I never really thought about Simon of Cyrene until this year. My reflections on that part of the passion were limited to Christ’s suffering; Christ needs help, and the Gospel writers’ inclusion of an aide in bearing the cross emphasizes his helplessness and the extent of his suffering. But who is Simon? Why is he a named character in the Gospels? What does he do? Why does he matter enough to be included in all three synoptic Gospels?
Right now, Simon stands in for me. My second post for this blog was January 1, and in it I referenced the proximity of my due date with my second child. On the morning of January 2, I went into labor. Within five hours, my full term baby had endured a fetomaternal hemorrhage brought on by a cord issue -- a 1 in 5,000, possibly 10,000, unforeseeable, freak kind of accident. Margaret Nancy was born via emergency C-section, named and baptized while I slept under anesthesia, and died while I held her.
It might be an understatement to say this is not a suffering we chose (or would have chosen if the choice had been given to us). In my first prayer through Stations of this Lent, I noticed that unlike Jesus, Simon did not choose the cross he shoulders. He was compelled. How, then, did he carry it?
The disciples who professed “Even if I have to die with You, I will not deny You” are nowhere to be found. Simon is the first person literally to “take up his cross and follow” Jesus, but whether he also did so figuratively is not known. Is Simon resentful and fearful the entire way up Calvary, or does he choose to aid the suffering Lord to the best of his ability, now the cross has come to him? We can step into his place, and the results may vary, depending upon our choices and the grace given to us.First, we must recognize evil as evil. In grief, there is no way around the process; one has to go through it. If we are to sit with someone who is enduring something, we also have to be able to sit with their discomfort. But people prefer to skip over the discomfort and unfairness of unchosen crosses. When someone dies, especially young, people offer statements which essentially posit, “This is a good thing! We just don’t understand how it’s good now.” This is unhelpful. Something is terribly wrong here, and that has to be acknowledged before we can accompany someone on to the hope that still exists.
Before Margaret’s birthday, I never really got lines like, “My soul is deprived of peace, I have forgotten what happiness is,”1 which we used at her funeral. While I had some head knowledge of the theology of suffering, I hadn’t had a “qualifying” tragedy that really let me enter an experiential understanding of it. I had one friend laugh (in a kind way) when I said this, but I feel like a whole new field of dolorous theology has been opened to me.
I am angry that Margaret is not here, that my older daughter doesn’t have a nearly three-month-old sister she's coaching to roll over. I believe it is righteous anger. However, that anger isn’t directed towards anything except the fact itself: she is not here. To carry this cross well, I must avoid turning it upon God or others in bitterness and hardness of heart.
The most difficult thing may be fearfulness of future pregnancies. Previously, I had naïvely thought that a NICU stay was the worst possible scenario, and honestly I didn’t even consider that. Really, an emergency C-section was the worst possible thing that had come to mind, and with my physical condition in both pregnancies, I considered that a long shot. Now I believe that there is a still worse outcome, and I must be vulnerable to that again.
This is our cross, and we will carry it somehow, as we were compelled like Simon to take it up. The Lord himself also carries it, though -- as he emptied himself to do. Simon suffers with Christ; Christ suffers with him. Christ suffers with us. And yes, good will come.
Through that kenosis of Christ, we have the gift of baptism. In taking advantage of that totally unearned grace, our tiny girl can now be a tiny saint. I see the fruits of Margaret’s sainthood already, most amusingly in the jealousy of her older sister, who currently insists that she too is a saint. I’m content if her saintly sister is her “aspirational peer.”
It is in how we carry this cross that the holiness lies. Taking it up to begin with is the watershed moment (or water font moment), but the rest is following those Godly footsteps. This is food for contemplation within the joy of every year’s RCIA group. The baptisms and receptions we will celebrate next week are beautiful, but it is in continuing to carry their crosses, supported by the grace of God, that they will live their earthly lives. Now, the journey is not the destination, as some are apt to claim. The telos of the Resurrection is the reason for the season. But bearing suffering (ours and others’) is the work we have to do, and will reflect both the difficulties and the endgame we have.
Concurrent with the synodal emphasis on the formation of youth in the Church, I want our parish children’s formation to demonstrate how we respond to the wretchedness in our lives.2 The kids know the world is broken, and we cannot implicitly pretend that all is well if we intend to show the full coherence of the Church. We already do a reasonably good job of emphasizing that all good things come from the Lord; I want to enable the youth also to respond with authentic Christian faith to the bad that does not come from Him. For instance:
- Anger is okay; but God did not will this injustice, nor should we ultimately refuse to forgive another if necessary.
- Sadness is natural, and does not mean we reject the hope of the Gospel; but neither should we forget that hope.
- In short: What does it mean that the Kingdom is truly “already, but not yet?” When life hands you lemons, what should a Christian do?3
I also want to create space for the prayerful experience of the compassion of Christ. We’ll revamp our formation in grades 4-8 for next year with these as the goals.
I hope we know Simon’s name because he chose to carry the cross well. There is mild traditional evidence that his sons became missionaries, pointing perhaps to a father who received the gift of faith when he accepted a conscripted cross and literally followed in the footsteps of Jesus.
2 I promise I won’t go overboard; the theme of the year will not be “though we hang our heads in sorrow all the days of our lives” merely because I have suffered a tragedy.↩
3 Saints provide excellent examples, and we will be looking at them and praying with them.↩
Saint Margaret of Creve Coeur, pray for us!
ReplyDeleteLaura, this is a heartbreakingly beautiful reflection. Know of our continued prayers for all of you.
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