How Christ Transforms Our Suffering | Philippians 2 and Life Is Beautiful

 26 Sunday OT, Year A

Suffering can change the way we see ourselves, others, and even God, but St. Paul offers a different way of understanding it in his Letter to the Philippians. In Christ, God does not remain distant from human pain but empties himself, enters into our suffering, and brings the hope of resurrection. Like the cracks Leonard Cohen writes about, our wounds can become places where God's light enters us and then shines through us for others.

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I think many of you will have seen the now classic movie Life Is Beautiful, directed by Roberto Benigni and released in 1997. It is an incredibly moving film, but also a painful one to watch at times. The story centres on a man named Guido, who marries in Italy shortly before the Second World War and has a young son with his wife. Guido is Jewish, and during the war he and his family are eventually taken to a concentration camp.

Guido finds himself there with his young son, who is too little to understand fully the horrors unfolding around him. He cannot comprehend the violence, the suffering, and the terror taking place day after day. Guido, as a father, wants somehow to spare his son from this pain and preserve his innocence. So he convinces him that everything happening around them is part of an elaborate game. The soldiers, the forced labour, the rules of the camp, all of it becomes part of the story Guido creates for his son.

The film is so striking because of the contrast between the brutality surrounding them and the extraordinary love of this father. Guido goes to incredible lengths to protect his son and to teach him, through his actions, that hatred does not have the final word. He wants his son to believe that goodness and love are ultimately stronger. In the end, Guido gives his own life while continuing to protect his son, showing him, in the most painful circumstances imaginable, that life can still be beautiful.

I was thinking about this film as I reflected on the second reading we heard at Mass today from St. Paul's Letter to the Philippians. Paul speaks about what Jesus has done for us, about the descent and humility of Christ so that we might have life. In doing so, Paul touches on something universal: the reality of suffering.

Each one of us carries disappointments, struggles, and pain. For some, it may be the death of someone we love. For others, it may be a serious illness, difficulty finding work, struggles with mental health, family problems, or the uncertainty of an immigration process. We all carry suffering of one kind or another. And if we are not careful, that suffering can begin to change the way we see our lives, the people around us, and even God.

St. Paul writes to the Philippians precisely to give hope to people who are struggling. This is an extraordinarily hopeful letter, and that becomes even more remarkable when we remember Paul's own circumstances. He is writing from prison, facing an uncertain future. Yet one of the most famous lines in the entire letter is: "Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice." Paul himself is suffering, and the Christian community in Philippi is experiencing its own difficulties, tensions, and opposition. Yet Paul can still speak about joy.

How can he do that?

The answer comes in the passage we heard today. Paul points the Philippians toward Christ. He gives us this beautiful hymn, often called the kenotic hymn, from the Greek word kenosis, meaning "self-emptying." Though Christ was in the form of God, he emptied himself. Jesus is God, and yet he becomes human. And he goes further still. He does not enter human life as someone wealthy or powerful. He takes the form of a servant. He humbles himself and becomes obedient even to the point of death on a cross.

Jesus is, in a sense, the true obedient Son. He listens to the Father and actually does the Father's will. His humility leads ultimately to exaltation. His path passes through suffering and death, but suffering and death do not have the final word.

This is Paul's message to the Philippians, and it is his message to us. Christ comes very close to us in our suffering. That is at the heart of the Good News. God does not promise that we will be spared every difficulty. Jesus does not simply remove suffering from human life. Instead, he enters into it. He walks with us through it. In his self-emptying love, Christ comes close to us precisely where we are wounded.

And because Christ is with us there, suffering does not have to remain meaningless. Just as Christ's suffering and death are transformed through the Resurrection, he can also transform the suffering and struggles we carry. This does not mean that suffering suddenly becomes good, or that we should pretend pain does not hurt. It means that even suffering can become a place where God's grace is at work.

That is a challenge for us, just as it was for the Philippian community. Can we really believe that Jesus is close to us in our suffering? Can we believe something even more difficult, that the wounds and struggles in our lives can become places where God's goodness enters not only our lives but also the lives of others?

