If you’ve followed this blog or my socials for any length of time you know that I’ve had some health challenges over the years, primarily beginning in 2020 with Giardia, Crohn’s disease, and nearly dying, continuing on to 2022 with pyoderma gangrenosum which left gaping holes in my back and scars on my chest, which remain to this day. Those times were fearful, but also so sweet with the tenderness of the Lord. (See here.) I’ve recovered and been more-or-less healthy since.
Recently I’ve had a little hiccup in that nice progression of health due to an accident at work that snowballed into something more involved. I’m pretty sure I’ll fully recover. But in the meantime I’ve been nothing but annoyed, livid you might say. With every trip back to the doctor, every test that is run, every adjustment to my routines I’ve been nothing short of pissed off.
Before Liturgy on Sunday I sat next to a friend and she inquired what was happening and I gave her the update of my pains and associated complications and she replied without missing a beat, “God really loves you.” She meant it too, without a hint of sarcasm. In that moment I realized that I have been wasting the whole last month of suffering. I haven’t offered it for the reparation of sins. I haven’t given it to the divine will and tenderness of the Sacred Heart. I haven’t even borne it with grace. I’ve just been indignant.
In that moment, right before Liturgy, I remembered the words of Rilke, “I am still a novice concerning pain…”
Damn. You’d think I’d be better at it by now.
Friend of God
Years ago in spiritual direction as I was recovering from the second bout of serious illness my priest said, “Small crosses for small character.” He went on to articulate the perspective of St. Ignatius who wrote, “If God causes you to suffer much, it is a sign that He has great designs for you, and that He certainly intends to make you a saint. And if you wish to become a great saint, entreat Him yourself to give you much opportunity for suffering; for there is no wood better to kindle the fire of holy love than the wood of the cross, which Christ used for His own great sacrifice of boundless charity.”
But honestly I’ve been more inclined to respond like St. Teresa of Avila “Oh, my Lord! When wilt Thou cease from scattering obstacles in our path?”
“Do not complain, daughter,” the Divine Master answered, “for it is ever thus that I treat My friends.”
“Ah, Lord, it is also on that account that Thou hast so few!”
I’m like the apostles who asked to sit at Jesus’ right and left and he asked them if they could drink from his cup. They were so full of enthusiasm (and hubris). Yes, they could drink from his cup. They were like the original dude-bro podcasters. Bring it on! And Jesus…..so patient, so understanding, says, “You will indeed drink my cup, but to sit at my right hand and at my left, this is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared by my Father.” (Matthew 20:23) I feel like his compassionate heart is telling them, “You have no idea what you’re asking or what it will require.”
The Gospel is lot less warm fuzzy than we may have been led to believe. Being a friend of God means sharing in the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of his sufferings. There is no resurrection without death and no fellowship without the intimacy of the tough things. It’s like any relationships where we are tempted to waste precious moments being angry when the invitation is to greater knowledge and deeper love.
Begin Again
I am still a novice concerning pain. I forgot it was a gift. I forgot it was an invitation into knowing. I lost sight of the cozy spot I occupy in the Sacred Heart behind the thorns and beneath the flame. It’s OK. I’m allowed to start over, to start where I am, with what I am: a novice. I’m allowed to start fresh and surrender my anger and my ego and my preoccupation with my own plans and perceptions. I can choose to change my conversations with the Lord from exasperation to consolation.
“If the Angel deigns to come, it will be because you have convinced her, not by your tears, but by your humble resolve to be always beginning: to be a beginner.” (Rilke)
