Sometimes it seems that what we fear most is suffering and that we will go to any lengths to avoid it. That reality applies not just to our own suffering, but also to that of others. It is incredibly difficult to be with people in their suffering because it means entering into their suffering with them. That is what the word compassion means: its linguistic roots literally mean to suffer with.
When we refuse to accept the suffering of others, we are unable to be compassionate. Instead of entering into their suffering with them and showing them that they are loved, thereby giving them hope in their suffering, we too often side with the voice of condemnation. We become like Job's friends. We try to fix the problem or point out the errors rather than loving others.
Job's friends looked at his suffering and assumed that he must have done something wrong to deserve such evil to fall upon him. His friends rebuked him for being weak in the face of his suffering and for questioning the ways of God. They told him he must have sinned against God to be thus condemned to suffer. With each monologue, they became more and more severe in their words against him.
Why?
Is it because they wanted it to be Job's fault so that they could believe that such evil would never befall them so long as they persist in what they believe to be a just way of life?
If we believe that others suffer as a result of their sins and failings, it allows us to exalt ourselves and to give ourselves the security that such suffering would never happen to us. We are not humble enough to accept that we also could suffer at any time. We are not humble enough simply to enter in to their suffering.
Think then of Christ on His journey to Calvary. He deserved compassion even more than Job. Who offered it to Him?
Simon was forced to help Him carry the Cross and rendered him that service with great reluctance. Veronica rushed out of the crowd to wipe His eyes with her veil, a tiny offering in the face of such great suffering. The women of Jerusalem wept for Him, showing they were willing to enter into His suffering with Him. Yet it was His Mother who did most for Him on that journey.
Our Lady did nothing if you think in terms of worldly actions. She did not help Him carry His cross, she did not wipe His eyes, perhaps she did not even weep for Him. What then did she do?
She offered herself to Him. She gave Him the gift of her presence, full and entire, holding nothing back. She was not afraid to look at Him in His suffering. She was not afraid to accept His suffering as the will of the Father, joining herself to that sacrifice of love to the Father.
We likewise can offer ourselves, giving the gift of our presence—and of Christ's presence within us—to those who suffer. We can see them in their suffering, giving them hope to carry on. When we cannot take away their suffering, we can lighten it by our love, accepting it with them as the will of the Father that will bring them to their own resurrection.
