Suffering with the Saints

Years ago, during an interview with a Catholic newspaper, I was trying to convey the charity of Blessed Pier Giorgio.  Unfortunately, the wrong words came out of my mouth and I said, "He was like Mother Teresa before Mother Teresa - but instead of being a wrinkled old Indian nun, he was a young handsome Italian guy." Ouch! I pray Saint Teresa of Calcutta has forgiven me.

My choice of words has improved but I still often make the comparison between these two great models of charity when describing Pier Giorgio to others.  Like Mother Teresa, he would go into the slums and places where the worst diseases were present.  One of his visits to these "sordid places" has long been considered the source of the deadly polio disease he contracted.

When a friend asked him how he could stand the filth and the smell, he said, "Don’t ever forget that even though the house is sordid, you are approaching Christ."

"Around the sick, the poor, and the unfortunate, I see a particular light, a light that we do not have.”

Mother Teresa (whose feast we celebrated earlier this month) did not begin her mission with the poor on the streets of Calcutta until 1948 - more than 20 years after the death of Pier Giorgio. There is no doubt that she saw that same light of Christ around those feeble souls she comforted.

Something else these two humble sevants have in common is their view of suffering. In her writings on suffering, Mother Teresa said, "...it has to come into our life also. Only, never put on a long face. Suffering is a gift from God. It is between you and Jesus alone inside."

In his letters, especially in the last months of his life, Pier Giorgio approached his suffering in the same way.  He dealt with it interiorly while remaining joyful on the outside. Although faced with the departure of his sister from the home, the surrender of his feelings for a girl he loved, the increased tensions between his parents and the stress of finishing his degree, he wrote to a good friend,

"I’ll always be cheerful on the outside to demonstrate to our companions who don’t share our idea that to be Catholic means to be joyful young people; but on the inside when I’m alone I give vent to my sadness."

A month later, he answered a letter from his sister with similar words. "You ask me whether I am in good spirits. How could I not be so? As long as Faith gives me strength I will always be joyful; every Catholic cannot but be joyful: sadness ought to be banished from Catholic souls." That same letter provides us with a clear insight into how he viewed suffering. He writes:

"Sorrow is not sadness, which is a worse illness than any other. This illness is nearly always caused by atheism. But the purpose for which we have been created shows us the path, even if strewn with many thorns, it is not a sad path. It is joyful even in the face of sorrow."

After Mother Teresa's death, many were surprised to learn of the struggles she had with interior darkness for decades. The joy she radiated from her face, (yes, it was wrinkled,) made us believe she was a stranger to suffering.  It seems she was able to embrace that darkness as a way of sharing in the "thirst" of Jesus for souls.  But she kept that to herself between her and God.

That was Pier Giorgio's style, as well.  He definitely addresses his feelings in several of his letters to his closest friends.  But he makes it clear that self-pity has no place in Catholic spirituality.  He chooses joy.  And he chooses to radiate joy.

These are certainly not the only two saints who were able to follow Christ's example of suffering in silence.  The church calendar is full of holy men and women who could look at the crucifix and fully unite themselves to it.  They have much to teach us. And I have a lot to learn.

Saint Teresa of Calcutta and Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati, pray for us!

Verso l'alto!  ///cmw