God of Consolation

By Fr. Conor Donnelly

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In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

My Lord and my God, I firmly believe that you are here, that you see me, that you hear me. I adore you with profound reverence. I ask your pardon for my sins and grace to make this time of prayer fruitful. My Immaculate Mother, Saint Joseph, my father and lord, my guardian angel, intercede for me.

We’re told in St. Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians, “Blessed be the God and Father of Our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God” (2 Cor. 1:3-4).

This passage contains one of the most beautiful titles in the whole of Scripture. It refers to God as the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort.

A little later in that passage, St. Paul says, “For we do not want you to be ignorant, brethren, of the affliction we experienced in Asia. For we were so utterly unbearably crushed that we despaired of life itself. We felt that we had received the sentence of death” (2 Cor. 1:8-9).

St. Paul recounts his deliverance from a very painful trial that he experienced in the Roman province of Asia, in the west of today’s Turkey. He doesn’t give us any specifics about this extreme trial, but he does say that it was beyond his strength to bear (which says a lot, considering that it’s Paul who says it) and that this trial could have cost him his life.

We don’t know if it was an illness, or a mistreatment, or stoning, or falling into the hands of a court with the power to inflict capital punishment. A journalist in today’s world might make much of it. But Paul is not the kind of person to seek pity by making a tragedy of his life and presenting himself as a victim, as is the fashion in vogue today.

He mentions this trial to encourage the believers with whom he’s concerned by testifying to God’s fidelity and to the good that can come from trials.

The first beneficial aspect of this suffering, he says, lies in having taught him to “rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead” (2 Cor 1:9). Trials make us aware of our limitations and invite us to lean only on God, and not on ourselves.

In the following sentence, he says, “He delivered us from so deadly a peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again” (2 Cor. 1:10).

In this way, he points to another fruit of this trial, that having experienced the faithfulness of God who delivered him, he is strengthened in his hope for the future.

And then he says, “You also must help us by prayer, so that many will give thanks on our behalf for the blessing granted us in answer to many prayers” (2 Cor. 1:11).

He’s aware that his deliverance from that trial was due to the Christian community’s prayers. And so, he invites people to give thanks.

He has been shown how much we need prayer from others in difficult times, and his communion in prayer with these believers has been strengthened by his experience of tribulation and of deliverance.

Paul’s thanksgiving also speaks of other fruits from his trial: “Blessed be the God and Father of Our Lord Jesus Christ,” he says, “the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our afflictions, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

And he continues, “For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.

“If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer” (2 Cor. 1:3-6).

Delivered and consoled by God, Paul discovers that this divine consolation empowers him to console others in their trials. This is a very beautiful fruit of the communion and charity born of his experience.

All that he went through, whether trial or consolation, is not only for him but for others. Experiencing difficulty equips us to understand and comfort others in their difficulties.

A number of years ago, a lady told me how she’d had a miscarriage, and for two or three months, she was very low with this great loss.

She mentioned how many of the other mothers in her daughter’s class—Standard Four, I think it was—were very supportive, very kind, helped her a lot. But she said there was one mother who had lost a seven-year-old child a few years previously, and she said, “That mother used to come and sit with me, and while all the other mothers were very supportive and helpful, this particular mother was special.”

It was a rather interesting anecdote about how that other mother, who had been through that suffering and that cross, had derived a talent of being able to help and comfort others in similar situations.

Very often the grace of compassion and empathy is born of tribulations. Often the crosses that God permits us to carry have a great apostolic purpose. Some period down the line, two months, two years, some soul may come in contact with us who’s going through something similar. Because we’ve been there, we know what to do. We know what to say or what not to say.

In sometimes permitting us to go through painful trials, God intends that we not only realize our limitations and our nothingness, but, even more, we come to understand others better, not judging them from afar but coming near to those in difficulty.

