suffering

Every Life is a Whole World: Living through a Year of Sorrow

Pradnya Mission and Ministry, Mission Monday ,
John Everett Millais, “A Woman Bowed in Grief

In a remarkable scriptural teaching echoed throughout multiple faith traditions, we learn that for whoever takes a life it as if they killed the whole world, while for whoever saves a life it as if they saved the whole world (or all of humanity). [1] This is an incredible inspiration for those who engage in noble pursuits seeking to save human lives. [2] In line with our Vincentian mission, it is a powerful testament to the sacred dignity of the human person and a warning against the temptation to use violence.

Personally, I have been thinking about this teaching recently as a way to approach the incomprehensible loss associated with the taking of human life occurring through war and other forms of violence. No matter who this involves or where it takes place, with each human life lost it is as if all humanity has been lost. In a time saturated with information about loss of life near to us and around the world, lives become tallied by numbers. Yet, for anyone who has lost a single person they love, the magnitude of loss is immeasurable. In this case, one understands that a whole world has been lost, a world of value and a world yet to be fully explored. When we focus on a single loss that is dear to us, it often becomes too overwhelming to function. Multiplying that by every life taken and the suffering of the world seems too much to bear.

In the Qur’an we find the promise that “God does not burden any soul with more than it can bear.” [3] Many readers do find reassurance in this, that whatever they are struggling with, or whatever losses they are dealing with, they can make it through. Many others, though, find it hard to understand since so many people are burdened with what is quite clearly impossible to bear—the death of a child, chronic illness, crushing poverty, pervasive violence. One lesson of the verse is that God will not hold us to account for being placed in impossible situations. Another implication is that when facing impossibly difficult situations or unimaginably deep grief, we should realize we are not meant to try to bear these things alone.

Our Vincentian role models Saints Vincent and Louise encountered many of the overwhelming problems of their world: ignorance, poverty, sickness, loneliness, inequality. They realized that divine connection, community, and an organized and sustained effort was needed in response. They created communities organized around the mission of responding systemically to such needs, and to nurturing spirits in the process.

Most of us recognize that grief and the attempt to respond to grief, whether in ourselves or others, can take many forms. Sometimes people find community with which to share burdens and loss. Some seek help in prayer, some find healing through the arts. Some turn to political activism and find meaning through making change. Some find expressing their righteous anger at the perpetrators of injustice to be the best response. And some organize with others to provide humanitarian relief to those in desperate need.

All these responses help people to make meaning of what they’ve endured or witnessed, to strive to make a better world, or to just make it through the day. We may have a particular response that makes the most sense to us, or we may cycle through many of the above responses. Sometimes we may find the responses of others confusing, counterproductive, or even offensive. My invitation to us all is to start with reminding ourselves of the magnitude of the burdens people carry. In a large and diverse community such as DePaul University these burdens are countless. Some may be apparent and known to others, but more are hidden under the surface, or perhaps not even fully understood by people about themselves. Jesuit priest Father Greg Boyle talks about how everything changes when we make the choice to “stand in awe at what [people] have to carry rather than stand in judgement at how they carry it.” [4]

As we move forward in a city and a world wracked with immeasurable loss and a great deal of fear, let us not let the enormity of the world’s grief overwhelm us to the point of despair. Let us instead allow it to open us up to community and to awe at what many of those around us are carrying. For every evil we witness or loss that we suffer, there are many opportunities to do good, to spread beauty, to facilitate healing. Let us use our creativity, our intelligence, and our tenderness to shape productive and life-giving pathways for people to respond to the suffering of themselves and others.

For Reflection

What grief or anxiety are you most experiencing in these days? What are ways in which you respond to that suffering? What are some ways in which you might accompany others who are suffering?

Reflection by: Abdul-Malik Ryan, Assistant Director, Religious Diversity and Pastoral Care.

[1] From the Talmud (Sanhedrin 37A). Also cited in the Qur’an (5:32).

[2] It is memorably quoted in Steven Spielberg’s film Schindler’s List (1993).

[3] Qur’an 2:286.

[4] Gregory Boyle, Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion (New York, NY: Free Press, 2010), 67.

Finding Hope in Dark Times

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French holy card which reads, “A good conscience is in unalterable joy and peace, even in the midst of adversities.”

“Another effect of charity is to rejoice with those who rejoice. It causes us to enter into their joy … to unite us in one mind and in joy as well as in sorrow.”[1] – Saint Vincent de Paul

I have a sense these days that folks are having a hard time feeling hopeful. I only need to glance at the front page of the newspaper to understand why. I gave up consuming too much news a while back. It wasn’t doing any good for my soul.