Leonard Cohen expressed something of this in his song Anthem when he wrote about the cracks through which light enters. All of us are, in one way or another, cracked by what we have experienced. We carry wounds from disappointment, grief, failure, illness, or loss. Those wounds can make us turn inward. They can make us bitter or afraid. But when Christ is present in our lives, those same wounds can become openings through which God's light enters.

And there is something more. The places where we have been wounded can sometimes become the very places through which God's light shines out toward others.

Perhaps you have had this experience. You went through something difficult and, at the time, you could not understand why it was happening. Then, years later, you encountered someone going through something very similar. Because of what you had experienced, you were able to listen differently. You could understand their pain in a way someone else perhaps could not. You were able to offer a word of encouragement, patience, or compassion. Your own wound had somehow become a source of healing for another person.

Perhaps only then did part of your own suffering begin to make a little more sense.

Today, then, let us bring before God the struggles and wounds we carry. Let us ask the Holy Spirit not to allow our pain simply to become something that closes us in on ourselves. Instead, may Christ meet us in those wounded places. May the cracks in our lives become places where his light enters us, heals us, and then shines through us to bring hope to those around us.

It Is Never Too Late to Follow Jesus: Grace, Generosity, and the Workers in the Vineyard

 25 Sunday of Ordinary Time

God’s grace is a gift that cannot be earned, and comparison with others can prevent us from recognizing his generosity in our own lives. God calls every person to take part in the mission of Christ because everyone has gifts that are needed in the Church. No matter our age, history, or stage of life, it is never too late to begin again, draw closer to God, and find a new way to serve.

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There is a charming story often told about Pope John XXIII, the pope who convened the Second Vatican Council. He was known for being a bit rotund and for having a very good sense of humour. One day, someone was visiting him and making his way through the Vatican. Seeing all the different staff working there, the visitor was surprised and asked, “Holy Father, how many people work here at the Vatican?” Pope John XXIII responded, “About half.”

Today’s parable is a bit troubling for us. It leaves us uncomfortable, because it has to do with work and those who seem not to have worked very much at all. Jesus tells us about a landowner, who stands in the place of God, going out at different times of the day to find people to work in his vineyard. The real kicker comes at the end, when those who have been labouring in the hot sun all day receive exactly the same pay as those who worked for only an hour. It doesn’t seem fair. It is unsettling. And perhaps that is precisely the point. Frequently in his parables, Jesus wants to make us feel a little uncomfortable. He wants to shake us out of our usual way of thinking so that we can see a deeper spiritual truth that we might otherwise miss.

What, then, is Jesus trying to help us realize in this parable? I would like to suggest three little lessons that Christ might be teaching us through this story that can initially seem so frustrating. The first is that what we receive from God—what we call grace—is something we can never earn. It is given to us entirely as a gift. All we can do is receive it with gratitude and respond to it. Some of the workers in the parable are offended by the generosity of the landowner, but the landowner reminds them that he has been generous to them and is free to be generous to others as well. God is like that with us. Grace is God’s life given to us. By definition, grace is a gift. It is unmerited, and our proper response is gratitude.

The problem comes when we begin comparing ourselves with other people. Then, instead of rejoicing in what God has given us, we can become bitter like the workers in the parable. There is a story told about Andrew Carnegie, who was one of the wealthiest men of his time and became famous for giving enormous sums of money to libraries and other public institutions. After his death, one relative discovered that Carnegie had left him a very large inheritance. At first, he was delighted. But when he learned how much Carnegie had given away to charitable causes, suddenly his own gift seemed small, and he became resentful. Nothing about his gift had changed. What changed was that he began comparing it with what others had received.

We can do the same thing with God. When we compare our lives, our gifts, our opportunities, or our blessings with those of others, we can lose sight of what has actually been given to us. Everything is gift. God has given himself to us. He has given us his Son and his very life. God is generous to all his children, and God has enough for all of us. Our task is not to compare, but to receive his grace with gratitude.

