A gathered group of monks received the words of two returning from worldly excursions, a day of visiting with the elderly at a nursing home. Their words centered upon a young one, a child of eight years, the daughter of a nurse all were familiar with. The nurse shared with the monks her little girl was diagnosed with brain cancer.

A younger monk, hearing the news, exclaimed “Now Sophia can offer her suffering to the Lord.”

“No! No!” Another younger monk, Bruno, one known for his silence, loudly rebuked the words.

All eyes were upon him, yet his eyes were downcast, his head shaking a stern no.

Father Prior inquired “Brother do you have something to say?”

Bruno looked up to speak, yet before words a flood of tears erupted. “This little girl will most likely lose her life. Her dreams, wishes, hopes, and fancies will be left unexplored. Her friends will grow, yet she will not. It is horrible and it breaks my heart. Her parents must be devastated.” He allowed tears and breath to provide clarity before continuing. “We are supposed to be men of God. Do we receive the news of a little girl facing cancer joyfully, announcing an opportunity for her? Her suffering, her family’s suffering, will be immense. I wonder how the little one will even be able to manage her sanity. Only through profound grieving, sharing in the pain inflicted, can we be of assistance. This is not a religious game with individuals seeking glory, pronouncing dogma and clever spiritual advice. It is ugly. It hurts. We must be breathe this in, feel it deeply in our innards, and then exhale it as prayer.”

Father Prior responded, recognizing the tremendous amount of words from one who rarely spoke. “Well said Bruno. No more idle chit chat brothers, back to work.”