Reflection on Suffering

Though he brings grief, he will show compassion,so great is his unfailing love.
For he does not willingly bring afflictionor grief to the children of men.
Lamentations 3:32-33
Lately, I have found myself reflecting on suffering and how God allows people to suffer. Even if He indeed suffers with us, as Father Bill believes, why do we suffer at all?

I find myself thinking about this more and more as I bond with Adam. My worst nightmare is that something horrible would happen to him. I see people on television who have lost children and I just don’t know how I could ever survive it. I’m simply not that strong.

I found this passage in Lamentations and over and over again I find myself asking, if God does not willingly bring grief and affliction, then why does it exist?

Deaths, breakups, harsh words, financial difficulties and trials all bring grief to our lives. Some of these can be attributed to the consequences of our own actions through free will. Some if it also can be attributed to the exercise of the free will of others. Each of our sins causes grief for ourselves or others.

But death is different whether through an accident where no sin is involved or a natural illness that ends one’s life. I think if we better understood God and what it meant to go home to heaven, we would never be grieved by death. It would be a celebration! We are all going to pass on someday; we can’t prevent it.

I have found myself turning to God lately, not with my usual prayer asking Him to prevent grief, but asking him instead to show compassion to me. With His compassion, I can find my own way.

It’s an empowering prayer.

Rather than waiting for Him to rescue me, this prayer makes it my responsibility to find my way out of my own messes. With his compassionate help.

Circumstances that cause me grief are not necessarily “God’s will,” but often a consequence of free will, either mine or someone else’s. This understanding helps me better see God as a partner in my life journey rather than an all powerful God who doles out victory or defeat as He wishes.

Trusting God

Fr. Bill is a striking character. He's probably about 6'5" and something about him, other than his height and priestly clothes, makes him stand out in a crowd. The first time I ever saw him, he was leaving Kroger in regular clothes. There was nothing priestly about him, yet he caught my attention in the crowd. I found myself asking, "I wonder if that is our new priest?" I don't know how I knew he was a priest, I just did. He was my pastor for a few years before he was transferred to a parish in the southern part of the state.

Fr. Bill helped me through a really rough time in my life. I learned a great deal about God, life, spirituality, and relationships through my hours of conversation with him. He patiently tried to teach me that God is compassionate, loving, and not the awful father figure that often still colors my spiritual perceptions. We kept in contact and visited periodically after he transferred, but in time the distance became too difficult to overcome.

I think also that I was at a place where I was unwilling to advance any more spiritually in that moment. I just couldn't take that plunge and trust God to any greater degree than where I was at. I wish I could say I've grown on my own in that regard, but I think that would be an untruth. I can honestly say I try, but it's more of a blind resignation than a cheerful surrender.

Over the years, I have thought of him often and always wished him well. In particular, I have missed his sermons. Most weeks, some part of his sermon would touch me and offer some piece of instruction that I would contemplate in the days to come. At times, I would be moved to tears by his words.

I thought of him most in the happy times of my life - my marriage and the birth of our son being the highest points. I wanted to send a birth announcement and short note to share my joy. Much to my surprise, I found that he was back in the city. It's not a parish close to my house, but is a reasonable distance and in some of my girlfriends' neighborhood.

I stopped there for mass on a Saturday night when Ismael was working. I was very happy to see my friend and laughed internally at how some things never seem to change. He still forgets his wireless mic is on and the congregation hears his hallway conversations until some kind hearted parishioner runs out to tell him. The visit was sometime before Christmas but I still remember part of his sermon from that night. It came back to me today as I was holding Adam and reflecting on how I worry about him.

Father went to visit some patients at the local heart hospital. As he walked down the hall, he heard a man's voice call out, "Hey, holy man." Father remarked that he had often been called a tall man, never a holy man.

"Who me?" he asked.

"Yes, I have a question to ask you." The man was maybe twenty years old, wheel chair bound, and connected to all sorts of tubes. "Why?" he asked, "why is this happening to me?"

And in a very simple, honest voice, Father answered, "I don't know. I don't know why this is happening to you."

"That's the right answer, sit down," was the young man's reply.

I looked at Adam that night in church and felt a very deep pain in my heart.

I do everything I know to do to protect him. Use the carseat correctly and faithfully. No rice cereal in his bottle at night. No pillows or blankets in his bed. Put him to sleep on his back. Don't leave him unsupervised on anything he could fall from. Get his vaccines on time. Go to all the well baby visits.

Yet, today as I held him and felt his little heart beating under my hand, I know that my protection of this precious gift can only go so far.

Ultimately, only God can keep his heart beating in a normal rhythm or prevent his body's cells from becoming cancerous.

Father talked about how when we suffer, he believes that God suffers along with us. Something to think about, but not much comfort to me. Suffering or not, God is still all powerful.

I have to trust God. And, honestly, that terrifies me.

Faith Matters

Before Ismael and I were married, we agreed that when and if we had children that they would be Catholic. It was an easy agreement to make then. Ismael wanted to marry me and likely would have agreed to anything to get me. Ahhh....the thrill of pursuit.

I am a great admirer of Islam, but I was born and raised Catholic. I have my own personal spiritual challenges, but overall, am happy with being Catholic and feel the duty to pass it on to my own children. I knew that in the compromises I would have to make in marrying a Muslim, such as giving up cooking my beloved garlic stuffed pork roast, this was not one I could make.

After Adam's birth, I broached the subject with Ismael gently and in time he agreed to allow Adam's baptism. I, however, had a different problem. I had to do something about choosing a church. We were registered and married in the church where I teach. After thirteen years of teaching and the formation of my own family, I have felt the need to become a little more private and separate family life from work life. After several months of interior debate, I decided to return to the parish where my mother currently attends and I was raised.

We met with Fr. Kevin to register in the parish and I knew I had made the right decision when the most complicated thing about baptizing the infant son of a Catholic Muslim couple was choosing a date. No baptismal classes, no requirements of Ismael beyond his consent. Perfect!

All of this introspection has forced me to examine my own spirituality. I know that it is far past time for me to bear down and go back to confession. it's been years since my last one. For Catholics, confession to the priest is a sacrament. For me, it is the equivalent of waterboarding. I always feel better when it is over, but the preparation and process is flat out torture for me.

It's not even that I think my sins and failings are the worst the priest will ever hear. I don't imagine him loudly saying "What??" as I recite my little list and exit the confessional to the shocked stares of others. It's just difficult to make yourself accountable to God in the presence of another human being. No one will make me go, but my inner voice is asking, "how will you teach your son to be accountable for his actions if you, yourself, are not?"

Damn Catholic guilt.