The second lesson is that God wants all of us to participate in his family and in his mission. All of us are important. All of us are needed. In the parable, the landowner keeps going out looking for more workers. He finds some in the morning, but that is not enough. He goes out again and again because he does not want anyone standing idle. He wants everyone participating in the work of the vineyard. In the same way, Jesus wants all of us to be part of his Body, the Church. St. Paul speaks about this so beautifully: we are the Body of Christ. Every person matters. Every person has a place.

Pope Francis expressed this beautifully at World Youth Day in Lisbon when he said that in the Church there is room for everyone. Then he repeated it: “Todos, todos, todos”—everyone, everyone, everyone. The Church is for everyone. There is a place for everyone. God wants all of us to participate. That is another beautiful message hidden in this parable. The landowner, who represents God, wants everyone in the vineyard. If someone is missing, something is missing. Each of us has been given particular gifts, and we are called to use those gifts in the service of Christ’s mission.

Finally, this parable is tremendously hopeful because it teaches us that it is never too late to follow Jesus. Those who came to the vineyard at the very last hour received the same generosity as those who had been there from the beginning. There is no better time to follow Christ than the present. Perhaps we have not prayed for a long time, and we become discouraged. We might think that it is too late to begin again. This parable tells us that now is the time. Now is the time to begin praying again and drawing closer to God.

Perhaps we have gone through much of our life without finding a way to serve in the Church or in the community, and we think, “I could never start now.” This parable tells us that now is exactly the time to begin. Perhaps we are entering a different stage of life—retirement, or simply winding down from the work we used to do—and we wonder whether there is still something God is asking of us. There always is. Regardless of where we are in life, God has a particular mission for us. We can encourage someone who is struggling, call someone who is lonely, visit someone in hospital or in a nursing home, pray for others, or use the gifts we have been given in some new way. There is a mission in the Church for everyone, and it is never too late to begin.

In the end, today’s parable may strike us on the surface as uncomfortable or even unfair. But Jesus is trying to wake us up to the fact that things work differently in the Kingdom of God. God is a Father who is generous to all of us. His grace is given freely to each one of us, and our task is to receive that gift, recognize it, and be grateful for it. Let us remind ourselves today that God is always calling us to participate, perhaps in a new way, in the mission of Jesus. And let us take hope from this wonderful truth: it is never too late to begin following Christ.

God’s Mercy and the Challenge of Letting Go

 24 Sunday of Ordinary Time

God forgives us a debt we could never repay, and that mercy becomes the foundation of our own call to forgive others. Forgiveness is difficult, especially when wounds are deep, but it can free us from resentment even while healing takes time. The more deeply we recognize the mercy we have received from God and from others, the more able we become to extend that same mercy ourselves.

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After reflecting on this Gospel, I realized it is one of those situations where there is good news and there is bad news. So, do you want the good news first? The good news is that God is infinitely merciful. God always forgives us. God has forgiven us a debt that we could never hope to repay. Do you want to hear the bad news? We also have to forgive. And we do not get to choose who we forgive.

Let us start again with the good news. In this parable, a servant owes the king an enormous amount of money. Another translation simply says that he owes “a large sum,” which is one of the understatements of the century. Our translation says that he owes ten thousand talents. A talent was a measure of wealth, and it is difficult to know exactly what that amount would be today, but one talent could represent roughly fifteen years of wages for an ordinary worker. Ten thousand talents, then, would be something like 150,000 years of wages. Just let that settle in for a moment: 150,000 years of wages. The servant could never repay that debt. It was impossible. Yet when he falls before the king and begs for mercy, the king forgives him completely.

That tells us something important about God. In different ways, all of us have done things in life that we cannot completely repair. We have broken relationships. We have hurt people. We have made choices whose effects continue in ways we cannot always see. It is a bit like throwing a stone into a pond. The ripples move outward, and we do not always know how far they go. There are things we cannot simply undo, and yet God gives us mercy.

