Let's talk about suffering

I wrote this observation on my Facebook page to mixed reviews among faithful Catholics (some loved it, some thought it was insensitive, more an accusation than an observation):

"I am stunned at how often Christians wish to throw off and avoid their crosses and sufferings, considering how often Christ told us we would and must suffer on this earth. I think it's an American thing."

A non-Christian friend thought the whole thing was interesting and suggested writing about it on the Bubble. I think that is a good idea.

We already discussed redemptive suffering here, something that even most Christians have never heard of. And I wrote of how the worst suffering in my life so far brought me the most peace I've known (I am not saying I will do well next time suffering comes, but that's where it stands right now).

And I've mentioned before that abandonment to God, no matter what He sends our way, is the only way to peace and joy, according to Jesus (who insisted we must suffer with Him) and the saints. Total death to our own wills, total surrender to His.

This passage from my favorite book is so powerful to me -- it was like a lightbulb going off in my head, and it might be powerful and helpful to some of you as well:

This understanding, and this spiritual principle of surrender, or total abandonment, has helped me immeasurably in my journey. I believe to my core that it is the key to the peace and joy that our loving Father wants for us. I want to share it with everyone, because there is so much suffering all around us, and so much fear and anxiety. 

If this discussion might be of any help to someone who is suffering, it's worth having. Let's talk. 

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A great means to preserve continual peace and tranquility of soul is to receive everything from the hands of God, both great and small, and in whatever way it comes.

--St. Dorotheus

57 years ago, Eileen Suiter wrote this for us

Eileen Suiter* would have been 102 years old today. She was born on February 28, 1914, and died nearly 36 years ago, on July 15, 1980. I never met her in life, and yet I know her profoundly. Catholics, you will also instantly recognize Eileen and that familiar, eternal bond that springs from a shared faith. 

This charming wife and mother from 1950s South Dakota is about to tell you her story of great tragedy, presumption, and pride, and how, by finally ceding control and trusting God, she learned to accept and even bless her immense and seemingly unbearable crosses. She wrote this piece with the intent that it be published -- and today it finally has been. Happy Birthday, lovely lady!

His Ways are Wondrous

 by Eileen Mannion Suiter

c. October, 1958

My husband and I will be married twelve years in a few weeks during which time we have had eight children of whom we are raising five. We have had the consummate nerve at various times to question God’s dictates, but He has not made us wait for eternity to mark the wisdom of His ways.  We are humble in the face of His immense generosity to us and overwhelmingly sorry for people who try to out-smart His knowledge.

My husband was born in a rural village of the West which he described to me as a cross-roads town. Having been born in New York City and raised in Chicago, I assumed it was very small, perhaps 10,000 people or so. But the quality of his honesty was not strained, then or ever. My first visit disclosed an abandoned hotel, a combination post office and general store, a gas station, and a Protestant church occupying the four corners and comprising the town. Rolling farm and ranch lands hid the homes of folks who used these facilities.

My husband had been taught a rigid code of personal integrity within the framework of his Protestant religion with one glaring exception—an innate animosity to anything Catholic. We cannot now figure out the reason for this. It was just generally assumed throughout the area that Catholics aimed to take over the country one day and had arsenals concealed here and there on Catholic property against such a contingency. This, however, was just one of the Catholic failings, and many of the other accusations annoyed me far more than the charge of treason.

When we met in Chicago during his Navy days, it did not appear like a promising relationship since my mother and father (God rest their souls) had been born in Ireland and we children had been raised accordingly. Anyone raised in a genuine Irish home can appreciate how all-encompassing is Catholicity. My parents were the type who spoke in their soft sweet voices of hiding the priest in the kitchen in Ireland while the children summoned the neighbors to hear Mass on an improvised altar by the light of a turf fire.

Religiously speaking—and what other way is there to speak—we did not for long talk the same language. The enforced separation of the war, however, made us resort to the written word. One writes with more consideration than one speaks. One shakes off the momentary displeasure of an opposing view and gives a measured reply. I was smug in my Catholic complacency and he was seeped in a bog of erroneous impressions concerning it. But God had plans for us. My husband-to-be talked with many Navy chaplains and gained an understanding of his obligations should we marry, but it was left for our family friend, a forthright, blunt speaking priest, to be God’s instrument in my husband’s conversion.

