There are times when the saving quality of our
suffering is relatively easy to understand (even if it’s hard to bear). When a
mother stays up all night, depriving herself of sleep, in order to care for a
sick child, she is carrying his burden, suffering so that some of his suffering
might be alleviated. When a person willingly bears an insult, and refuses to
fight back or return insult for insult, he is suffering for the sake of love.
I’ll give you two more dramatic examples. First is
Maximilian Kolbe. When a prisoner escaped from Auschwitz in the summer of 1942,
the Nazi soldiers imposed their penalty. They took all of the prisoners from
the escapees’ barracks and lined them up and then at random chose a man to be
put to death in retaliation. When the man broke down in tears, protesting that
he was the father of young children, a quiet bespectacled man stepped forward
and said, “I am a Catholic priest; I have no family. I would like to die in
this man’s place.”
Here, with brutal clarity, we can see the relationship
between salvation and suffering willingly accepted. St. Maximilian Kolbe was
consciously participating in the act of his Master, making up, in Paul’s language,
what is still lacking in the suffering of Christ (Colossians 1:24).
And then there is St. Francis of Assisi, from whom
Pope Francis took his name. Among the many stories told of St. Francis, one of
the most affecting is that concerning his encounter with a leprous man.
Young Francis had a particular revulsion for leprosy.
Whenever he saw someone suffering from that disease, he would run in the
opposite direction. One day, he saw a leper approaching, and he sensed the
familiar apprehension and disgust. But then he decided, under the inspiration
of the Gospel, to embrace the man, kiss him, and give him alms. Filled with
joy, Francis made his way up the road. When he turned around, he discovered the
man gone, disappeared.
Once again, suffering was the concrete expression of
love.
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