Place our hope in Christ’s merciful heart

"Suffering is ultimately a mystery. We do not know why we suffer. However, as disciples of Jesus, we believe that the suffering of Jesus gives suffering meaning, although it may be hidden from us until the day of our death." (Photo by Ümit Bulut on Unsplash)

Editor’s note: Given the alarming rise of mental illness and suicide, Father John Yanas shares this recent funeral homily with Evangelist readers.

Over dinner several years ago, my predecessor, Father James Vaughan, told me of his visit to one of his dying parishioners earlier in the day, a teenage girl afflicted with one of the blood cancers, leukemia. Upon his arrival she was found to be at death’s door. Hoping to bring her consolation in her last moments of life, he spoke to her of Christ’s Passion and Death on the Cross. The young girl became quite animated, and said, “Father Vaughan, Christ suffered for three hours on the cross. I have endured great suffering for the past three years. It’s unfair to make such a comparison.” Her words of protest silenced her pastor.

One could easily sympathize with her frustration. But her view of suffering was too narrow. Mental suffering is much harder to bear than physical pain.

Today’s Gospel reading from Saint Mark’s account of Christ’s Passion is instructive. In the Garden of Gethsemane on the eve of his death, “Jesus began to be deeply troubled and distressed.” Then he said to them, “My soul is sorrowful unto death.”

No fewer than three times did Jesus boldly predict his Passion and Death during his ministry.

Early in his life the Cross was planted in his heart.  

He simply knew every detail of the suffering, both physical and mental, that awaited him.

John Henry Cardinal Newman, the esteemed 19th century church bishop and scholar, once wrote in one of his sermons, “The thoughts of our Savior’s mind are far beyond our comprehension.”

In their pastoral letter on caring for those who suffer from mental illness, the Catholic bishops of California write: “We know that God never allows us to suffer alone. He comes to meet us in our suffering, our illness, and our affliction. We profess that God walked among us, as one of us. In the Person of Christ, he endured our human pain with us to the end.

“On the Cross and in his agony, Our Lord suffered not just physical pain, but mental anguish as well. Out of the depths we cry out to him, and he reaches down into these depths to raise us up.”

The California bishops quote a psychiatrist who recounts the case of a married woman with several children and grandchildren who had suffered from both life-threatening breast cancer and from debilitating depression. She once told him that, if given the chance, she would choose cancer over the depression, since the depression caused her more intense suffering. Though she had been cured of cancer, she tragically died by suicide related to her severe depression. Hers was a death of despair.

Suffering is ultimately a mystery. We do not know why we suffer. However, as disciples of Jesus, we believe that the suffering of Jesus gives suffering meaning, although it may be hidden from us until the day of our death.

Our Catholic faith does not promise life free from suffering.

To quote Saint Paul, Michael, a distinguished lawyer and veteran, was a “vessel of clay,” fragile in body and mind. Within his soul, he carried the burdens of many wounds, some much deeper than others.

He is not the exception.

Not one of us is free from periods of anxiety, emotional distress and strong temptations.

Virtually all of us can claim to be wounded in some fashion.

Michael’s wounds were visible to all of us.  

But not our wounds. They often remain hidden from view.

The late Mother Teresa of Calcutta once said that the mentally ill wear the crown of thorns every day.

Michael’s affection for Sacred Heart Church and school was known to his family and friends. He found his spiritual home here.

Let us remember that Christ’s heart — a heart both human and divine — is merciful beyond measure.

It is here that we place our hope.

It is into Christ’s hand stretched out on the Cross that we entrust our beloved Michael.

We pray that he finds God’s peace, a peace that surpasses all understanding.

We are certainly not here to pass judgment on him.

Only the Good Lord has 20/20 vision into the human soul.

In closing, let us be reminded that death does not have the final word. For the Christian, life is changed, not ended. We echo the words of the Christian creed: “I believe in the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting.”

Let us offer a fervent prayer, that when our earthly pilgrimage ends, we may be re-united with Michael in the Kingdom promised us by Jesus himself.