Last
week I attended a funeral. He was 17,
diagnosed with leukemia less than one month before he died. I saw his mother shortly before the Mass and
just gave her a wordless hug. She simply
said, “There are no words.”
No, there aren’t any words at a moment
like that, at least no words that make any sense. And yet we desperately want words that make
sense, that bring some sort of comfort to those moments of intense grief. But such words are not to be found.
Two days after I attended that
funeral, the Church celebrated the Feast of Our Mother of Sorrows. There are two possible Gospels for that
day. One selection is from the infancy
narratives in the Gospel of Luke where Simeon holds the child, Jesus, and tells
Mary “and you yourself a sword will pierce”.
One wonders if she had any idea of what that meant. Clearly she must have remembered it or it
would never have been recorded in Scripture.
The second Gospel is from John and takes
place at the foot of the cross. Standing
there are Mary and the beloved disciple.
Near death, Jesus gives to the beloved disciple Mary, and to Mary the
beloved disciple. And then Mary
witnesses the painful death of her Son.
For most of us there is a tendency to
associate suffering with sin. One
suffers because of sin. If we can’t
recall anything in particular we ask the question, “What did I do wrong?” And while it’s true that sin often results in
suffering (sin upsets the balance God creates for our world), we are mistaken
if we think all suffering is a result of sin.
We have only to think of Mary to realize that. In spite of her sinlessness, she knew grief.
Suffering, grief and loss are part of
human life. I don’t know why it has to
be that way, only that it is that way.
Maybe it’s God way of prompting us to think of the promise of eternal
life. We may want heaven on earth, but
that’s not possible. Heaven is our term
for eternal happiness. Oh, we catch
glimpses of happiness here on earth: when we experience forgiving love, when we
serve one another, when we follow God’s will and our heart realizes it, when
God gifts us with a graced moment. All
amazing and wonderful, but not everlasting.
Interspersed is suffering and sorrow.
In the midst of it all, we’ve been
given the gift of faith which helps us endure the painful moments of life. Faith isn’t meant to eliminate the experience
of grief in our lives, but it does help us cope. Personally, I don’t believe God gives faith
to some and not to others; I believe we all have the capacity for faith. It’s true that not everyone taps into their
capacity for faith and perhaps some have never had much of an opportunity, but
no one is without the potential.
Maybe it’s part of God’s plan to work
through us in the lives of others when it comes to faith. If people witness our faith even in the midst
of hardship and pain, suffering and grief, it may stir something within them
that leads them to God. We may never know
the effect our faith has on someone else, but we don’t have to know. God will let us know if we need to know—maybe
we’ll find it all out in the next life.
But then again, it probably doesn’t
matter.
What does matter is how we live out
our faith in the present.
Have a blessed week . . .
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