Saint of Darkness:
Reflections on the Role of Suffering

I love to read and am usually pursuing three or four books at a time (likely a novel, poetry, some devotional book, and something in the area of my special interests). I admit that not everything I read is of equal quality, either in terms of good literature, truth-telling, or transformational impact.

Considering all these standards, the best book I read last year was Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light—The Private Writings of the “Saint of Calcutta.” What I want to do in this article is not so much a book review, but a reflection on Mother Teresa's revelations and on the role of redemptive suffering in general.

Writing is one of the ways I work my way through difficult questions or experiences, and the writing itself is part of the process. And key to the nature of this new genre called the “blog” is that it's meant to be interactive. That means I invite you to join me, and I hope it becomes a four-way conversation: you, me, Mother Teresa and the Holy Spirit.

First, let me tell you about the book. I won't presume you've already read it (although I recommend that you do so). As the subtitle indicates, Come Be My Light presents the personal and hitherto unpublished writings of Mother Teresa. These are largely journal entries or letters to her spiritual advisors. The letters frequently included requests from Mother Teresa that they be destroyed. She had no intention they ever be published. The book was edited by Father Brian Kolodiejchuk and contains his running commentary, organizing the writings chronologically and putting them in the context of Teresa's life and ministry. He does this well, providing background that aids understanding without getting in the way. (Kolodiejchuk knew Mother Teresa for 20 years as a member of the Missionaries of Charity Fathers. He was the postulator of the Cause of Beatification and Canonization of Mother Teresa and currently directs the Mother Teresa Center.)

As for publishing something the author did not want to become public, this needs to be seen in the light of Mother Teresa's habitual attitude of submission to those over her in the church. She did not write on a personal level to many, and all of those who did receive her confidence felt strongly that the correspondence should not be destroyed and, in some cases even forbade her to do so. Kolodiejchuk had access to her private papers as part of the canonization process, and church authorities agreed that because Mother Teresa was such a public and historically important figure, publication was necessary. They also agreed that the secrets disclosed would not harm her reputation and impact.

The book makes public three “secrets” of Mother Teresa's life, the first being a vow she made to God in 1942, in her own words, “binding under [pain of] mortal sin, to give to God anything that He may ask, ‘Not to refuse Him anything'” (letter to Archbishop Périer, 1959). This vow helped make Teresa sensitive to the voice of the Spirit and quick to obey. Part of her reputation as a woman of action, at times impatient with official processes, stems from this vow of instant obedience.

The second secret concerns the details of her “call within the call,” the mystical experiences that accompanied the voice of Jesus telling her to “come be my light” in the dark places of the earth, among the poor and rejected. In a sense, these experiences of voices and visions seem to flow from the emotional intimacy with Jesus that Teresa had experienced from her childhood. They also contrast with her experiences following obedience to the call to the poor, and this is the third secret and the focus of the book.

The third revelation concerns the inner darkness that Mother Teresa experienced as she followed Jesus into the slums of Calcutta, beginning the work of the Missionaries of Charity, a work that was to grow over the years into a worldwide ministry of mercy. Almost immediately upon entering the slums, Teresa lost her sense of intimacy with Jesus; loneliness and longing for God's presence became the notes of her song. Her prayers began to seem dry, and a darkness within accompanied the darkness of her surroundings. Compared by some to what John of the Cross called “the dark night of the soul” (although Teresa herself rejected this comparison), the experience of the absence of God accompanied Mother Teresa for the next 50 years, until her death in 1997. She purposefully kept her inner pain a secret from her co-workers, confiding only in a select handful of spiritual advisors.

