“In the dark night of the soul, bright flows the river of God.”
—St. John of the Cross
“Will my suffering ever be worth it?” “Kailan kaya matatapos itong paghihirap ko?” “Dire na nasusumhan an problema ha amon pamilya” (“The problems in our family never seem to end.”) These are some of the words I often hear from the people I meet and even from members of my own family. Behind these questions are people carrying burdens that sometimes feel too heavy to bear. In fact, the word suffering comes from the Latin sufferre, formed from sub, meaning “under,” and ferre, meaning “to carry or bear.” Thus, to suffer literally means to carry or endure something painful, whether it is seen by others or silently borne within the heart.
This week, our seminary community reflected on suffering. We looked beyond the personal struggles we usually associate with it and remembered those who suffer because of poverty, corruption, unjust governance, war, persecution, and other social realities. In my meditation, I asked myself: Is there beauty in suffering? Is there a reason why people suffer? These questions are difficult to answer, yet they are also meaningful to reflect on.
In my apostolate at the New Quezon City Jail Male Dormitory in Payatas and in Sitio Militar, where I bring Holy Communion to the sick, I have encountered many people who seem to have grown accustomed to suffering. Some carry the pain of being separated from their families, while others endure sickness, loneliness, and uncertainty. Yet despite their situation, a spark of hope continues to burn within their hearts. I have seen persons deprived of liberty pray with sincerity and sick people receive the Eucharist with gratitude. Their suffering has not completely taken away their faith.
Through these encounters, I have realized that suffering itself is not beautiful. Pain, injustice, sickness, and war should never be romanticized or simply accepted. The beauty is found in the love, courage, and faith that can arise in the midst of suffering. It is seen when someone continues to hope despite having many reasons to give up, chooses to forgive despite being wounded, or helps carry another person’s burden. As Saint Thérèse of Lisieux prayed during her own suffering, “Jesus, my joy is loving You.” Her words remind me that joy does not always mean the absence of pain. Sometimes, joy is the quiet decision to continue loving and trusting God when life becomes difficult.
Christ does not promise us a life without suffering. Instead, He enters our suffering and carries it with us. His Cross teaches us that pain does not have the final word, while His Resurrection assures us that darkness can lead to light and suffering can give way to new life. Perhaps I may never fully understand why people suffer, but I can choose how I respond. I can listen, accompany, pray, speak against injustice, and become a small sign of hope for those who feel alone.
The dark night may remain, and our burdens may not immediately disappear. Yet, as Saint John of the Cross reminds us, “In the dark night of the soul, bright flows the river of God.” Even in the darkest moments of suffering, God’s grace continues to flow quietly within us. It gives us the strength to carry what seems unbearable, the courage to walk another day, and the hope that darkness will never have the final word.
