IT is Lent, and with it come the traditional devotional practices of Catholic Filipinos: the Stations of the Cross, fasts and abstinence, processions and various other penitential practices — some encouraged by the Church, others frowned upon but nonetheless practiced; among the latter, clearly, the flagellants and their bloodied backs! There is a propensity to be fixated with the suffering of Christ: the bloody sweat, the terrible scourging, the horror of the Cross and the lifeless, broken body. In the Benedictine Monastery of the Eucharistic King at Pantay Fatima, Vigan City, there is a terrible, larger-than-life statue of the Lord Jesus after the scourging: flaps of skin peeled off, raw and gaping wounds, and welts all over his body. I can imagine that in more pious times, this terrible image moved many a devout Catholic to repentance for sin and even to tears. Even now, I am sure that young Filipinos for whom piety is an almost unknown sentiment will still be shocked by this depiction.
There is suffering that it would be holy for us to be rid of: the suffering of children, the anguish of the victims of abuse and exploitation, the painful last days of patients suffering from terminal illnesses, the hunger pangs of those who have nothing to eat, the unbearable distress of those who must see their loved ones suffer, the broken hearts of those betrayed by those they loved and who promised them love, the pathos of the old who are left in utter loneliness to live out the rest of their days, while members of their families move on to more exciting concerns. These forms of suffering are, to a considerable extent, avoidable — or can, at least, be mitigated — and many times are brought about by human malice, selfishness, greed and waywardness. And what makes these forms of suffering particularly tragic is that the conversations that dominate — political posturing, economic calculations, global strategizing — do not have room for these “narratives of the small,” the often tragic and heartrending stories of suffering individuals.
But faith teaches us that there is suffering that is salvific. There is suffering that comes to those who identify with the suffering — not to add one more individual to the multitudes who already suffer, but to help ease the burdens of those who suffer, face with them the slings and arrows of a cruel world, and protect them as far as possible from even more pain. This is the suffering of solidarity. There is likewise that suffering that confronts human pride and arrogance and engenders a humble acceptance of the human condition. There is the suffering of those who are persecuted because of their advocacy for justice — the suffering of those who, in the words of the Beatitude — “are persecuted for righteousness’ sake.” This is the suffering of victimhood. There is finally that suffering that, though unavoidable, one nevertheless devoutly unites to the suffering of Christ, not because His suffering did not suffice, but because he taught us how to suffer! He left the world the unsurpassable lecture of Calvary: Neither suffering nor the cruel intent of those minded on breaking a person can break one whose hope is in the Father — he to whom Jesus called in the midst of the terrible experience of abandonment: “Quare me dereliquisti ... Why have you forsaken me?”
But the commemoration of the passion and death of Jesus becomes nothing more than a pathological apotheosis of pain unless one situates it all in the context of saving love — and because it is saving love, it is also suffering love, for those loved are not perfect and sinless but all too human, all too frail and sadly, unkind and merciless. Yes, it is good to be reminded by the Stations of the Cross about the cruel scourging, the utter thoughtlessness of the crowning with thorns, the brutality of the crucifixion, as long as these images reveal to us the depths of human depravity and the farthest awful reaches that our cruelty can take us. Jesus’ tormentors, after all, were real-life characters, not denizens from hell, but persons of flesh and blood, situated in history, exactly like we are. Jesus’ suffering confronts the cruelty of the world, and while it seems that it prevails over him, he makes clear that he conquers. No one who prays “Forgive them for they know not what they do,” nor promises “This day you shall be with me in Paradise,” nor who signs off with the flourish of one who has completed his masterpiece — “It is accomplished,” is a defeated man. He is a victor. He has risen above our misery — we who constantly claw and tear at each other — and brought to the world, by his invincible love, the Father’s ultimate and unsurpassable offer of salvation.
Conventions of society lay down the unwritten rule that polite conversation avoids morbid talk, and death is a taboo topic at social occasions. Christianity is no respecter of such conventions — and it is a religion that places death at the core of its symbol-system. This is the reason that the Cross is the focal point of all Christian piety and devotion. It was precisely this dimension of Christianity that drove Nietzsche to deride it as the religion that exalted the ultimate extent of human helplessness. The Christmas season that we celebrated not too long ago has hints of the Passion: the fateful prophecy of Simeon that the child brought to the temple was meant “for the rise and the downfall of many in Israel,” and the words he addressed to Mary: “And a sword shall pierce your heart that the thoughts of many may be laid bare,” the Herodian obsession with finding the child and his insane rage that led to the slaughter of the innocents.
And so, the days of Lent that end with and lead to the Solemn Paschal Triduum — the high point of remembrance — teach us that Jesus, God’s own Son, passed through death’s dark door, but remained the Beloved Son of God throughout his ordeal, and so was raised to the light of a million mornings. He inaugurated, by his cruel death, a Kingdom in which love is to reign. He taught us how to live — and, perhaps, more importantly, taught us how to die, for to die in the Father and trusting in his love, is the Passover that brings us to eternity!
rannie_aquino@sanbeda.edu.ph
rannie_aquino@csu.edu.ph