Learning To Die In Order To Live
By Angela Pimentel
“Unless there is a Good Friday in your life, there will never be an Easter Sunday. The cross is the condition of the empty tomb, and the crown of thorns is the preface to the halo of light.” - Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen
At some point in our lives, I’m sure we’ve all been told about how the most difficult things are often the ones most worth doing. Born in a Catholic family, I was repeatedly taught that I had to suffer and renounce earthly things now, in order to find eternal life later.
However, the entire thing with “suffering in order to become a true Christian” always seemed somewhat abstract to me. Chances are I will not be thrown into a fiery furnace by a narcissistic king as the Three Holy Youths were, or even endure any kind of persecution for my faith, living in a free country in the 21 st century. Surely, throughout my life, I had experienced suffering in other ways: grief from the loss of my father at a young age, as well the kind of sadness that accompanies the experience of sin. Nevertheless, I felt like none of these sorrows were truly transformational in the sense of strengthening my faith. On the contrary, the devil constantly used my sins as a weapon to remind me of my weaknesses, and the death of my father, to tell me that maybe God doesn’t even love me as much anyway.
Time after time, I could hear the devil’s voice in my head, sarcastically mocking my sufferings, just like when the leaders of the priests mocked Jesus in the cross saying: “He trusted in God, we want to see God save him.” Since the evil one is so unoriginal, I’m sure he’s tried to twist the anguishes of your life too, and made you believe God allowed them in your life because he doesn’t —really— love you.
Having lived a much-untested faith, I went through a very hard last two months of 2019. Those months encompassed all the heartbreak and awkwardness that usually come with a breakup, as well as the profound suffering of watching my dear grandmother have a life-threatening stroke. I had very deep spiritual battles during that time, and felt like my faith was diminishing more with every passing day. Fast-forward to March 2020, during the first week of Lent, my grandmother passed away. This deeply sorrowful event for me, only further debilitated my spirit. Just so you can have an idea, on her Exequial Mass, the priest (who loved my grandmother dearly) sang the Gregorian Credo in front of her deceased body, in a way that was so sublime it felt as though all the angels in heaven had joined us; and not even that was enough to convert my stubborn heart.
For me, 2020 was ‘canceled.’ The world in lockdown, the economy in shambles, all my big plans for the year were lost, and my very favorite person had passed away. I mean, literally, what else could go wrong at this point? That is when the universe said: hold my beer, and my mom started experiencing severe breathing difficulties. Yes, you guessed it, she tested positive for Covid-19. A couple days later, we had to rush her to the hospital, where she was placed on supplemental oxygen, because she could barely breathe on her own. It was during that night, that I finally fell to my knees and wept, as I intensely prayed my way back into the arms of Our Father. Just like it takes an addict to hit rock bottom in order to seek help, every now and then, our lives have to be significantly shaken up to run back to the Lord.
Sometimes, it takes a deep existential crisis to realize that we can only find the meaning of life through He who created it; but we have to come to that conclusion on our own. God truly is the perfect gentleman. He is always on time. He reveals himself to us when the time is right, no sooner, no later. He will not forcibly burst open the door to your heart. He will knock, and wait for you to open it to receive his unconditional love. It was through this very difficult Lent, that I was able to resume praying the Liturgy of the Hours and the Rosary. I started feeling an inexplicable peace. I felt the certainty that no matter the outcome of my mom’s sickness, God would be within me, and I would “soar on wings like eagles; run and not grow weary, and not be faint.” During Holy Week, my mom was able to come back home, and we celebrated the Pascal Triduum.
I couldn’t go to Church (because…Corona), yet this was my best Easter. When we are crucified with Jesus, we also resurrect with him. Like Psalm 126 says: “Those who go out weeping, carrying seeds to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them.”
On Divine Mercy Sunday, my mom received a negative test result for the virus. She had recovered perfectly, while not infecting any of my siblings, or myself, who had been in close contact with her at home, and even gave her first aid on that fateful night.
If there’s anything I could tell you I learned from this experience, it’s that we should ask the Lord to deliver us from the fear of suffering, for it can be cathartic and pave the way for a beautiful conversion. I believe St. Faustina was right, when she said that if the angels were capable of envy, they would envy us for two things: one is the receiving of Holy Communion, and the other is suffering.
Once we’re actually experiencing anguish, let us remember to yield our battles to Him, and He will lift the burden from our shoulders. Consequently, the devil’s deceits will have no power in our lives, and we will regain the uplifting confidence that comes from knowing God is within us. How much more badass would we be, if no matter what happened to us, we walked through life with the absolute certainty of God’s undying love sealed in our minds and hearts? I personally believe it would make us the human form of the 100 emoji.
Think about it…
