Why does God not let us have it easy?

“We would like to see Jesus.” That was the request some Greeks had of Jesus’ disciples. Based on how Jesus answered this request, some might say that if Jesus wanted more people to join his enterprise, then he had better consult a PR firm first. The Greeks were interested to know more about Jesus, and what “pitch” did Jesus make in response? Jesus spoke about being troubled and an impending death – probably not the best way to “market” yourself and entice people to “buy in.”

Jesus does speak about glory and a great harvest, but he also warns that the grain of wheat must fall to the ground and die first. Why did he have to mention this at this point? Maybe Jesus believed in full disclosure and truth in advertising. The scene before our Gospel today was Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem. Maybe Jesus wanted to make sure that the Greeks knew that following him would not always mean being cheered on with Hosannas. Becoming a disciple of Jesus is not going to be a bed of roses. Or maybe it will be a real bed of roses — with the petals will come the thorns. Those who desire to really see Jesus must be prepared to wear those thorns like a crown.

Jesus did not want to deceive anyone. He wanted people to realize what they were getting into if they decided to commit to him. Fair enough, but I still have another question: Why does following Jesus have to be so hard? Yes, it is not always hard. Yes, there is joy. Yes, there are perks and benefits (eternal life is quite the pension). Yes, God does give you the grace you need to clock in everyday and labor in his field, but anyone who tells you that it is going to be a vacation is not being realistic. Just check out the Boss’s job description: “The Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again” (Mark 8:31). And we are already talking about the Owner’s Son here. What can the good and faithful servants expect? “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me” (Mark 8:34).

Why can it not be easy? Why can we not skip through the take-up-your-cross parts and just fast forward to the rise-again happy ending?

A team of researchers at the University of California at Berkeley recently performed an experiment that involved introducing single-celled amoebae into the perfect environment. The temperature was ideal. The amount of moisture was optimal. Food supply was constant. How did the amoebae fare? They all died.

In another experiment, breeding pairs of rats were let loose in a complex of pens provided with unlimited food and water. There were no predators and no scarcity whatsoever. But in this rodent utopia, some rats became overly aggressive and attacked other rats pointlessly. Some rats became overly passive and seemingly forgot how to defend themselves. A portion of the population withdrew from the rest and just spent their time eating, drinking, and grooming themselves. These, for one reason or another, simply stopped reproducing. The last healthy birth came 600 days after the experiment began. Not long after that, the rat utopia population dwindled to zero.

Do these experiments prove that we need adversity, that we need life not to be easy?

Trials and tribulations, the challenges we face and the crosses we have to bear, are like knives. Grasp them by the blade, and they will cut you. Grasp them by the handle, and they will help you cut through the nets and traps that ensnare you: your aggressiveness, your passivity, your preoccupation with yourself, and all the other ropes that you will find yourself tangled in.

How do you deal with experiences of hardship and suffering? Do you grip them by the blade and not let go until you bleed to death? Or do you hold them by the handle and not let go until they help set you free?

As a hospital chaplain in the Philippine General Hospital (PGH), I once met a patient whom we shall hide behind the codename Lebanon.

Why Lebanon? Well, that was where she worked before being confined in PGH. She had a professional degree but applied to be a domestic helper there because she could not find work here. She used all of her savings for the airfare and for the job placement fee with high hopes that she would be able to help her family. She was still far from recouping her investment when one night, her employer gave her a drink laced with a narcotic. When she fell unconscious, her employer carried her and threw her out of a fourth floor window. She broke so many bones that she stopped counting. She returned to the Philippines in a body cast and with nothing in her pockets.

I met her in the orthopedic ward months later. She used to wheel herself from bed to bed, share her story with the other patients, and say, “Look at me. So many bad things have happened to me, but here I am ready to start all over again. If I can do it, you can, too.”

After learning about her misfortune, I asked her, “Why are you not bitter? How can you still smile and laugh after everything?” She told me that in the hospital in Lebanon, she had met a Catholic nurse who gave her a rosary and taught her how to pray with it. She said that the thing she dreaded the most after her tragedy was returning to the Philippines and telling her family she had failed. On the flight back to Manila, the only thing she could do was clutch her rosary tightly. Somehow, that saw her through everything else that followed. Now, she was on a mission to help others as that Catholic nurse helped her.

I have to correct my earlier statement. She did not come back with nothing. She was actually one of the richest people I knew.

As a chaplain in PGH, I used to go around the wards trying to console patients and encourage them. But Lebanon, in her wheelchair, gave them more hope than I ever could. The grain of wheat had fallen to the ground from a height of four stories. She was so badly injured that she was all but buried. But now she was producing much fruit.