38
that must feel the sting of the wind, the
bite of the cold, the cramp of aching
muscles, the raw lash of cracked and
bleeding flesh, the gnawing agony of
hunger, frostbite, stomach rumblings,
running eyes, swollen feet, cracked lips,
battered knuckles, sprains, aches and
bruises. It was the body that underwent
the suffering, felt the agony and carted
the heavy weight across its shoulders.
By the Incarnation, God
became man like us in
all things except sin. By
redeeming us, He did
not thereby free us from
our sufferings, pains or
sorrows. By His example,
He taught us how to
look upon our suffering,
and carry it with love;
accepting it as bringing
to us the Will of God and
offering back to God, each
morning, all the joys,
works and sufferings of
our day.
The prisoners hated work, hated the
officials who made them work; they
hated the government that condemned
them to these cruel occupations. They
worked as much as was necessary to
survive. “He who does not work,
does not eat!” I was a priest, and I
was assigned to the lowest work and
the roughest brigades. I came to know
work at its worst - at its most brutal,
degrading and dehumanizing worst.
What was work to me during those
years, if not a punishment and a
curse? Yet, I took pride in it. I did the
best I could. I worked to my limit of
strength each day. Because I saw this
work as the Will of God for me; I saw
the labor, not as a punishment but as
a way of working out my salvation.
Work was even a way to help others
to God. It was not degrading; it was
ennobling, for it came to me from the
Hand of God Himself.
My fellow prisoners were quick to
ask if I were crazy. I tried to explain
that work itself was not a curse, but a
sharing in God’s work of creation, a
redemptive and redeeming act, noble
of itself, and worthy of the best in
man. God came to earth - the Son of a
carpenter. He worked for twenty years
to set an example for us.
For all the hardships and
suffering endured, the
prison camps of Siberia
held one great consolation
for me: I was able to
function as a priest again.
I was able to offer the
Holy Mass. Of course, this
could not be done openly.
The camps were full of
informers. As a man
chosen from among men,
and ordained to bring
God to man, I had an
obligation to minister to
souls, with no thought of
personal inconvenience,
or what risks I might be
running to perform this service. It was
not so much preaching the word of God
and talking of religion to the men
around me, as it was being a living
witness to it. A life of hard work, dedication to God
in suffering and sacrifice, and a little
word of kindness and love; all these
drew their attention, which grew into
admiration and respect; then followed
inquiry. There were no startling conversions,
no miracles performed, no
sensational prayer sessions. The little
that was done, was done in a simple
way. It was done for God - a clandestine
Mass, a Baptism, an office of the dead,
a confession heard, a sick call, a
mumbled word of prayer or advice while
walking about on camp or marching
through the snow to work. Everything
was done in a deep spirit of faith. Pain
and suffering comprises the sacrifice
needed in the passion for saving souls.