Suffering involves isolation by placing us outside of “normal” life. Those around us may seem well and happy, while I am alone with my distress. The greatest comfort then can be for someone to say to me, “I know what you’re going through. I’ve been there myself.”

It’s not that one must have gone through every kind of suffering in order to understand the sufferings of others. But it is necessary that we would have had at least some suffering to grasp what it’s like to find oneself down, alone, miserable, powerless, and destitute.

Then we’re able to approach others, speaking the language of genuine understanding, not as false consolers like Job’s comforters, who came to moralize and make his burden even heavier on the pretext of counseling him (Job 16:2,42:7).

Then one can have the right attitude, keeping still when we should and finding the right words when words are possible.

Having the right attitude when faced with someone who is suffering is not easy. We may be fearful in the face of suffering, or clumsy sometimes, perhaps hurting others more by what we say.

To experience a painful trial and God’s faithfulness, as St. Paul did, can teach us a precious lesson in understanding others and effectively helping them.

St. Paul says, “Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort” (2 Cor. 1:7).

What Paul lived through evidently strengthened him in his hope that if others who are dear to him go through suffering, they too will experience consolation.

Sometimes, when faced with other people’s suffering, we can be indifferent or passive. Our fear or our egoism may prevent us from responding.

It can be easy to distance oneself, to go on our way, like the priest and the Levite in the parable of the Good Samaritan, in too much of a hurry, caught up with their own affairs, busy, busy, busy. They didn’t have time to stop and help the man who was in trouble. They didn’t have a tender compassionate heart (Luke 10:30-32).

Or sometimes it might be possible to go to the other extreme and be too compassionate, or despair in the face of someone who is close to us.

In Paul we see the right attitude towards those for whom he cares. On the one hand, he’s full of tenderness and compassion, as we often see in his Letters:

He says, “Who is weak, and I am not weak? Who is made to fall, and I am not indignant?” (2 Cor. 11:29).

“We were gentle among you,” he says in another place to the Thessalonians, “like a nurse taking care of her children. So, being affectionately desirous of you, we were ready to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves, because you had become very dear to us” (1 Thess. 2:7-8).

And to the Galatians, “My little children, for whom I am again in travail until Christ be formed in you!” (Gal. 4:19).

On the other hand, Paul accepts the fact that his children are suffering and is never discouraged or worried because of it. He retains the same hopeful outlook on the suffering of others that he has towards his own suffering.

“God is faithful” (1 Cor. 1:9), and after the trying times will come the times of comfort and fruitfulness. The difficulties pass.

Our God is a God of consolation. And it may be that at times when we don’t find consolation in any human things, there may be a divine call there.

God is calling us to look for our consolation in Him, to spend time in front of the Blessed Sacrament, to turn to Our Lady, Our Mother, who understands everything because “a sword pierced her own heart” (cf. Luke 2:35).

Sometimes we might not receive divine consolation because we might be too focused on getting it from other people.

Scripture often makes the point that God alone is the true refuge and comfort of those in need. The prophet Isaiah says, “God is a stronghold to the poor, a stronghold to the needy in his distress” (cf. Isa. 25:4).

We shouldn’t reject any human help. True humility includes knowing that we all need the help of others. We should embrace the support and comfort given by those close to us, letting ourselves be consoled and loved with humility and simplicity.

But we should not avidly seek it, or even worse, reproach others for not understanding us or helping us as we would like. God sometimes allows that we don’t find support from others in order that we would find comfort solely in Him.

Sometimes also, we need to be quiet during the trial, persevere in prayer, seek light and respite in the words of Scripture, and contemplate Christ’s Cross to find the way of consolation little by little.

Instead of unburdening ourselves to others, we should sometimes shed our tears with God. Psalm 56 says, “You have kept count of my tossings; put thou my tears in thy bottle” (Ps. 56:8).

God can give the gift of consolation through people we encounter along our way, but He may instead do this also entirely by Himself.

