A theology of suffering from one who suffered deeply

Third in a series of occasional articles about Cardinal John Henry Newman

Being a thorough and well-versed theologian, John Henry Newman reflected on many distinct aspects of the Christian life. One line of his thought that I personally find particularly striking and immensely powerful is that of his theology of suffering. While his work can often delve into deep theological and philosophical speculation and rational arguments for religious doctrines, he remains an eminently approachable figure, one well acquainted with the pains of this life which we can all attest remain an ineradicable part of the human experience.

Newman knew much suffering in his lifetime, both of a physical and, perhaps more wracking, spiritual nature. His autobiographical Apologia Pro Vita Sua traces his own conversion story, much in the same vein as Augustine’s classic Confessions.  Although famed Newman scholar Ian Ker claims the Apologia is “much more dryly theological, like Scott’s The Force of Truth, than the introspective, spiritual Confessions,” the work remains a tour de force in analyzing the various difficult transitions that marked Newman’s life.

Among the trials that Newman experienced were his nervous disorder which led to a near collapse in 1820, his tempestuous relationship with Frederick Faber, the superior of the London branch of Newman’s Oratory, the suspicious eye with which both his former Anglican friends and the Roman Curia watched him, and allegations that his relationship with close friend Ambrose St. John took on romantic overtones. In addition to the difficult decision to “swim the Tiber” and convert to Roman Catholicism, these issues weighed heavily upon the intense and thoughtful eventual cardinal.

Nancy Benvenga, onetime editor of the Union Theological Seminary Quarterly, has penned a short article which ties Newman’s views of agony and suffering to those of concentration camp survivor and Viennese psychotherapist Viktor Frankl (Journal of Religion and Health, Spring 1998), best known for his book Man’s Search for Meaning. In it she points out that the current trend to absolutize the right to “feeling-good” as a value and hyperbolize any perceived injustice into “abuse” or “victimization,” is refuted by thinkers such as Newman and Frankl. These great, and almost mystical, authors instead call us to trust in the providence of God, albeit unfathomable at times. In the words of Newman, the divine plan “has a purpose, and will bring [suffering] to good, and will show us that it is good, in His own time.”

A beautiful prayer which Newman composed has always touched me and a copy of which has come recently to sit upon the mantle in my own home. It summarizes perfectly his ideas about suffering:

“God has created me to do Him some definite service. He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission. I may never know it in this life but I shall be told it in the next. I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons.  He has not created me for naught.  I shall do good — I shall do his work. I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place, while not intending it, if I but keep His commandments. Therefore, I will trust Him.  Whatever I am, I can never be thrown away.  If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him; in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him. If I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends. He may throw me among strangers. He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me — still, He knows what He is about.”

Doubtlessly words to stake our lives of discipleship upon.

Michael M. Canaris of Collingswood is a Ph.D. candidate in systematic theology at Fordham University.