We’re invited

When I drag my sorrows into the clearing and wait for God to come, something happens. What has motivated me to do so in the first place is usually anger. I’m mad at God. He caused it, allowed it, made it worse, you pick! He’s not taking it away — ah! That’s it.

So, it’s here. I’m here. And I’m waiting. God doesn’t show up right away. (He rarely does.) At least not in any tangible way. Oh, but he’s here. His grace is active in my thinking, my stewing. I’m ready to accuse, so his grace is winding itself around the words I’ll use to justify my accusations.

I reach into my pocket and discover the rosary I shoved down in there earlier. The Cross at the end of it sticks itself up beneath the nail of my finger. It hurts. I hurt. As I hold the Cross, I’m reminded: God hurts.

I see it in my mind’s eye, that Cross, and him on it. Somehow, some way, I know I’m asked, invited — we all are — to bear our sorrows right along with him. And why? Because God’s doing something redemptive to us, to the sorrows, to the world.

Reflection

What does God do with us, in us, as we bear suffering?

Prayer

I know the power of grace when we suffer, Lord. It doesn’t usually take the hardship away, but it does move us forcefully toward you and that Cross. Oh, if we consent to be there, if we allow ourselves to be there, to ponder, to work at our bearing it right along with you (as you bear ours and the rest of the world’s), something good is coming out of it. Give me the eyes to see this, Lord. Amen.