Consolation is truly a work that belongs to the Holy Spirit. He’s the great Consoler, the great Comforter. It is not just a matter of feelings but something more profound: it involves regaining peace, strength, and hope. Peace with what we’ve suffered in the past, strength for today, and hope for the future.

To be consoled means realizing that our experience, bad and all as it seems, is really a precious good. It means giving thanks.

The second Beatitude that says, “Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted” (Matt. 5:4), reminds us that the Church and our Christian vocation has a ministry of consolation.

The consolation we receive from God is not just to be kept for ourselves. We in turn are called to become consolers of those who need it.

We know that in today’s world, there’s a great need of consolation, because there’s so much suffering, often hidden or denied, suffering that fails to find the consolation it needs.

Another quotation from Psalm 69 says, “I looked for pity, but there was none; and for comforters, but I found none” (Ps. 69:20).

It’s interesting how Pope Francis inserted that phrase into the Litany of Our Lady of Loreto: “Comforter of migrants” (Robert Cardinal Sarah, Prefect of the Congregation for Divine Worship, Letter on the Invocations, June 6, 2020). Most people stand more in need of consolation and encouragement than of reproach.

In other places, St. Paul reminds us, “Keep encouraging one another” (1 Thess. 5:11, Heb. 10:24-25). Everybody needs words of encouragement, words of kindness.

We have to witness to the truth of the Gospel and keep in mind some necessary truths. But to be Christian doesn’t mean to be forever lecturing others. It means reaching out in love and mercy to the world’s distress and giving it confidence and hope.

If we fully live the Beatitudes, we will be in a position to become consolers of the brokenhearted. It’s interesting to look around us and see and realize that we live in a world that’s full of broken hearts.

One time I was coming back from a retreat in Macau, passing through Hong Kong airport. I was changing my last piece of Hong Kong currency to Singapore currency, where I was going, and at the foreign exchange counter, I noticed there was somebody at my left elbow.

He was looking over my shoulder and seemed to be looking to see how much money I had, presumably to know what to ask for. And I felt a bit peeved. I felt a bit got at. This fellow seems to be a real professional.

And so, when I turned around from the counter, the thoughts going through my mind were not very priestly.

This guy was standing there, and the first thing he says to me is, “Are you a man of God?” And oh, I felt even worse. Emotional blackmail. This guy really knows to squeeze it out of you.

Then he said to me, “Do you mind if I ask you a question?” And I said “No.” And I was wondering, ‘Was it five, or was it 10, or was it the whole 20?’ I could see myself walking home that night.

And then he said to me, “Why is love so painful?” It’s a rather difficult question to answer at Hong Kong airport when you’re rushing for a plane. I asked him if he ever heard of Jesus Christ. He might have had an Italian grandmother in Seattle who might have been a Catholic.

He was a 27-year-old young fellow with a broken heart. He told me that he had married a girl from mainland China. They lived in Taiwan for two years. He smothered her with love, but now she’s run back off to China. He said, “I came to look for her, I can’t find her. I can’t sleep at night.”

I discovered in that encounter, I think I learned more than he did, I got more out of it. We exchanged emails, we talked for a while, and we went our separate ways.

You find broken hearts in all sorts of places. People reaching out. They see a man of God and they want to talk.

The Psalms also say, “Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning” (Ps. 30:5). “You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and girded me with gladness” (Ps. 30:11). “Your consolations cheer my soul” (Ps. 94:19).

We are called to be consolers. That second Beatitude is a promise of consolation for the afflicted. All tears, all afflictions will one day be the object of consolation originating in God Himself.

The fulfillment of that promise of consolation can sometimes take time to be realized. But we must persevere in hope and in patience.

The Psalm also says, “My eyes fail with watching for your promise; I ask, ‘When will you comfort me?’” (Ps. 119:82). God’s time is not always our time. But God is faithful, and the moment of comfort will certainly come.

We’re told also in the Psalms, “May those who sow in tears reap with shouts of joy” (Ps. 126:5).