From the little I’ve read and heard, Saint Vincent de Paul seems to have been a joyful person. He, too, lived at a time when there was plenty to be worried about. Plagues ravaged Europe in Vincent’s day, institutional corruption ran deep, and the social order was profoundly unfair. The poor that he spent so many years serving bore the brunt of the suffering. He had beloved friends die young and violently. He took these losses hard. Yet he found a way to remain joyful. Vincent is certainly not the only person who has known loss all too well but remained hopeful, joyful, and grateful. What’s their secret?

Last month I was listening to a podcast on grief and loss created by Anderson Cooper called “All There Is.” One of the episodes is an extraordinary interview with Stephen Colbert. At age ten, Stephen lost his father and two teenage brothers in a plane crash. That is a defining experience in his life, obviously. Of course, he wishes that didn’t happen. Yet he will say he’s grateful for it. Stephen believes in his core that it is a gift to exist. He knows that existence comes with suffering; it’s unavoidable. He believes that if you’re grateful for your life, you have to be grateful for all of it. While he wishes that tragedy never happened, he knows that having experienced that unimaginable loss made him a more compassionate, more human person. He can’t help but acknowledge that it has helped him love others in a deeper way. In that sense, Stephen is grateful for the thing he most wishes didn’t happen. This tragedy did not keep Stephen from being a joyful, hopeful person. I think he’s on to something.

Later this month, I will be accompanying a group of students on a service immersion trip to El Salvador. From what I have read of the history of Central and South America, I have been impressed by how a suffering and oppressed people produced beautiful music and art that spoke not only to their resilience and courage but indeed to their joyfulness. On a recent trip to Ireland, I was again struck by how much beautiful poetry, as well as raucously fun music and dance, seems to come from those who suffer greatly. How do they do it? On the trip to El Salvador, my role is staff mentor. I think, however, that I have much more to learn than to impart.

I’m thinking Vincent’s secret might lie in his animating question: “What must be done?” Vincent, Louise, and those they served with didn’t just lament the suffering of others. They went and lived with those who were afflicted. They walked with them and shared in their lives. My guess is they hated the circumstances that resulted in such suffering. Like Stephen Colbert, however, they leaned into the reality of the thing they wished wasn’t so. In sharing in the suffering of others, they also shared in their joy.

I don’t pretend to know the answer to the question of how to remain hopeful in these dark times. But I suspect that running away from suffering isn’t the answer. Nor is reading about it and lamenting it. Maybe, paradoxically, going through it with others is a better strategy.

Reflection Question:

Ponder artworks, poems, movies, etc. that are sad or tragic while also being unbearably beautiful. How is it that those two things can coexist in your heart?

Reflection by: Rich Goode, Executive Director, Planned Giving | Advancement and External Relations

[1] Conference 207, Charity (Common Rules, Chap. II, Art. 12), 30 May 1659, CCD, 12:222. See: https:‌‌//‌‌via.library.depaul.edu/vincentian_ebooks/36/.

An Invitation to Love and Solidarity

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As Louise de Marillac endured a particularly difficult trial in her life, Vincent once told her “Que j’ai peine de votre peine!” [How sorry I am about your suffering!] (CCD, 1:138.) While Vincent may have wished to eradicate the cause of Louise’s suffering, it was beyond his power. Instead, Vincent chose to accompany her, reassuring her of his love and unwavering support. This provided Louise with some level of comfort until the trial had passed. “In true compassion and honesty, heart spoke to heart.” (VH 12:2, 136.)

Today, as we confront the numerous challenges of the Coronavirus, we may feel overwhelmed. How do we respond to the pain and suffering in our own lives, in the lives of our families, our friends, neighbors and colleagues, and indeed, those affected globally? Vincent’s example of deep compassion and care for the many who suffered around him, particularly those who were poor and marginalized, may offer a compelling witness.

We are finding our way. At this most testing of times, many in our DePaul community are responding in truly innovative and pragmatic Vincentian ways, showing us the way of wisdom. Whether it be through donating personal protective equipment to local hospitals, using 3D printers to make face shields and mask covers, writing cards with messages of hope to seniors who are isolated, donating funds for those in need, or participating in university prayers for the well-being of our community and our world, in myriad ways DePaul is proving that “love is inventive to infinity.” (CCD, 11:131.)

During this time of global pandemic, how is your heart calling you to speak? If, today, you hear an invitation to engage in acts of love and solidarity, how might you respond?

Citations:

  1. 92, To Saint Louise, [1631], CCD, 1:138.
  2. Kneaves, “A Woman Named Louise,” Vincentian Heritage 12:2 (1991), 136. Available at: https://via.library.depaul.edu/vhj/vol12/iss2/3/
  3. 102, Exhortation to a Dying Brother, 1645, CCD, 11:131.

 

By:

Siobhan O’Donoghue
Director, Faculty and Staff Engagement
Division of Mission and Ministry