Father Smith (we’ll call him) is a belligerent Irishman of complete charm who brooks no nonsense about religion. He did not have a velvet touch and I knew the fur would fly on any subject of Catholicity between him and my future husband. Though I loved Father Smith myself, I was once again proved wrong as I so often am. Their personal liking for each other was instantaneous but the fur did indeed fly—sometimes far into the night—with my husband’s objections, questions, queries, doubts falling like towers before the explosions of Catholic logic.

Father Smith gave him a laughing, merry tour of the Church basement on the day of his acceptance into Catholicity, as that he might check for himself the quality of the hidden arsenals, while Father chuckled mightily and made snide remarks.

Just before our first anniversary, our daughter Maureen was born, and 13 months later our son James arrived, and forgetting the lessons of the past I settled into a worse complacency than ever before. I had the world by the tail. Perfection had been achieved. I loved and respected my husband with very good reason to do so, and I had a beautiful daughter and a lovely son. My cup was full—my life complete. It didn’t occur to me to wonder if I had Heaven by the tail too.

So God gave me a well-deserved jolt and I rebelled bitterly.

The night my son was 27 days old, angel wings brushed past me in the night, and when I rose to see what caused it, I found my son was dead.

For a few wild hours I didn’t believe in God. No good God would treat me so. I have no idea why I thought God should treat me with kid gloves, but such was the depth of my presumption.

Then it occurred to me that if there was no God, my boy was as well dead at 27 days as at 127 years, and cold reason returned to leaven my grief.

He is buried in a wild, desolate, wind-swept cemetery atop a high butte overlooking the Missouri River. He was dressed in his Baptismal robe and it was his privilege to be buried on Holy Thursday (March 25, 1948).

Even that day standing there in a raging blizzard grieving for my son, I tried to infringe on God. “It is my fault. There is something I could have done.” You see I still wouldn’t concede God the right to accomplish His will.

But my well laid plans were shattered; I had no son.

Thirteen months later my first reaction was one of disappointment with God because my new baby was a girl. That wasn’t according to plan. Kathleen was supposed to be a boy so the pattern would return to its original perfection. One look into her wide blue eyes and my heart was lost forever. “Ok,” I told God, “you were wise this time. I really do need this extra one because I never saw such sweetness before.”

I thought to myself that we would have a boy next, and, while not exactly arguing with God, I felt sure I could make Him see things my way. I was still trying to boss the show in my heart. I never saw my third daughter, Elizabeth, because she was stillborn.

Once again I usurped God’s prerogatives and took all the responsibility myself. My grief-ridden heart felt that I, and I alone, was the cause of this second disaster. If I hadn’t been so set on a son it never would have happened. If I had done this and not done that she would at least have lived to be baptized. Although I gave lip-service to God, my sense of personal blame accused Him of being a rather vengeful, spiteful God who was taking things out on me. I hope He has forgiven me my vast pride.

Somewhere along the line, though, I began to improve a little. I grew closer to God and began to consider that perhaps He had His Blessed Hand in the pie. I knew my son was in Heaven with nothing on earth to do except pray for us. My daughter was happy to the fullest of her capacity for eternity, whether that be in Limbo, or through God’s unknown mercy, in Heaven. What more could I ask for either of them if they lived for three score and ten?

I won’t tell God what to do anymore—I’ll just go along with His wisdom. This I promised myself.

That’s when we had a perfect set of twins, a boy and a girl. My heart almost broke with gratitude. Why the minute I stopped trying to boss God, He gave me back a boy and a girl, Patrick and Jeanne. Oh the wonder and glory of God’s ways. I think, in deepest reverence, that He sits in Heaven and often laughs at the torments we make for ourselves. As He loves the most because He is love, surely He laughs the most because He made laughter—gentle, tender laughter that knows all things will come right.

But by the same reasoning, how bitter must be His tears. Once again, I rebelled.

I was so busy with my wonderful twins and darling girls that I was reluctant to find myself pregnant again. I hope I will never be so foolish again. Whatever else my sins, and they are plenty and black, I pray to be preserved from trying to boss my life when it’s been proved again and again that God has a special generosity for me and mine.

However would we get along now without this reluctantly-accepted extra boy? Kevin is the joy of our family and so closely aged to the twins as to make them near triplets. At least we found our trouble was RH incompatibility, and it took blood transfusion, oxygen tents, and God’s perfect love to present us with our charming little boy.

