“When I feel
better, then I will be able to...”
Have you ever
caught yourself saying something like that? Or perhaps you have
repeated such phrases countless times without being aware of how
foolish it sounds from an eternal perspective.
After all, if you
gave a cursory glance across the list of canonized saints you might
well believe that all it requires to become a saint is to get
tuberculosis and die at a young age. You can bet your buttons none
of them were going around planning for all the things they would do
once they got better.
Although you may
take my comments on the saints and tuberculosis merely as a joke (and I hope they at
least make you smile), they contain an important truth as well: the
reality of suffering in a life of sanctity. I think I can safely say
that all of the saints suffered—some of them more than others
certainly. Suffering, after all, is a part of the human condition.
It is also a part of becoming holy.
So, as we put one
foot in front of the other on the slow path to sanctity that we all
follow, we pilgrims toward the Heavenly Jerusalem must learn to
transform our perspective. Instead of seeing our pains and suffering
as an obstacle to all the good that we might do, we must see them as
the forging of our holiness. Pain gives us the opportunity to
develop virtues such as patience. It is in suffering that we are
tested like silver and have all our impurities burned away.
Yet this clear
light of truth that shines upon the reality of suffering breaks apart
into shadows and deception when it comes to the mind. It is one
thing to endure pain of the body from some physical illness or even emotional pain such as
the hurt of being misunderstood or rejected by others or any such
suffering where your intellect functions as it was meant to do.
However, when the body is such a mess that the mind is seriously
affected—call it insanity, mental illness, or what you will—and
it is no longer possible to reason acceptance of suffering against
the sea of dark and self-condemnatory thoughts, what is one to do?
How can any good fruit come of enduring an inability to love oneself
or others?
I must maintain
that in that dark place God remains. That is all I know.
What mysteries He
works within those shadows and labyrinths of deception I cannot
fathom, but I must believe that He does. For if He is all good and
makes all things work together for good, then His power must be
enough to transform these seeming evils into bright gems that one day
will reflect the light.
Still, how are we
poor mortals struggling along to handle those moments when the body
is such a mess that the mind and will no longer strive for good?
It seems callous to
say offer it up or that we must abandon ourselves to it as part of
God's Providence. Yet what else is there to say? If suffering truly
matters and if we are to sacrifice our lives according to the nature
of our baptismal priesthood, then why should we shy away when it
becomes difficult or even when it seems impossible?
Christ on the road
to Calvary fell many times in His weakness. His body must have been
the worst mess ever. We can only imagine how that must have affected
His mind and will. Yet He got up and went on.
So we also can do
even when the body is a mess and the brain feels like a refuse pit.
If rising in the morning seems an insurmountable obstacle and it
takes ninety-nine attempts before achieving success, or if it
requires three hours to draw up the energy necessary to look someone
in the face, there is merit there. If prayer becomes impossible and
all external acts of charity and virtue cease to exist, God is still
working.
Those little things
that so many of us take for granted may be someone else's
battleground. It is there in that epic tussle with the minutiae of
daily life that some of us will achieve that ultimate union with God.
Although the dragons may seem to gain the victory with their lies
and oppression, their dominion will not last forever: all that is not
of God will cease to exist. Then His light will shine fully upon His
faithful warriors, revealing all their wounds and scars that tell of
countless battles fought for love of Him—battles that may have been
lost in order to win the war.
This blog post touched me very much, especially its last paragraphs where I am encouraged in a compelling way to look differently and in a renewed way to these daily struggles you mention as being God's ceaseless action in our lives, hidden and taken for granted as they are most of the time.
ReplyDeleteAs you write, God is still working, ever working, even if on the outside nothing appears to prove that reality we have faith in.
Brian