The theme of consolation, in the Old Testament as in the New, is one of the most beautiful in Scripture. It appears chiefly in the second half of the prophet Isaiah, in what might be called the “Book of Israel’s Consolation.”

After the ruination of Jerusalem and the destruction of the temple, the tone of the prophetic text changes from vigorous invitations to conversion and threats of punishment to a message of consolation and hope once the hardship has arrived.

The Book of Isaiah says, “Comfort, comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem and cry to her that her warfare is ended, that her iniquity is pardoned, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins” (Isa. 40:1-2).

The rest of the passage is an invitation to “prepare the way of the Lord” (Isa. 40:3), to make ourselves available to God’s future intervention on behalf of His people.

He will come with force and tenderness, like a shepherd leading his flock. We’re told in Scripture: “Behold, the Lord comes with might, and his arm rules for him; behold, his reward, and his recompense before him. He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms; he will carry them in his bosom, and gently lead those that are with young” (Isa. 40:10-11).

Somewhat later in the Book of Isaiah, it says, “Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth; break forth, O mountains, into singing! For the Lord has comforted his people, and will have compassion on his afflicted.

“But Zion said, ‘The Lord has forsaken me, my Lord has forgotten me.’ Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you (Isa. 49:13-15).

This passage has deeply touched many of the saints, in particular, St. Thérèse of Lisieux, who cites it many times.

The Book of Isaiah also says, “As one whom his mother comforts, so I will comfort you. You shall be comforted in Jerusalem” (Isa. 66:13).

In the Jewish tradition, the title “Consoler” is one of the names of the Messiah.

The story of Our Lord’s presentation in the temple in the Gospel of St. Luke tells of the old man Simeon, who was “just and devout, who was looking for the consolation of Israel.” He had the good fortune to see the realization of his hope, the day that he held Jesus in his arms, in fulfillment of a promise by the Holy Spirit that “he would not die before seeing the Christ, the Lord’s Messiah” (Luke 2:25-26).

St. Paul often deals with the theme of divine consolation. He calls God the one “who comforts the downcast” (2 Cor. 7:6), “the God of steadfastness and encouragement” (Rom. 15:5), and asks God’s consolation for the Christians of Thessalonica.

He says, “Now may Our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God Our Father, who loved us and gave us eternal comfort and good hope through grace, comfort your hearts and establish them in every good work and word” (2 Thess. 2:16-17).

This consolation is understood as a renewal of hope, of which the Scriptures are one of the principal sources: “For whatever was written in former days,” says St. Paul, “was written for our instruction, that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures, we might have hope” (Rom. 15:4).

The concluding chapters of the Book of Revelation (principally a message of consolation and hope for a persecuted Church), adopts from Isaiah a description of God as he who “wipes away the tears from all faces” (Isa. 25:8), and they contain a magnificent passage on the consolation God would give at the coming of His kingdom and the New Jerusalem:

“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a great voice from the throne saying, ‘Behold, the dwelling of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself will be with them. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.’ And he who sat upon the throne said, ‘Behold, I make all things new’” (Rev. 21:1-5).

In the Book of Isaiah, another phrase we’re familiar with says, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good tidings to the afflicted. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; to grant to those who mourn in Zion—to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit (Isa. 61:1-3).

We can turn to Our Lady, Comforter of the afflicted, Comforter of migrants. Mary, may you help us to be very involved in this ministry of consolation, so that we may become great consolers, and may more and more seek also our own personal consolation in our dealings with you, Mary, and with your beloved Son in the Blessed Sacrament.

I thank you, my God, for the good resolutions, affections, and inspirations that you have communicated to me during this meditation. I ask your help to put them into practice. My Immaculate Mother, Saint Joseph, my father and lord, my guardian angel, intercede for me.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Parts of this meditation were taken from The Eight Doors of the Kingdom: Meditations on the Beatitudes by Jacques Philippe (Scepter, 2018).

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