Then came the medical warnings, but God had primed us well and we were ready. Another child would very likely not survive or would be handicapped if it did. The variety of handicaps were dreadful, and we were told it was a miracle we had five healthy children as it was. Well we knew it was a miracle all right. It wasn’t too hard to give God His proper authority this time. He’d given us the five we had to raise—good-looking, intelligent, God-fearing children who were a joy to our lives and a blessing to our home. We guessed this time we’d let God make the decision.

Our last child, our beautiful Anastasia, lived only a few hours, which was long enough to ensure her an eternity of delight. What more could anyone ask for their beloved child? She was named from the Remembrance for sinners in the Missal, because although we expect her to remember her parents, make no mistake, we want her to remember we are sinners, too. She’s such a little Saint.

So now we are warned by many, “You were lucky so far, but how dreadful if a child should survive and be handicapped.” Well it hasn’t happened yet. It may never happen and again it might. We think we are being honest with ourselves when we say that we would accept it as one of God’s mysterious blessings—maybe His best one.

I have read of the heroic things the parents of such a child achieve. I read of their special love for such a child. We have five well children. It wouldn’t hurt us to strive to care for a child who was only important because of his immortal soul.

We do not solicit such a situation, because we are frail vessels indeed; but if it should come, we know God will be laughing gently with us. We know that although such an occurrence may be wrapped in the tissue of tragedy, God’s humor will have it chock full of His choicest blessings.

The Suiter Family, 1954
Top Row: Kathleen (my granddaughter Felicity's other grandma!), Eileen, Maureen, Dale
Bottom Row: Kevin, Jeanne, Patrick

Eileen Mannion Suiter

Epilogue 

Baby Anastasia was born and died in 1957, and this piece was written in 1958. About three years later, Eileen suffered a traumatic brain injury after being struck by a car. She was not expected to survive, but she did, living for many more years. 

Although never really her old self again, Eileen had some good and functioning days, retained her charm and humor, and was even able to return to work for a time. Eventually though, a steady decline in memory and mood took over. There was no real treatment for brain injuries back then, and the medications themselves were often contributors to a patient's lapses or confusion.

She and Dale had no more children after Anastasia, but the last part of her story seems prophetic, as she herself became the handicapped person that she had been willing to accept as a gift to her family. We can apply her words to her own circumstance:

We do not solicit such a situation, because we are frail vessels indeed; but if it should come, we know God will be laughing gently with us. We know that although such an occurrence may be wrapped in the tissue of tragedy, God’s humor will have it chock full of His choicest blessings.

Some of Eileen's children and grandchildren have gone on to adopt children with special needs. The fruit of her love, trust, and acceptance of God's will continues to this day in her family, as it grows. With a grateful heart, I thank her for her beautiful witness of the Catholic faith, which has become a gift to all of us, including her great-granddaughter Felicity, who happens to be my granddaughter.

*Eileen's daughter Kathleen is Felicity's other grandma!

The mystery of suffering and a personal story

I've written about suffering before, offering both a secular view of suffering and the Catholic understanding of suffering. (And this week many of us were struck by Simcha Fisher's stunningly powerful piece on the subject.)

To live is to suffer. No matter how hard we try to avoid suffering, it's not going away. Sometimes we will suffer to the limit of what we can bear, and at some point we may ask God, Why?


We should get one thing straight up front: Man's Original Sin introduced suffering into this world (read more about how that happened, here). But though we humans brought suffering upon ourselves, God remains a loving Father. He allows suffering, yes, but not for our harm; He allows us to undergo suffering so that we might be healed.

Here's my real life experience to help illustrate the concept:

When my fourth child was 21 months old, a large metal toy truck fell off a bed and struck his mouth, resulting in a deep gash above his lip. After the initial injury and tears, he recovered his composure and was feeling fine, even as I drove him to the hospital for stitches. My father met us there, and my son played happily with us in the ER waiting room, having no idea what was to come.

When we were finally brought to an examining room, my baby began to get a bit uncomfortable. The lights were too bright, and a strange lady was in his face, pushing around near his wound. He became increasingly upset and signaled to me and grandpa that he wanted to get down. We wouldn't let him.

I held my baby down while the doctor injected his lip. I felt sick when I saw the panic in his eyes, yet I continued to pin him firmly to the table as the scary woman forced a sharp, hooked needle in and out of his flesh. He was screaming and could barely hear my soothing words. But worse, he was pleading to me, repeatedly calling my name and begging, "Mama, no!!"