Let me quote from a few of Teresa's letters to Archbishop Périer during the 1950s: “…Please pray for me that I may not spoil His work and that Our Lord may show Himself—for there is such a terrible darkness within me, as if everything was dead. It has been like this more or less from the time I started ‘the work.' Ask Our Lord to give me courage” (1953); “Pray for me—for within me everything is icy cold. It is only that blind faith that carries me through for in reality to me all is darkness. As long as Our Lord has all the pleasure—I really do not count” (1955); “My…resolution is to become an apostle of Joy—to console the Sacred Heart of Jesus through Joy….I want to smile even at Jesus & so hide if possible the pain and darkness of my soul even from Him” (1957); “Sometimes the pain is so great that I feel as if everything will break. The smile is a big cloak which covers a multitude of pains” (1958).

Mother Teresa struggled to understand the darkness, with the help of her spiritual advisors. Some of the early explanations included that God was granting her a “dark night of the soul” for her own purification and spiritual development, and that the darkness was to help her resist pride with all the recognition that came from her life and ministry. These explanations did not satisfy, but in the 1960s Teresa began to make peace with the darkness, coming to understand it as identification both with the suffering of Christ (specifically his thirst on the cross) and with the suffering of the poor to whom she was called to minister.

As early as 1961, she wrote to Father Neuner, “For the first time in this 11 years—I have come to love the darkness.—For I now believe that it is a part, a very, very small part of Jesus' darkness & pain on earth. You have taught me to accept it [as] a ‘spiritual side of your work' as you wrote.—Today I really felt a deep joy—that Jesus can't go anymore through the agony—but that He wants to go through it in me.”

Kolodiejchuk goes on to comment that, in addition to identification with the suffering of Jesus, “Her darkness was an identification with those she served: she was drawn mystically into the deep pain they experienced as a result of feeling unwanted and rejected and, above all, by living without faith in God. Years before she had been willing to offer herself as a victim for even one soul. She was now called to be united in the pain, not only with one soul, but with a multitude of souls that suffered in this terrible darkness” (216). These insights gave Teresa a measure of peace and even joy, although the inner emptiness accompanied her journey until death. Her understanding changed from seeing the darkness as a shameful secret to recognizing it as a gift of God and a means to fulfilling her part in God's mission.

The book has caused confusion and controversy in some circles. Atheists are using it to prove a point (“See, it doesn't work!”), some psychologists are analyzing Mother Teresa's experience as a subconscious compensation for too much success, and a few Christians are questioning her spirituality. The explanation of redemptive suffering certainly doesn't sit well with North American culture, where “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” are considered rights (although not “equal opportunity rights”), and sought through all the means money provides. Even evangelical culture defines “abundant life” in certain ways and encourages us to find ministries that match our “gift mix” and are personally fulfilling. Suffering is something to be avoided, or at least treated with pain killers.

I don't intend to pursue suffering, but I am challenged to reflect on God's choice of this painful tool. It's certainly a part of life. Is it a part of mission?

Well, yes. If you take Jesus' and Paul's word for it. While Jesus did describe Kingdom work as the “easy yoke and the light burden,” he also told the disciples, “Take up your cross and follow me.” In the context of co-laboring with God in mission, Paul speaks of “participating in the sufferings of Christ” and “completing what is lacking in the sufferings of Christ.” God denied his request to have his “thorn in the flesh” removed, and Paul came to thank God for it and accept it as an aid to mission.

I think of other Christians whose writings have impacted me. Dietrich Bonhoeffer's classic, The Cost of Discipleship, reminds me of Mother Teresa's experience in its emphasis on absolute obedience to Christ and acceptance of the cross, the suffering assigned to us as we follow him in mission. “To endure the cross is not a tragedy; it is the suffering which is the fruit of an exclusive allegiance to Jesus Christ….[It is] the suffering which is an essential part of the specifically Christian life…. Suffering, then, is the badge of true discipleship” (Ch. 4). Bonhoeffer mentions bearing one another's burdens as part of cross-bearing.

