Benedict J. Groeschel - Arise from Darkness: What to Do When Life Doesnt Make Sense

ARISE FROM DARKNESS

FR. BENEDICT J. GROESCHEL, C.F.R.

______

WHEN LIFE DOESNT MAKE SENSE

IGNATIUS PRESS SAN FRANCISCO

Scripture quotations are fromthe Revised Standard Version,
Catholic Edition, Ignatius Bible
NT 1946, 1965, OT 1952, Apocrypha 1957, 1966
By Division of Christian Education,
National Council of Churches of Christ
in the United States of America.

Cover art: John Lynch
Arise from Darkness:
The Cross Stands Firm While the World Turns
Cover design: Riz Boncan Marsella

1995 Ignatius Press, San Francisco
All rights reserved
ISBN 978-0-89870-525-6
Library of Congress catalogue number 94-79303
Printed in the United States of America

To Our Lady of Sorrows

and her children

who have taught me so much

Contents

Acknowledgments

I am very grateful to all who over the years have indirectly helped me write this book by their example of courage and merciful love in the face of great difficulties. I am grateful also for the spiritual writers who have helped me to go on in the challenges of life and whom I have mentioned in this book.

Thanks to a friend who wishes to remain anonymous for typing the manuscript, and to Barbara Valenzuela of the staff of St. Augustines Cathedral in Tucson, Arizona, who helped with the final touches. I am also grateful to Catherine Murphy, our secretary at Trinity, for generously helping and to John Lynch for another powerful painting for the cover. Thanks go also to Sister Catherine Walsh of the staff of St. Josephs Seminary Library, Dunwoodie, and to David Burns, also of St. Josephs, for proofreading.

I want to acknowledge the kindness of Doubleday and Tan Publishers for permission to use longer passages from the works of Pre de Caussade, and of Templegate for permission to use quotations from its editions of the writings of Julian of Norwich.

Finally, I am deeply grateful to all who pray for me and my work, especially to Sister Mary of the Presentation of the Blessed Sacrament Sisters in Yonkers, New York, who has me at the top of her prayer list and who, in the past, has helped me so often to arise from darkness.

Fr. Benedict J. Groeschel, CFR
St. Crispin Friary
Bronx, New York
Palm Sunday, 1995

Arise from Darkness

The young woman who sat a few feet from me quietly wept tears that indicated an unspeakable inner desolation. A week before, her husband had been killed in what is called a freak accident, leaving her with two small children and an empty life. On his way to work on Wall Street he had been struck by a piece of falling masonry that inexplicably had become dislodged from a well-kept building. The insurance companies sometimes refer to such things as acts of God.

The couple had had a good marriage despite all the challenges of starting a new family. They were, in fact, two in one flesh. Half of her life had been torn away from her in an instant. Her two little childrena boy of three and a girl of fivelooked on, not really comprehending that they would never see their daddy again. Friends, and there were many, tried to say something consoling, but really did not know what to say. The husbands parents and family were overwhelmed in their own grief, and her family looked on hopelessly, trying to make some sense out of what was senseless. The priest who preached at the funeral had really done his best; he had been quoted in the local newspapers. He had directed everyones attention to Christs promise of eternal life. His fellow clergy of all denominations who read about the funeral were thankful to God that they did not have to preach.

After the funeral the vast majority of mourners, who were genuinely compassionate and felt very bad about what happened, went on with their own lives. Very close members of the family committed themselves to various kinds of help, but even their lives went on. The young widow remained in her darkness. Every place in her home became haunted by memories. Objects filled with meaning and joy became crowns of thornsthe wedding picture, his favorite coffee mug, his yearbook. Breakfast, which they used to share so early before he walked to the train, became an almost unendurable reliving of that last breakfast and then the call later from the police. She did not even want to go to her parish church because it brought back scenes of the funeral; she did not want to meet the priest who had come over to the house when he got the news and who had preached the funeral sermon that she could not even remember because she had not really heard it.

You who read these lines are moved even as you read them because you know that they could have been written about you with a few details changed. These lines are written about you... and they are written about me. They are written about us all.

Why Did God Do It?

The clergy and lay ministers of every denomination hear this question so often and cannot really answer it. We run away from it because usually it is not a question but a cry of pain in the form of a prayer that is half bewilderment and often tinged with rage. As we will see, this outraged cry to the mysterious God is often the most sincere and attentive prayer that many people ever offer.

I recall driving past a suburban home and stopping because there were police cars, an ambulance, and neighbors standing around looking at the house. I inquired of a lady wearing an apron what had happened, and she said between sobs, Crib deaththe first child. The name on the mailbox was Italian, and I asked if a priest had come yet. She said no, so I parked and went in. In the midst of great confusion, a young woman was being consoled by relatives and older women who were embracing and kissing her. When she saw me in my friars robes, she jumped up and grabbed me around the neck so hard that she ripped my robe down the front as she cried out, Why? This was not a question. It had no answer that I could ever possibly give. I knew even then that the horror of this hour would pass, that she would calm down, that she might very well have other children. But the question would remain for the rest of her life, Why?

I will not try to answer that question. I dont think that the human mind is or ever will be large enough to give a satisfactory answer to these questions: Why does evil occur? Why did the God who made the world so beautiful permit it to be scarred with such terrible wounds? Why does God, who is light, permit such darkness?

Beginning a Half Century Ago

The writing of this book began more than a half century ago when the first great tragedy came into the life of a little boy. Since his father built defense plants during World War II, he attended more than a dozen grammar schools in as many places. This boy, named Peter, had two faithful companions who went with the family wherever they were transferred. Often this meant transferring twice in a single school year, leaving behind the beginnings of friendships that could not develop in so short a time. These two faithful friends were Scottish terriers, a mother and daughter, and they died within a few months of each other, leaving the little boy bereft and in deep mourning. Dont smile. Often for people who are left alone by circumstances or personality traits, a pet becomes an important companion in life. For a child, the death of a pet can be a deep wound similar to the loss of a human being. I remember praying for these Scotties and asking in my loneliness: Why, why did God take them away from me?

Since then, like all little children who grow up, I have lived through worse tragedies, and all that time this book has been growing inside of me, because a real book is a living thing, a tree that will bear fruit in due time. As I have said, I dont think that one can find in this world a completely satisfying answer to the question Why? There will be an answer in eternity when our minds will be large enough to deal with the mystery of evil because we shall be changed (i Cor 15:51).