As I facilitated this torture, my baby became more and more frightened. He cried out to grandpa for help, and none came. Grandpa stood by with gentle words and concerned eyes, but he did not rescue the grandson who trusted him and expected protection. My boy's tear-choked words were limited by his age, but his terrified expression spoke directly to me: Why are you helping her? Why don't you make it stop? Don't you love me?

Yes, I loved him, and yes I had the power to end his suffering, but I wasn't going to do it. I knew something that he couldn't have known then: I was allowing this suffering for his healing and restoration, not for his harm. I could be trusted. His toddler mind, of course, didn't understand.

Now that dear son is fourteen years old and his mind has expanded. He has heard the story, even smiles at the retelling, and he understands. What was a dark mystery to him then makes perfect sense to him today.

Thanks to Jesus and His Cross, Christians have a glimpse into the mystery of redemptive suffering. God knows what our souls need to be restored, and even in the midst of our greatest trials, He can be trusted. He is a good Father and He loves His children. We may not fully understand why a particular cross was given to us, but we trust that it's for our healing. And when all is revealed in Heaven one day, when our minds are expanded and our Father shows us how our sufferings worked for our good, we will joyfully understand.

"It is in suffering that we are withdrawn from the bright superficial film of existence, from the sway of time and mere things and find ourselves in the presence of profounder truth." 

+ Fr. Yves Conger, French priest-theologian. 

"Life is like a bad night in a bad inn."

+ St. Teresa of Avila

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What I Never Learned, Part II

Years ago, I sent out some "catechesis emails" to interested friends and family. They, like me, never really learned much in Catholic religious education and CCD classes (I was catechized in the 1970s and '80s). What I wrote was pretty basic stuff, and I thought some of the Bubble readers might like the overview. Part one of this salvation history overview can be found here.

Welcome back!

So, what happened to humanity after Adam and Eve’s fall from grace and banishment from the Garden of Eden?

Well, life got pretty rough (it always does when humans are separated from God). When sin entered the world, so did toil, suffering, disorder and death. Everything that was easy in the Garden was now difficult and required great effort. Adam now had to work the land, laboring and sweating, in order to bring forth food (whereas in the Garden, food was abundant and available). Eve would have to bear children in pain and suffering (whereas in the Garden, childbirth would have been painless and effortless).

The things that bring forth life (tending the fields; giving birth) became works of great suffering and sacrifice. It is significant that when Jesus Christ came later to clean up our mess, He gave us the gift of eternal life through His great suffering and perfect sacrifice.

Please keep that in mind: In our fallen world, the things that are truly life-giving require suffering and sacrifice. It doesn’t sound pleasant, does it? In our fallen state, we humans have a disordered inclination to seek pleasure and comfort above all else, and we are uneasy when we think of suffering and sacrifice. And yet, we are called to endure suffering patiently and offer ourselves sacrificially.

Yep, there's a reason Jesus calls His way the “narrow road” that is not often willingly traveled! But that narrow road leads to abundant and eternal life. It is our suffering and sacrifice (offered to God in union with Christ's suffering and sacrifice) that sanctifies us, and it is in our sanctification (i.e., holiness) that we attain the perfection of Heaven.

But, I digress!

Adam and Eve went about their lives outside the Garden, they were “fruitful and multiplied,” and they taught their children about God. But because of sin and its effects (concupiscence), human thoughts became confused, consciences dulled and hearts hardened. It wasn't long before the first human blood was spilled: Adam and Eve's son Cain murdered his brother Abel, out of envy. And things spiraled down from there.

Essentially, what happened back then still happens today: People get caught up in their lives and do not think of God, Who becomes less and less important. As His memory fades from their minds and hearts, sin increases (sin darkens the intellect and weakens the will, so this downward spiral happens quite easily). Some deny His existence completely, while others acknowledge Him but keep Him far enough away so that He doesn’t interfere with their lives. Others resent and defy God when life is difficult and full of pain. However it happens, God is rejected, and we put ourselves in His place.

He doesn’t abandon us, we abandon Him.

So, way back then, as the generations marched on, most folks eventually abandoned God. However, then – as now – there was a handful of people who remained faithful and obedient to the Lord. God worked closely with those faithful ones throughout the generations, planning an opportunity for all of mankind to be saved. (It's been said that God’s mercy is His most beautiful attribute, and I tend to agree!)

Within every soul -- even the souls who do not love God or who do not believe in Him -- God has left His “echo” or his “thumbprint.” Deep down, every soul knows of God, every soul is hurting because of separation from God, and every soul is trying to find its way back to God. God alone knows what each of these souls needs, and He alone can provide it. Like a loving Father, He patiently waits for His children to reach for Him.