There is an old story about a man who dies and arrives at the gates of heaven. St. Peter asks him, “Why should I let you in?” The man begins listing all the good things he has done. He tries to explain that he has lived a decent life and helped others. He goes on for a while, but St. Peter does not seem convinced. Finally, the man gives up and says, “You should let me in because of Jesus.” That gets to the heart of it. Of course, we are called to follow Christ, to do good, to love others, and to respond to God’s grace. But ultimately our salvation is a gift. It is because of Jesus Christ, because of what he has done for us, because God sent his Son to reconcile us to himself. God has forgiven a debt that we could never repay. Whatever we have done, wherever we have fallen, God is always ready to show mercy when we turn back to him. He gives healing. He gives us another beginning. That is the good news.

The challenge is that Jesus then asks us to become merciful as God is merciful. And this is where the parable becomes uncomfortable. The servant who has just had this unimaginable debt forgiven goes out and meets a fellow servant who owes him one hundred denarii. That is roughly one hundred days of wages. It is not nothing. It is a real debt. But it is nothing compared with the 150,000 years of wages that he has just been forgiven. And yet he refuses to show mercy. He grabs the other servant and demands, “Pay what you owe.”

We can hear that and think, “I would never act like that.” But if I am honest about my own life, I do this more often than I would like to admit. When someone hurts me, especially when there is a history there, part of me can begin to say exactly the same thing: “Pay me what you owe.” Maybe I do not say those words aloud. But I can hold on to the hurt. I can hold on to resentment. I can rehearse the offence in my mind. Forgiveness is difficult. Christianity challenges us in many ways, but perhaps one of the hardest things Jesus asks us to do is to forgive, especially to forgive those who have really hurt us. God is merciful, and we are called to be merciful. And we do not get to choose who is worthy of our forgiveness.

So how do we grow in this? I would suggest three things. First, forgiveness is also a gift that brings peace to us. There is an expression you may have heard before: resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person gets sick. When we hold tightly to resentment, we often think somehow that it punishes the other person. But in reality, it usually harms us. It weighs on our hearts. It robs us of peace. Forgiveness is certainly something we offer to another person, but it is also, in a sense, a gift we give ourselves. It frees us from allowing the hurt to control our interior life.

Second, I think it is important to distinguish between forgiveness and healing. Sometimes people say, “I cannot forgive that person because I still feel hurt.” But those are not exactly the same thing. Forgiveness can be a decision before it becomes a feeling. Jesus tells us to pray for those who hurt us. Sometimes forgiveness begins simply by saying, “Lord, I give this person to you. I do not want hatred or resentment to control me.” That does not mean the hurt disappears immediately. Healing often takes time. If someone has hurt us deeply, we should not expect all the pain to vanish because we prayed one prayer. We should not become discouraged because we do not suddenly feel warm and positive toward that person. Forgiveness may be the first step. Healing may take much longer.

Third, and this is really the main message of the parable, when we struggle to forgive, we need to remember how much mercy we ourselves have received. Sometimes when I find it difficult to forgive someone, I need to remind myself how often I have failed. I need to remember how often others have been patient with me, how often people have forgiven me, and above all, how often God has forgiven me. The more aware we are of mercy received, the more capable we become of mercy given. Mercy can flow through us. When we recognize how much we have been forgiven, it becomes a little easier to forgive.

So perhaps during this Mass, we can ask the Holy Spirit for a very particular grace. We can ask the Holy Spirit to shine a light into our hearts and show us whether there is someone we are struggling to forgive. Maybe there is a person whose name still brings up resentment. Maybe there is a hurt we continue to carry. Perhaps the Lord is inviting us today to take one step—not necessarily to pretend the hurt never happened, not necessarily to feel completely healed right away, but to begin. To place that person before the Lord. To pray for them. To say, “Lord, as you have been merciful to me, help me to become merciful too.” God’s mercy is the good news, and because we have received that mercy, we are called to let it flow through us to others.