Still, God Is Near

+JMJ+ Suffering is not something we seek. Even when we love God deeply, and even when we want to trust Him completely, suffering can still takes us by surprise. Whether suffering has come to us, someone we care about, or even a stranger, it interrupts our plans, takes away our sense of safety, and causes us to ask questions. I have lived long enough to know this firsthand.

A priest once tried to destroy me. For a time, he nearly succeeded. That is not something I write lightly, nor is it something that ever leaves you. Abuse by a priest wounds in big ways—body, soul, faith, trust. It fractures how you see God, the Church, and even yourself. Years later, the echoes remain.

And yet, praise be to God, this is not the whole story.

It was also a priest (another priest) who, probably without ever realizing it, helped bring me closer to God. In a manner of speaking, he helped save me. He helped me to heal. 

No, he didn’t do anything dramatic or grand in the eyes of the world. It was his quiet fidelity that affected me. For the last several years, I have been privileged to witness the way he lives his vocation, his reverence in prayer and in celebrating Mass, and the way he loves people—steadily and humbly, without drawing attention to himself.

His presence drew me closer to God when my heart was far more guarded and afraid. His priesthood reminded me that Christ had not abandoned me, even when His Church still felt unbearably unsafe. Over the years, he has walked with my family through many seasons of life. He has watched our children grow and given them the sacraments. He has anointed me more times than I can count. He sat with me in my brokenness (especially after my near-death experience with my heart) when words were few and fear was loud.

I trust this priest.

That word does not come easily for me when it comes to priests. I hold both love and fear in my heart. I have love for the priesthood itself but also fear born from deep wounds. There are only some priests I truly trust and feel a certain level of comfort with. That trust does not come automatically. This priest earned it quietly and faithfully over time.

And now, this dear priest friend of ours is suffering in ways we never realized.

We recently learned that he was diagnosed with cancer. The news devastated us. We all (my husband and I and our children who are old enough to understand) have shed tears. Our family loves this priest deeply, and I know that I, personally, have been changed for the better because of him. His vocation has touched my life in ways that are difficult to put into words. I (and so many others) have been touched by his love for God, his love for others, his kindness, strength, and humility.

When my husband told me the diagnosis, my mind immediately raced: What can we do? How can we help? But of course, the answer is the one we always come to eventually. The reality is we cannot fix suffering. We can only be there for those we love, pray for them, and love them through their crosses.

At first, there was disbelief and shock as the tears flowed. Of course it is deeply painful to imagine the suffering of anyone we care about. Then, quiet acceptance followed.

Jesus will do something with this. I surrender myself to you. Take care of everything!

I don’t say that lightly or as a way to minimize someone else’s pain. I say it as someone who has slowly and painfully learned that God never wastes suffering when it is given to Him.

As a child, I once wrote a letter to Our Lady of Fatima asking if I could suffer for priests. I was young and naive, deeply influenced by the saints (especially St. Thérèse of Lisieux) who spoke so beautifully about offering suffering in love. I didn’t truly understand what I was asking for at the time, but sometimes God gives us the grace to ask for what He already knows He will permit.

I would not have chosen the path God allowed me to travel had I understood it then, and yet, here I am. I believe He has allowed me to suffer in certain ways, but there have been many, many moments when I struggled to trust Him, moments when I questioned His goodness, His nearness, even His plans for me. The grief I feel for priests (especially for those suffering in any way) has a long spiritual thread.

After my heart event, I remember questioning why. How often we all use that word when faced with pain and difficulties! I was afraid, grappling with how close I had come to death, and wrestling with God in anger and confusion. I remember what this priest said to me.

He told me that God must love me very much to allow me to join in His suffering on the Cross.

At the time, I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted answers that made sense on a human level. I wanted reassurance without surrender. I was angry at God. Yet, deep down, I knew this to be true. Suffering is not proof of God’s absence. Often, it is where His love is most intimately at work.

Suffering is truly a gift. However, it is a gift we do not always recognize at first.

Sometimes we catch only glimmers of it. We might experience brief moments where light breaks through and we see what God might be doing. Other times, we fall back into confusion or anger, wondering if we have been forgotten. Still, God gently brings us back around. He brings us back to Himself. He brings us back to the place where we may not understand from a human perspective, but where we choose to trust Him through faith.

Surrender. Trust. Jesus, I trust in You!

Imagine if we could look at suffering differently from the very beginning. Instead of “Why me?” we might say, “Okay, Lord. I trust You. I can’t wait to see what You do with this.” Most of us don’t get there right away. We need time to grieve, to process, to wrestle. That, too, is part of the journey.

As a lay person, it is difficult to imagine just how much weight priests carry.

One bad priest can cause immeasurable harm.

He can shatter trust, wound faith, fracture families, and leave scars that last a lifetime. His actions ripple outward affecting victims, parishes, and the entire Church. For survivors of clerical abuse, this is not theoretical. It is lived reality.

Yet there is another truth that must be recognized: even one good, holy priest can bring extraordinary grace.

A faithful priest can restore trust through his holy example and humility. He can bring Christ to the suffering through the sacraments. He can sit with the broken, speak truth with charity, and point souls back to hope when everything feels lost.

The difference is profound.

The weight such a priest carries is heavy. The calling is immense. Many priests carry silent burdens we may never fully see. We must pray for them.

One holy priest can, by God’s grace, help heal what another has broken.

Wounded as the Church is, she still depends on shepherds who choose fidelity, humility, and love. These men are often unseen, mocked, and rarely thanked for the good they do. The sins of a few do not define the faithfulness of many.

So today, I ask you to pray.

Please pray for all priests. Pray especially for this particular priest who means so much to my family. Pray for his family. Pray for his parish.

Pray for strength, for peace, for endurance. Pray for healing, if it be God’s will. Pray that in this suffering, Christ may be glorified and souls drawn closer to Him.

Have faith. Have hope. God is near to those who are suffering.