Theology of Suffering

When I was a teenager and with the Boy Scouts (i.e., Venture Scouts) I went to Manatoba, Canada to do a Northern Tier trek, a canoeing expedition. We arrived at a small town with a population of about 90. We got on a little puddle-jumper plane, they flew us over the beautiful landscape, and dropped us off in the middle of a lake. We told them where we planned to be in 10 days and off we went. About two days into the trip we were going along a river with high reeds on either side. We stopped and discussed our path at a fork in the road: take a 2-mile detour by canoe or portage through a wet area. Our guide told us that the portage would be about “a third of a mile” and the water would be “maybe up to your knees.” Needless to say neither of these things were the case. The portage may have been one of the most miserable experiences I've had. Mud, water that was at times up to my hips, hidden branches that tripped me, caught me, and at one point could have cased me to drown. I was at best 150 pounds and was carrying at least 35-40 pounds of equipment plus heavy, wet clothes. Some three hours later, after a lot of cursing and frustration, we made our destination with still a lot of travel left in our day.

This situation captures the feelings I have towards a theology of suffering. Indeed, from a distance things may seem simple and we can reassure ourselves about the probable course of suffering, at least until we get there.  I consider the looming task before me as I begin CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) where every seminarian spends a summer intensive at a hospital doing hospital chaplaincy. Therein we are spiritual care providers to anyone and everyone. Here we may confront traumatized patients, broken families, and frustrated staff members. Any theology is informed by experience and yet suffering is surprisingly one of our weakest theologies.  While it is true that we all suffer and have experienced the suffering of others it also seems to be the case that we attempt to distract ourselves from the ultimate reality that suffering reveals: death.

It is hard to accept that suffering is natural despite it being perhaps the most natural things of all. Suffering in a very profound way helps us to understand the Cross but it is not enough to speak in moral platitudes or theological maxims. Indeed, Christians receive the whole repertoire of “God will not leave you” or “God is with you.” There is likewise the common and, in my opinion, misguided phrase “offer it up” comes up frequently. However true these sentiments may seem, I have found that in my own experience they alienate rather than alleviate. Certainly some complaints and problems are minor and are annoyances to others—being a complainer myself I know all too well it can wear on people. Yet sometimes minor problems reveal something deeper, namely our struggle with suffering, death, and our perception of what we “deserve” in this life. I call to mind those famous words

My soul is full of troubles … I am reckoned like those who go down to the pit … like the slain that lie in the grave … your wrath lays heavy upon, and you overwhelm me with all your waves. … Every day I call to you, O Lord; I spread out my hands to you. … O Lord why do you cast me off? Why do you hide your face from me? … Your wrath has swept over me; your dread assaults destroy me. They surround me like a flood all day long; they close in upon me together. You have caused loved one and friend to shun me; my only companion is darkness” (cf. Ps 88).

And, moreover, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” (Mt 27:46). Indeed this very quote of Jesus is from Psalm 22. While verses 22-31 speak of God's faithfulness, His glory, and how he lifts up the afflicted. Nevertheless we have to get through the first twenty one verses. Suffering can be reduced to something superficial, where minor injuries aren't that important, and where feelings of hopelessness are addressed by telling someone to have hope.

The Incarnation is a theology that includes the Cross. “Incarnation” makes us think of Christ sharing in our humanity, but what has he shared in? In the hospital “incarnation” and “cross” have met: blood, broken bones, hopelessness, fear, pain, defecation, a loss of control, abandonment, betrayal, schism, and waiting in silence. As a chaplain it would seem like we're sent into this circumstance and situation to life people out of this mire but in a strange we we are not asked to lift up but step down into it. In that strange and wonderful way we, by sinking into the depths we also lift to the heights. Why? Because by acknowledging suffering, experiencing it, and by experiencing it with others we do lift each other up. Perhaps this is why the phrase “Duc in altum” (Lk 5:4) can both mean “go into the depths” and “go to the heights.”

No one catches fish without first casting your line to the depth they swim at. We don't experience the Resurrection if we don't experience the Cross. Christ can not redeem all unless he had sunken lower than all.