He waits now, He waited then.

Back in the ancient centuries, those who still remembered the God of the Garden tried to work their way back to Him….


Part III here.

Suffering, Catholic style! Part Two of the suffering posts.

A few days ago, I presented a secular view of suffering. I posited that, for the secular left, suffering is seen as worse than sin or death. Suffering has no meaning, and the goal becomes maximizing pleasure and avoiding pain.

There is a very different view of suffering on the Catholic side o' town.

The late, great John Cardinal O'Connor of New York once told a suffering woman, "Christ could have saved the world by His miracles, but He chose to save the world by His suffering."

This great truth is the basis of our understanding of redemptive suffering.

Let me back up a bit...

When Adam and Eve sinned and fell from grace, suffering and death entered the world. Because of this Original Sin, we are separated from God and stuck in a disordered, fallen world. Nothing comes easy for us, and suffering is our lot. Anyone who says this world is not a vale of tears is smoking something funny, or is actually a pod person. (While most Americans are bred to believe that life should be mostly joyful with moments of difficulty, life is actually mostly difficult, with moments of incredible joy.)

So Adam and Eve blew it, and for generations (long before Jesus came), God's people tried to "make it right" with God by offering animal sacrifices to the Lord. But none of those sacrifices were good enough. Then one day Jesus came to meet us in this vale of tears. Jesus (the God-Man) bridged the chasm between God and man, and by His great suffering and death on the Cross, He offered Himself as a perfect sacrifice to the Father. Jesus' sacrifice of love was so pleasing to the Father that it merited grace in abundance, enough to redeem all the world! The gates of Heaven were now open again, to all men of good will.

Jesus' suffering was redemptive.

What does that have to do with our suffering? Well, when we were baptized, we were baptized into the Body of Christ. We are the Body of Christ. When we "offer up" our sufferings in union with Christ's suffering on the Cross, we, as His Body, are participating in His atoning work! When God the Father looks upon our offering, He sees His Son's offering, and He is pleased... and graces come flowing down in abundance!

Do you get how amazing this is??

When we unite our suffering with Christ's suffering, we participate in the redemption of the world! 

It is as dramatic as it sounds! 

When offered to God, no suffering is meaningless. No suffering is wasted. No suffering is worse than death. Suffering offered in union with Christ's Cross has explosive power, including the power to sanctify not only our own souls, but to call down grace upon others as well. The saints knew this. The saints had an abundance of grace in their own souls already, but yet the suffering they endured was profound. What was it for? What was it worth? It was offered for souls. The saints offered their sufferings for the sins of the world, for the souls of others, and it was redemptive, because it was offered in union with Christ's suffering. This is how the Body of Christ works!

Now, this doesn't mean we go looking for suffering (suffering will find us without us having to look for it), and it doesn't mean that we stand by while others suffer (we are called to ease the sufferings of others). But when suffering comes, it is not meaningless; it is of great value to ourselves and to the world.

Many Protestants object to the concept of redemptive suffering, saying, "But Jesus didn't need our help in redeeming the world. His sacrifice was sufficient. We can add nothing to it!"

They are certainly right that Jesus did not need our help. In fact, God doesn't need us at all; He is God! But if you think God wouldn't receive and use our offering, read this reflection by Jewish convert Rosiland Moss*, as she struggled with the idea of redemptive suffering when she was leaving evangelicalism for Catholicism:

I thought immediately of a mother baking a cake, and her little child in the kitchen with her. The mother has everything there sufficient for the cake; but here comes the daughter and says, 'Mommy, I want to help.' So the mother receives the daughter because that love receives. She lets the daughter put the eggs in. Is the mother sufficient? Yes. Does she need the daughter? No. Does she allow the daughter to add? Yes. The daughter's addition is not needed, but it's received and it's a true addition. And I thought, 'That's love.'

Let's look to Scripture and see what St. Paul says on the subject:

Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I complete what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church...  -- Colossians 1:24

What?! Something was "lacking" in Christ's afflictions? Something that St. Paul "completed" in his very flesh, rejoicing in his sufferings? What was lacking? What is lacking? Our part is lacking. Our part, where we offer our own sufferings for the sake of the Body of Christ, the Church.


Redemptive suffering. Praise God, it's a beautiful thing.

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*Edited in 2019 to add that Moss is now known as Mother Miriam! A holy and wonderful woman.
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