Landing on a Sunday, today’s memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows is superseded – we (rightly!) offer Mass for the solemnity of the 24th Sunday in Ordinary Time. I nonetheless celebrate this day each year – it was on this day, nearly twenty years ago, that a drunk driving accident at my alma mater Mundelein seminary claimed the lives of two of my classmates (Jared Cheek and Matty Molnar) and forever changed the lives of the two surviving seminarians. The driver, Rob Spaulding, would eventually be convicted of two counts of reckless homicide.

The story did not end there, thank God. The parents of Jared & Matty advocated for their sons’ friend, offering him forgiveness of a kind which I can only hope to model should it ever be asked of me – but never fails to form a lump in my throat when I call it to mind. In addition to their great mercy, God had His own to offer and Rob is now Father Rob Spaulding – ordained, by the way, the same year I was. We have also shared a bishop – Archbishop Etienne – who was Father Spaulding’s bishop well before he came to the Archdiocese of Seattle. Though I don’t know all its meaning, I can’t help but marvel at the rhyme and rhythm of the poetry of the Lord.

So many bad decisions were made that evening in September of 2005, culminating in a night of great sorrow and many, many tears. I am grateful for the fruits that have since come to light, but I know that I am not alone in praying for Jared, Matty, and their families & friends on the anniversary of their death each year.

Here at our parishes of the Olympic Peninsula, there have been some sorrows as well. This week I was confronted with one the most difficult realities of Partners in the Gospel, the priest shortage, and the crisis of our Catholic faith when I went to visit a parishioner at an assisted living facility. Some three weeks ago I had received her request for a priest to come by. It wasn’t presented as urgent, just a(nother) request for a priest to bring the sacraments. Looking at my calendar back in late August, I saw that the earliest I could fit a visit in was this week Thursday. When I arrived, it was the receptionist who broke the news to me: the parishioner I was there to visit had died the night before.

I have no doubts about the mercy of God nor the extraordinary graces He provides to those who can not receive the ordinary means of grace He offers in the sacraments of confession, anointing of the sick, and the Eucharist. I know that she did not die alone or unaided – the Lord was with her and receives her to Himself. But it was all I could do not to cry right there at the desk of the receptionist. All of my planning & effort and I couldn’t be there for one of the most important things for which a priest is ordained. The sorrow of being unable to help – not even knowing that that help had been needed – weighs heavy on my heart.

It is a sorrow that Jesus carried on the cross, given voice in the Reproaches we recite every Good Friday: “My people, what have I done to you, how have I offended you?”. It is a sorrow that Mary shared, only able to offer her presence while watching the agony of her Son. It is the sorrow that we carry daily as we are faced with our own limitations, weaknesses, and sins – and those of others, of the whole word.

Saint Paul says it well: “We know that all creation is groaning in labor pains even until now; and not only that, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, we also groan within ourselves as we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies.” (Romans 8:22-23). We know that labor pains are never expressed in something as subtle as groans, but with fierce and loud exclamations – and so we likewise express our sorrow and suffering.

But there are fruits, foremost among them the resurrection of Jesus from the dead. Though He still bears the wounds of the cross – and perhaps will for all eternity – they no longer pain Him. On the contrary, they serve as reminders of His great love, of the victory won for us – even offering occasion for us to draw nearer to Him in faith & friendship, as Thomas discovered in the Upper Room. What fruits might we discover as we suffer together and with Christ?

As always, Mary’s example serves as both a model and a reassurance. Just as her great suffering eventually gave way to great joy, so ours will too. I invite you to pray for my friends (Matty, Jared, Mark, and Rob), to pray for our parishioner, and for each other. Though we yet walk through the valley of the shadow of death, sorrow will one day give way to rejoicing. In the meantime – even if it only involves us standing witness to the suffering of Christ – we stay close to the Lord, confident in His victory.