Reading Mother Teresa--Suffering

Praise our God, O peoples, let the sound of his praise be heard;
he has preserved our lives and kept our feet from slipping.
For you, O God, tested us; you refined us like silver.
You brought us into prison and laid burdens on our backs.
You let men ride over our heads; we went through fire and water,
but you brought us to a place of abundance. Psalm 66:8–12

Sister Bernard is making her vows on 23rd January 1938. Thanks be to God now again everything is all right – Jesus has surely chosen her for something special, since He has given her so much suffering. And she is a real hero, bearing up everything courageously with a smile. . . . (24)

Not long ago, in a little privately-printed history of a small town church, I ran through the list of servicemen and discovered the stories of two men, same last name, both pilots, both killed, one in World War II, the other in the Korean War. I mentioned that in a speech I gave in that very small-town church.

Afterward a man came up to me to tell me there was more. “They were brothers,” he said.

The history had not mentioned that.

“And you want to know what else?” he asked. “Their mother lost her husband in the First War.”

It’s the kind of story that must be told to be believed. A woman marries, sometime before 1917. Her husband goes off to “the war to end all wars” and, with thousands of others doughboys, doesn’t return. I can only imagine the heartbreak.

Someone else comes along – some local farmer maybe – and marries this young widow. Together they have children, including two boys. In 1942, one of them goes off to military service, becomes a pilot, and is shot down over Europe. I can only imagine the heartbreak.

Another son enlists when America goes to war in Korea. He too becomes a pilot – what an honor. But he too gets shot down and doesn’t return.

Who, really, can imagine the heartbreak?

There’s a syllogism at work here in Mother Teresa’s assessment that’s worth examining, and it goes like this: major premise: to be blessed means to suffer; minor premise: Sister Bernard suffers greatly; conclusion: Sister Bernard is blessed.

I have no idea who Sister Bernard is, but neither do I doubt that Sister Bernard – or Mother Teresa for that matter – suffered greatly. Still, I don’t know what to make of the logic – “you’re blessed if you suffer.”

Perhaps I’m skeptical because the logic gets easily manipulated. Some politicians curry favor with their loyal followers because they suffer, they say, at the hands of the media: “see my suffering? – I must be worth your vote.” I don’t know if I buy the syllogism, even if Mother Teresa is the one bringing it up.

But then, maybe I’m plumb full of guilt. It's hot, mean hot, but we don't suffer. To eat, I do nothing more than turn brats on the grill. Right now, in our fridge, there’s sun tea, lemonade, some exotic beer from a micro-brewery, two gallons of cold milk, and ice cubes spewing forever from the freezer’s front door. We’re not suffering.

I’m not at all sure I have ever suffered, at least not like that woman who once upon a time lost a husband and then, in two subsequent wars, two sons. Last week’s toll in our church’s “joys and concerns” was staggering. People are suffering – people I know. All kinds of cancers seem to be everywhere. This vale of tears is not without its great and heavy sadnesses.

But are those who suffer somehow blessed for their suffering?

Here’s the only truth I think I know. God almighty wants us, always, on our knees, and somehow – I wish it weren’t true – it’s just plain easier to be on your knees when you can’t stand up. Sometimes he puts us there – me too – because maybe it’s easier to see him when, like a penitent, the only thing before our eyes is the basement floor.

When there’s nowhere else to turn, you can only look up. You have to.