Another Christian who wrote on burden bearing is Charles Williams, an Englishman and contemporary of Bonhoeffer, as well as intimate friend of C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien. In his novel, Descent into Hell, Williams presents the possibility of literally taking on someone's pain, as an exchange, in order to let that person find redemption. I imagine this was a topic of discussion between Williams, Lewis and Tolkein, and it comes out in Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, in one of my favorite scenes. Near the end of the story, Frodo and Sam are struggling up Mount Doom. Frodo's strength is running out, when Sam offers to help bear the burden of the ring in the only way he can: “I can't carry it, Mr. Frodo, but I can certainly carry you.”

Come Be My Light gives another picture of redemptive suffering in Mother Teresa's practice of pairing sick and suffering co-workers with the Missionaries of Charity. These were Christians suffering from a painful terminal illness but who wanted to support the work among the poor. Teresa linked each co-worker with one missionary sister, giving them the task of offering their pain to God as part of their redemptive intercession. In this way, she encouraged them to use their suffering for the advancement of the Kingdom of God among the poor.

Of course sickness, pain, displacement, discouragement, bereavement, despair, abandonment and other types of suffering can be seen as consequences of sin in the world (although not necessarily related to sin in the suffering one). The inner pain Mother Teresa suffered is of a different nature and more difficult to understand. It seems to be a darkness sent by the Father of Lights, the giver of all good and perfect gifts. There is mystery here.

So how does this relate to you and me?

One way Teresa's story is helping me right now is in my own friendship with Jesus. I'm going through a time of spiritual intimacy, where I sense the presence of Jesus in set-aside times of prayer, but also throughout the day, in the ordinariness of life and work and relationships. All the stuff that can be spiritually distracting is, for the moment, the context of encounter. I see him all around me and rejoice in his love.

Mother Teresa's experience helps me not to take this for granted and to remember that I am to live for Jesus, not for his gifts. It also helps me understand that my current experience comes from God's grace and not because of any merit of my own. Maybe it will continue. Maybe it won't. I'm encouraged by people such as Thomas Kelley and Evelyn Underhill to cultivate the habits that open me to the grace of his presence. But I will cling to him, not to the emotional benefits of our relationship. (Does this make sense or am I being naïve?)

Teresa's experience is helping me understand my ministry. I have been given one task in particular that does not seem to fit with my temperament and gifts, but I sense God saying that he does, indeed, want me to continue with this work. Other people, my husband included, encourage me to minister in this way, but I struggle with fear and feelings of inadequacy. Several years ago, it all came down to this: “Is this from you, Lord?” It's the responding “yes” that keeps me on track. But it helps me to be able to offer my discomfort and occasional fear to God, asking him to use them redemptively.

Another application is being actively involved in bearing one another's burdens, and there are many ways to do this, depending on the circumstances in which God places each of us and the unique concerns (a good Quaker word) he gives us. Since reading Descent into Hell many years ago, I've had occasion to practice what Williams suggests, asking a person to “give” me her burden, with instructions not to even worry about it for a certain period of time, while I carry it any way God leads. This always includes intercession. Results are encouraging, but any type of intercessory prayer should result in change and transformation.

I'm asking God to deepen my ministry of intercession (a long term process) and to teach me so that my prayers make a difference to my family, my church, my ministry, my town, people he places on my heart, and even assignments like the well-being of the people of Iraq. I'm somewhat aware of what this might mean, and while I don't intend to search for ways to suffer, I know I need to be willing for whatever God sends.

Sometimes in the middle of the night, I still fantasize about possible future tragedies, involving myself or my loved ones. And while I've developed disciplines to help me work through these kinds of nightmares, including covering prayers of protection, I also know that life is wild, that evil is real, and that I am not immune from the chaos that comes with living at this time and in this place. I am both protected by the light of Christ and vulnerable to the darkness, at the same time. It encourages me to know that giving thanks in all circumstances and letting my suffering be used redemptively for God's purposes are options.

This is not a comfortable subject and Come Be My Light is not a comforting book. But it is well worth reading and is proving a tool of the Spirit in preparing me to better serve God in mission.