the Psalms, Jesus is not speaking alone. He speaks in, with, and through his body, the Church. St. Paul gives the seed of this teaching when he writes, “He [Christ] is the head of the body, the Church” (Colossians 1:18), and “Now you are the body of Christ, and individually members of it” (1 Corinthians 12:27). This teaching of St. Paul is something that St. Augustine reflected on very deeply. The image and reality of the Church as the body of Christ became the root of St. Augustine’s understanding of the speaker in the Psalms. 

As he preaches on Psalm 61(60), especially the opening line, “O God, hear my plea, give heed to my prayer,” St. Augustine asks that very question: “Who is saying this? It sounds like a single person. But look at the next phrase, and you will see whether it can be only one: From the ends of the earth I have called to you, as my heart was wrung with pain. It cannot be one alone, then; yet it is one, because Christ is one, and all of us are his members” (Expositions of the Psalms 60.2, Translated by Maria Boulding). One person says this, and that one person is Christ, the head of the body. But, more than one person says it, and says it from the ends of the earth, because Jesus has joined a body (the Church) to himself.

St. Augustine calls this head and body unity the totus Christus, “the whole Christ.” Jesus is, in himself, a true person, and a divine person at that. He doesn’t need any additional body attached to him to make him complete and perfect. BUT, in a wonderful plan of salvation, he chooses to join human beings to himself in a mystical and sacramental union so that we become truly members (limbs) of his mystical body. We therefore share his divine life – the Father looks upon us as children, the life of the Holy Spirit dwells in our souls, and we are heirs to his Kingdom. We also, then, speak and act as Christ in our prayer and in our lives. A simple analogy is this: When my hand moves, I move; when a member of the body of Christ acts, Christ acts. 

It is, therefore, not a stretch for St. Augustine to be able to say that Christ is the one speaking in the Psalms, always. Sometimes Christ the head alone speaks, sometimes a member of the body alone, but more often than not, he can say that Christ, head and members, speak as one. The whole Christ speaks. This teaching gives a whole new meaning to those words of the Mass, that we pray through Him, with Him, and in Him, to God the almighty Father. 

Thanks be to God for this saving grace!