“Who you trying to get crazy with, ése? Don't you know I'm loco? To da one on da flam, boy it's tough. I just toss that ham on the fryin pan, like spam! It's done when I come in, slam!... Insane in the membrane, crazy insane, got no brain!”

This is an example of the musical poetry that I grew up with in the ’90s. I like to think of it as a charming and heartfelt piece written to express the sorrows of illiteracy in the 20th century. That, or it’s just stupidity. Regardless, we danced to it.

I’ve sometimes thought about the history of art and beauty. It seems like mankind has gradually grown and developed, from cave drawings to Michelangelo, tribal drums to Tchaikovsky. Somewhere along the line we peaked and have been steadily making our way back down to cave drawings and tribal drums. Of course, that is a generalization, and there are plenty of beautiful examples to contradict what I’ve said. But the music and art that receives the most attention and financial backing is often chaotic, shallow, and degrading.

Without being too sentimental about times past, I feel that the beauty that was once expressed came from the wounds of people who had suffered and loved much. The sufferings led to gratitude, which led to joy, which led to beauty. I don’t know which one of these elements we are missing as a culture, but the results seem clear.

We do suffer. In our riches and privilege, we still have trials and pain, but I think that maybe we resist the next step. Instead of discovering gratitude, we resent our sufferings, we blame and seek revenge. We are an entitled people who see suffering as the greatest evil, so much so that we’d rather kill our elderly parents then suffer along with them.

A people who refuse to accept suffering can never walk with Christ, and therefore can never know gratitude, joy, or beauty. Pope Benedict wrote, “It is when we attempt to avoid suffering by withdrawing from anything that might involve hurt, when we try to spare ourselves the effort and pain of pursuing truth, love, and goodness, that we drift into a life of emptiness, in which there may be almost no pain, but the dark sensation of meaninglessness and abandonment is all the greater.”

The book Sophia House by Canadian author Michael O’Brien, is a beautiful book about suffering. I read it years ago and just finished it for the second time. The main character, Pawel, was perversely abused as a child. This wretched action stole not only his innocence, but his ability to love. The first chapters broke my heart. He grows up in pain, self-hatred, and eventually despair. He meets a priest who guides him, telling him to wait upon God, to unite his sufferings with Christ’s. The sorrow and struggle are never removed and he continually walks in a Lenten desert, but it begins to have purpose.

Even as Pawel’s life continues in temptation and confusion, the reader sees how God is molding him into a sign and symbol of love. Pawel’s soul is growing in beauty. The book ends with him assumedly going off to his death, and we never know what consolations are given to him. Regardless, the reader knows the truth: despite Pawel’s own feelings of what his life has become, the reality is that he has become a witness to the suffering Christ's love for us. Pawel’s lifelong struggles go on to save the life of one chosen by God as a prophet in a later story, Father Elijah

Some parts of this story are heart-wrenching, but it is still one of my favourites. What it tells me is that our own interpretations and understandings aren’t always the reality. Sometimes our walk with God involves suffering, and temptation. In fact, usually they do. But if we can walk in the Lenten desert, despite consolations, along with Christ as he faces the taunting of Satan, then we can also learn gratitude, joy, and beauty from him. 

Our 40 days in the desert are something of a Suffering with Christ for Catholic Dummies. I know how hard it is to give up snacks for a few weeks, but maybe that is where we “Catholic Dummies” need to start. If I cannot master and abandon myself in something so small as this, I can never receive the fullness of joy. Christ waits for us to join him.

“You show me the path of life. In your presence there is fullness of joy; in your right hand are pleasures forevermore” – Psalm 16:11.