It would seem strange that in a place of death or, at the very least, a place entrenched in its inescapable realities I might find life. Most of all I'm called to love these people and consider their life, counted by the world as pitiable and worthless, with a sort of divine dignity. May the Son who died for all give us all life, even if we have to walk through the muck first.

Inheritance

Note: This was a homily I gave on the weekend of May 25th, 2014. If you would like to readings for the day that I used you can find them here. While not necessary they are a good aid for what follows.

“Be prepared to give an account of the hope in in you … with gentleness and reverence” (1 Pet 3:15-16a). I've recently been able to visit the school where I grew up and the school from my internship. In going to these classrooms the kids eventually open up to me with various questions. Things from as simple as “Why do you wear all black?” and “Why do you wear a collar?” to questions as deep and penetrating as “Why did Jesus have to die for us?” and “Why did Jesus have to come when he did?” It reminds me all the more, especially as I grow older: “Be prepared to give an account of the hope in you.” Our hope is in Jesus Christ, through whom all things were created. How do we come to know the source and reason for our hope? By keeping his commandments, Jesus says, and in keeping them close to our hearts we will also grow in love of Him.

Still others may ask us, “Why do you believe in Jesus? Why do you waste your time on Sunday? Why don't you choose for yourself what's right and what's wrong?” While not necessarily the case, these questions will come from those who neither believe in Jesus not know Him. Nevertheless these are all questions that we need to answer for ourselves.

Jesus, however, has not left us as orphans. He has given us an Advocate, the Holy Spirit. This is the same Spirit who spoke through the prophets and the holy Apostles, the Spirit who is “the giver of life.” Jesus promises us the same Spirit. How then does He send this Spirit? It is no mistake that in our first reading from the Acts of the Apostles (cf. Acts 8:5-17) those who came to believe in Christ received the Holy Spirit from Peter and John. Phillip brought the word of Christ to Samaria—a land to the north—and those who heard came to believe. Yet they sent for Peter and John who were in Jerusalem, in the south, to visit them. They prayed for the Holy Spirit to visit them and they accomplished this task by the laying on of hands.

While not necessarily the route Peter and John took, it's important to recall the animosity between Samaria and Jerusalem dating back many centuries (at that time) and that the notion of both those of Jewish and Samaritan descent would be united was quite unusual.

What does this teach us? It teaches us that we receive the Spirit through the Church, and not just the church we all are in today, though indeed we receive it here. We receive the Spirit, rather, though the Church of our fathers, the community of believers from ancient times to the present day in union with one another. Phillip, though he was an Apostle himself, sought Peter and John to confirm the faith of the Samarians so that the believers in both the south and the north would be one through the same prayer and the same Spirit.

But perhaps some will ask, “Doesn't our faith alone make us one? Why do we need the Church?” I answer to them that just as we could not exist without our mother our faith could not exist without our mother, the Church. Just as we have received life as a gift we must also give our lives as a gift. In the same way we have received our faith as a gift, given to us through those who believe. Parents might understand this analogy best, but all of us are sons and daughters so I believe we can all relate to this fact: we receive our traits from our parents and as we grow older we resemble the features of our parents. Moreover we also find that, deep down, our children inherit our mannerisms, our attitudes, and our dispositions. If this is true then it is indeed also true that our faith is the same. In living Jesus' commandments we transform ourselves and we inherit His traits, His dispositions, and imitate Him more closely. And when we as adults do this we give this to our children so they might also resemble Christ a little bit more each day. Our hope, then, is that by inheriting these things they may also inherit His very image as sons and daughters of God.

Through all this we discover this truth: faith is not a private possession but a gift that is handed down from generation to generation. The Church aids us in handing down this faith through her sacraments, her prayers, and by her members (us included) who safeguard this precious gift and offer it to everyone.

We will all return to our own lives, our own problems, and our own homes in a very short while. But we are one in Christ's Body, the Church. The Spirit will come to us when we pray as one, united to the whole Body of Christ. Jesus, truly, will not leave us as orphans. He has given us a home this very day.