'You suffer so well!'
(Words I never thought I'd hear about myself, but did)
The words came from a friend who lives in a city about an hour north of Fargo. Specifically, he said, “You mask your suffering so well!”
Normally, I might say, “Not really.” But in this case, I took those words to heart. I had only recently met this friend in person while speaking for a three-day parish mission in his city, and it was during one of the most prolonged phases of my suffering with a hidden kidney stone. If he didn’t detect that I was in some pretty major suffering, I realized, maybe I’d done better with the suffering than I had thought.
To appreciate the scope of this and my thinking here, know that for a long time, I have said to friends and family, “I do not suffer well!” Even more, I would explain to them that this mainly referred to physical suffering; that I’m more accustomed to emotional suffering; it feels more familiar. But physical? Nope!
Even going to the dentist has caused anxiety in recent years. I guess I’ve been blessed to not have had a lot of physical suffering in the first decades of my life. I also have experienced watching others suffer physically and have just sensed that compared to them, I am simply a huge wimp when it comes to that kind of suffering.
So I’ve repeated this to many trusted friends. “I do not suffer (physically) well at all! I’m just terrible at it!”
Maybe that’s one of the reasons God allowed me to endure the recent torment I went through. Maybe I needed to experience a little more of the physical aspect of suffering. Trust me, I did NOT embrace it. I did not want it. But neither could I run from it. It was there, and I had no choice but to move through it.
And despite feeling like a failure when it comes to physical suffering, now that I’m past this round, at least, I am able to look back and consider: So, how did you do with that, Roxane?
Suffering is a topic that can divide even some Christians, and definitely puts Christians at odds with the rest of humanity. From what I understand, for instance, Buddhism is all about avoiding suffering. But Christians have a different take, because we follow Jesus, who suffered. A lot. For what would seem, initially, for no reason. He was a perfect human being. He didn’t deserve it. But he took it on, for us.
In the Catholic world, we talk about “offering it up.” We believe that our suffering can be efficacious for others just as Jesus’ suffering was efficacious for us. Offering it up is a way of saying, “God, I don’t really like this, but since I’m here in this place, can I at least offer what I’m going through to you to benefit others, as you did for me when you died on the cross?”
It is not that we like to suffer, or that we embrace suffering, but we have a very developed theology for how suffering can be helpful in the longterm. Suffering builds spiritual muscles we need to become saints. Again, this does not mean we run to suffering and love it.
Let me speak for myself: If I haven’t made it clear yet, I HATE SUFFERING. It’s awful! It robs us of joy, often stalls our life, and leave us fairly powerless. Nothing about suffering is fun.
But, are we here only to have fun? Is that what life is about? Or are we here to learn to love?
I will repeat this much-loved phrase from St. John Paull II that has had a profound impact on me in how I view suffering: “Suffering unleashes love.” Every time I hear that or say it, I am moved.
There is purpose in suffering for the very fact that suffering unleashes love!
Suffering in and of itself is not good. If we just suffered for no reason, that is a recipe for despair, and it’s not wonder some long sufferers are driven to end their own life. But if suffering is purposeful—if it can lead us closer to God, or bring others closer to his heart—then it is in fact efficacious!
There were moments of despair for me during those months of unexplained suffering. I can now better understand those who might be driven to such thoughts. Whether physical or emotional suffering, the pain can feel unbearable, and as hopelessness takes over, one can feel driven to want to escape.
Here is where we need to circle back to the mystery of the cross. “Lord, take this cup from me,” Jesus said in the worst moment of his earthly life, making an appeal to the Father. He, too, was prone to despair, but in the next breath, he relented to the Father’s will, “But not my will but thine.”
He was teaching us, knowing we, too, might be driven to despair at times in this earthly vale, but that the way out isn’t to give up, but to give ourselves over to God.
“Lord, there’s no way I can do this parish mission in this condition,” I said. “You’re going to have to do it for me and in me.”
From what my friend reported, those who attended those three evenings in which I tried leading them into a deeper trust in God didn’t detect how much I was needing my own words. But maybe that I was in fact suffering, silently, gave authenticity to my words. Perhaps on a spiritual level, undetected, that helped them know I was not just speaking meaningless words, but actually living them with them.
I hope on some level they sensed that. I hope their souls were more grafted onto Christ’s. I hope they were renewed in his love.
I remain resolute that the saints have been much braver than I was during these months of discomfort and, at times, agony, but when my friend indicated that he wouldn’t have known what I was going through that weekend we met, I was given insight that maybe I did better than I thought. Maybe, despite not liking any of it, I sustained it more valiantly than I had perceived.
Maybe, when I told my spiritual director that I trusted in God’s will but not in my ability to bear it, I was bearing it better than I realized.
I’ll leave the final assessment to God, but my friend’s reaction showed me that it’s possible my soul matured a little in those trying months. I’ll take that win, if it is true.
I wish I could say I offered up a lot of that for others suffering. I could barely think on that level. But toward the end, as it was becoming intolerable, I had a moment in which I did do that. Hours later, I woke up in a recovery room feeling, shockingly, healed.
This experience has deepened my faith, despite all the questions I had for God during it, and still do now. I won’t ever stop trying to understand his will, which is mysterious to me, but I do think that maybe, my trust in him bumped up a level. Thanks be to God.
Speaking of suffering, I can’t wait to share my article Sunday about Sister Annella Zervas. I’ll come back Sunday when it runs to add the link. Trust me, it will be worth it to learn how she, at age 26, responded to deep suffering. It’s simply awe-inspiring.
And then, next Friday, my podcast on my friend Joanne’s thoughts regarding “hope in suffering” will drop. I guess I can’t get away from this topic, even if I wanted to. And maybe that’s okay.
What has God taught you in your suffering?
My work this week:
May 20: Humility brings perspective, binds us together (column)
May 24: Nun being eyed for sainthood returns to St. Joe’s (feature) - coming!