Christian Saints’ Views of Suffering
We expect the saints to master the meaning of Jesus Christ’s suffering, of their own sufferings and, especially for martyrs, of their deaths. It is curious, though, that they respond so differently.
All the saints recognize a double aspect: death and suffering are evil, but God can bring good from them. Some emphasize the good and deemphasize the evil, as well as the fear and grief that they likely experience. For example, St. Ignatius of Antioch sounds positively gleeful that his execution will be an “auspicious beginning” to eternal life and writes the Christians in Rome not to intervene with Roman authorities to commute his sentence. Rather he asks “suffer me to be the fruit of wild beasts, which are the means of my making my way to God” (On Christian Dying 2-3).
Yet St. Ignatius’s letter to the Christians in Rome acknowledges the evil of his suffering. He refers to his guards as “wild beasts… who prove themselves the more malevolent for the kindnesses shown to them” (On Christian Dying 3). His words even suggest his own fear of a slow, agonizing death when he hopes that the lions finish him quickly: “Better still, coax the wild beasts to become my tomb and to leave no part of my person behind: once I have fallen asleep, I do not wish to be a burden to anyone. Then only shall I be a genuine disciple of Jesus Christ when the world will not see even my body” (On Christian Dying 3). But does St. Ignatius seem a bit too eager to die? Perhaps he fails to appreciate the goodness of remaining in this earthly life. Or perhaps he sounds eager to die because, as a bishop, he aims to set a perfect example of the willingness to accept martyrdom rather than succumb to persecution.
Other saints emphasize the evil of suffering and death, especially by expressing their fears and grief about death. For example, St. Thomas More was sentenced to death for refusing to acknowledge Henry VIII’s supremacy over the Church of England and spent his final days in the tower of London, where he wrestled with his own fear and sorrow by meditating on Christ’s final hours. He writes to console himself, and us. He earnestly did not want to die, observed that Jesus didn’t either, and struggled to share Christ’s willingness for self-sacrifice. More’s Sadness of Christ recalls the moment in the garden of Gethsemane when Jesus began to feel sorrow, grief, and fear over his impending death. More takes Jesus’s fear as “evidence” that fear and avoidance of death is entirely natural and proper to human beings.
More hates the idea that he will suffer death at the hands of his enemies, but he does not sin to avoid it. Rather, he recalls Saint Paul’s comforting words to the Corinthians: “God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your strength, but with the temptation will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.” (1 Corinthians 10:13) More wouldn’t hesitate to take the means of escape as long as he can find one that does not undermine his integrity. On the other hand, avoiding sin is a good reason for accepting suffering and death. He wrote, “[W]hen things have come to the point of a hand-to-hand combat with the prince of this world, the devil, and his cruel underlings, and if there is no way left to withdraw without disgracing the cause, then I would think that a man ought to cast away fear and I would direct him to be completely calm, confident, and hopeful.” (On Christian Dying 83)
All of the saints reject sin to avoid death, and they all view death as a passage to another state of existence characterized by divine love. Saint John of the Cross gives poetic expression to this idea when writing of the soul’s longing to see the beauty of God. He writes:
The soul does nothing very outstanding by wanting to die that the vision of the beauty of God in order to enjoy him forever. Were she to have but a glimpse of the height and beauty of God, she would not only desire death in order to see him now forever, as she here desires, but she would very gladly undergo a thousand singularly bitter deaths to see him only for a moment; and having seen him, she would ask to suffer just as many more that she might see him for another moment (On Christian Dying 98).
The saints recognize that their choices in this life prepare them either to enjoy eternal life united with God or to suffer eternally separated. In the passage above, St. John asks to suffer what is necessary to be eternally united in love with God. These saints recognize that their own efforts are effective but ultimately inadequate to live a righteous life. Thus they require grace, God’s assistance in living a righteous life. Saint Joseph Cafasso expresses “striving despite inadequacy” in a tone of intense humility and repentance that will sound off-putting to many modern ears. In his prayer at the foot of the cross, he pledges that “in that portion of life that remains for me on earth, it is my firm will and determination to spend all that remains to me when my needs are satisfied, for the work of the Lord…” (On Christian Dying 110). He realizes that his actions are inadequate to justify his sinfulness, but that his willingness to suffer and his repentance enable him to ask for forgiveness:
I have sinned. I confess it with all the bitterness of my soul. I detest with my whole heart all the faults that I have committed during my life. For each of them I would be ready to die in reparation for the offense to God, and I would wish to have died a thousand times rather than have offended him. I ask pardon of God and of men for the evil that I have done, and I will ask it until the last moment of my life in order that I may find mercy on the day of judgment (On Christian Dying 110).
To embrace redemptive suffering is not necessarily any suffering. Even the saints most able to endure suffering do not always reject the medical help that assuages suffering. For example, St. Catherine of Genoa remains under the care of doctors as she suffers intensely from both disease and diabolical visions. The doctors’ frustration at not knowing how to help her illustrates the difficulty of distinguishing between bodily, psychological, and spiritual suffering and the limitations of medicine in assuaging even the bodily aspect.
The idea that suffering should sometimes but not always be embraced raises the question of how a person might discern when to accept and when to avoid suffering. Some saints leave that discernment up to God, suppose that God permits all they suffer for good reason, and accept whatever suffering will come. Saint Catherine of Genoa, for example, suffered intensely from illness at the end her life. But nonetheless she expressed a desire for every suffering that comes from God will:
Let every suffering and pain be welcome that comes from God’s will, for you have illuminated me, O Lord, for the last thirty-six years or so. For your sake I have always sought to suffer, within as well as without. And this desire has never let me suffer greatly. On the contrary, all those things that I have undergone that seemed intense suffering were, because of your will, sweet and consoling (On Christian Dying 76).
Does she overdo it? A saintly attitude toward suffering, it seems, should not suppose that suffering and death are good in themselves, but are good for particular reasons. Here St. Catherine observes that her willingness to embrace suffering acts to assuage it. While she certainly recognizes that suffering redeems her soul and those of others, this embrace of suffering also has the more worldly end of putting an end to suffering. Moreover, she is not willing to accept any suffering, but only that which God wills and that she can offer for God’s sake. Saint Thomas Aquinas writes about martyrdom that “endurance of death is not praiseworthy in itself, but only insofar as it is directed to some good consisting in an act of virtue, such as faith or the love of God, so that this act of virtue being the end is better” (On Christian Dying 58).
Some saints wonder whether it is appropriate to fear and grieve death. If death may be a passage to life with God, why grieve? Yet St. Augustine grieves at the death of his mother, St. Monica, and St. Ambrose over his brother. St. Augustine’s grief is not that of hopelessness because he believes his mother to be in heaven. Rather, he grieves how death has severed the earthly bond they shared. By contrast, St. Ignatius exhibits no fear and pure joy in urging his fellow Christians in Rome not to spare his execution. St. Anthony uses his final meeting with his beloved monks not to grieve at their parting but to kindle further their commitment to the monastic life.