Led Into the Truth The Way of the Cross

Mar 13, 2009

One of my favorite poets is William Butler Yeats. He inspires me with his beautiful verse, but his subject matter is often disturbing. "The Second Coming," a particularly powerful poem of Yeats, was written in the aftermath of the First World War Having witnessed the bestial carnage of attrite war, Yeats’ haunting words proposed a dizzying reflection on the status of hope and fear in the world:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre,

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

These words, disorienting and terrifying, have recently been resonating in my own heart. While I am in Rome and therefore somewhat removed from the loosing of the financial blood-dimmed tide in the United States, too many people whom I know and love have been adversely affected by the deterioration of the economy to remain untouched. It does in fact seem that the world is spiraling out of control and that we have lost control of our future, our surroundings, of everything. We find ourselves standing in perplexed amazement as what we thought would last, ends, upending our plans and endangering the future of our families.

It is in the moment of the greatest darkness, when we feel that we have expended the last of our virtue, that we find true virtue. It is really only in loving those most difficult to love that we truly practice love; it is only when time is shortest that we truly practice patience; it is only in the darkest night that we truly experience hope. This is not to say that we do not practice virtues at other times, but the true measure of a virtue is its practice in the most extreme of situations. The commitment of a martyr-saint is only truly known in the moment of martyrdom. Hope can only be experienced in all of its intensity when we are teetering on the treacherous precipice of despair, when the situation seems to be lost, as it does in Yeats’ poem—when the best of men has given up and the very end of all things seems near.

Perhaps the most difficult realization in the spiritual life is that the dark night is often the greatest gift of God. The Passion of Christ, the culminating meditation for us in this Lenten season, has the power to transform suffering. Pope Benedict XVI, in his encyclical Spe Salvi, writes:

Christ descended into "Hell" and is therefore close to those cast into it, transforming their darkness into light. Suffering and torment is still terrible and well-nigh unbearable. Yet the star of hope has risen—the anchor of the heart reaches the very throne of God. Instead of evil being unleashed within man, the light shines victorious: suffering—without ceasing to be suffering—becomes, despite everything, a hymn of praise. (§37)

Our Lord suffered on the cross. His suffering was unjust; he had not done anything wrong. Many people I know are experiencing something strikingly similar: they are suffering the loss of job, of investments, of insurance, of their home, and it is not because they did anything wrong.

Perhaps you are in the same situation: you saved money; you had some investments; you worked hard; and now you are experiencing the brunt of an economic fallout that seems to not have involved any mistakes on your part. Perhaps on the other hand you did make some mistakes, but the effect you are experiencing seems disproportionate to the error. Reread the words of our Holy Father I just quoted and be assured: this experience you are having is suffering—it is real suffering. Note that Pope Benedict does not say that Jesus takes away suffering, and he does not say that Jesus offers an explanation for suffering. Faith in Jesus Christ has the power to transform suffering, to make it something great—something that will draw you closer to him—without taking away the fact that it is really suffering.

Suffering is ultimately inexplicable. Perhaps you seek reasons or someone to blame for the experience you are having at the moment, and some sober reflection on the causes and the remedies of such a situation is warranted, but the key to transforming suffering from meaninglessness into a medium for union with Christ is to see the real similarities between your situation and his. Solidarity with Christ as he carries his cross helps us to carry ours. Christ accepted the burden of redemption; he accepted a grossly disproportionate penalty for what was in his case unassailable innocence. Many of you are paying disproportionate penalties for the economic problems in the world. You are closer to Christ than you think.

I urge you not to miss this opportunity to grow in solidarity with our Lord, who loves you more than you can imagine and desires greatly to help you shoulder your burden. A few years ago, I sat distraught in a small room with a priest in a hospital ICU. My gut-wrenching emotions flowed down my cheeks as I was faced with the decision of whether to allow invasive life support for my mother. As I agonized over the decision, this priest said to me, "Josh, you have never been closer to Christ than you are in this moment. It is his agony that you are experiencing." It did not make the decision less difficult, but I knew Jesus was making it with me.

You who are suffering: you have never been closer to Christ than now. He is walking every step with you. Invite him in closer; invite him to help with every agonizing moment. Speak to him of your options, of your fears, of your near-paralysis in making seemingly impossible decisions.

Closeness to Christ does not annihilate human suffering. It is still suffering; it is still real, and it is still terrible. But it makes all the difference in the world to be suffering with someone rather than alone. Simon of Cyrene walked with Christ. He carried the cross for our Lord, who had been beaten to within an inch of his life. Imagine the comfort it gave to our Lord to have another shouldering part of his burden, even though he might have done so hesitatingly. Imagine the comfort and the hope you will have if you allow Christ to share in your burden, for he will do so unhesitatingly.

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