One
of my favourite verses from the Old Testament is in the Book of Genesis where
God tells Adam “It is not good for man to be alone.”
You
might think it odd that a celibate is keen on that verse, but it not only
announces the creation of woman, but also states a basic truth. It is not
good for man (or woman) to be alone. Making due allowance for our need for
privacy and solitude, we all want to be with others at least some of the time.
I
don’t like eating alone, I don’t like praying alone. You can ask Father Zidago!
One or two of my assistant pastors—though not him!—got a bit frustrated when I wanted
them to show up for meals and join me in the chapel for Evening Prayer.
My
insistence comes partly from how I think priests should live in community, but
it is also a question of what I personally need. And I’m in good company: Pope
Francis made this very clear after his election when he announced that
he wouldn’t be living alone in the Apostolic Palace but in a Vatican hotel
surrounded by other priests.
It
is not good to live alone. But it is also not good to die alone. That is why
the Church accompanies the dying with such tender care; with solicitude, with
special prayers and rites. This is why we pray so fervently for our sick and
dying parishioners.
It
is not good to suffer alone. Even in a hospital bed, surrounded by people, we
might feel alone, but still we never need to suffer alone—because we can suffer
together with the one whose suffering we have just heard described in
excruciating detail. Whatever our suffering—mental or physical—Jesus, the man
of sorrows, wishes to be at our side to accompany us, to strengthen us, to say
to us “You are not alone. I am with you. I am beside you in your suffering.”
There
are many reasons why we begin this Holy Week with the reading of the Lord’s
Passion but one of them is to make it real for each one of us—to make it matter
for us.
It
was necessary that Christ die for our sins, necessary that he give his life for
the redemption of many. But surely it was not necessary that he suffered in
such an awful fashion.
The
Passion therefore has a double value: Jesus places himself in the Father’s
hands by accepting death on the cross. But he also places himself in our hearts
by accepting absolute solidarity with all who suffer and especially with those
who suffer most.
Today
we have read the Passion. Archbishop Fulton Sheen points out, however, that
Jesus didn’t want us only to read about the great drama of Calvary but to be
actors in it. We are actors in the drama whenever we participate fully in the
Mass. But we also enter deeply into the mystery every time we unite our
sufferings with Christ’s.
A
friend who looked over my homily asked “But how do we do that? My sufferings
are nothing like his.” My answer was: Precisely. That’s why uniting our own
miseries with Christ’s is possible and powerful. We are not alone. Our
sufferings, be they small or great, acquire purpose and meaning when they are
united with his.
As
we enter Holy Week, let us pray that these each of our solemn celebrations will
make a difference in how we live—and how we die.
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