I am 62 years old, I am Irish and I have lived in Taiwan for many years. I have had pulmonary fibrosis for a long time, so when I began to feel more tired, I thought it was just a worsening of this condition. I went to the doctor not very worried. To my surprise, I was told directly and without any preparation: stage four cancer, which has already spread to the other lung and perhaps elsewhere.

My first reaction was to call my wife. She and my daughter, who lives with us in Taiwan, remained on the phone in silence. Our other daughter is in Ireland. At that moment I was not afraid for myself: my thoughts went immediately to them, to the burden that this news would place on their shoulders. At the same time I felt a deep regret for all the times I hadn’t loved fully, for the wounds I had left along the way. It seemed too late to make amends.

One day a priest came to celebrate Mass in our home. I have known the Focolare Movement since I was eleven years old, and I have always lived the offering of myself to God during the consecration. But that time I understood something new: I could place in the chalice, not only myself, but also all the people I had hurt. I could entrust them to Jesus so that He might heal what I could no longer repair. It was an immense relief. Since then, a deep serenity has accompanied me.

Eight years ago my wife had breast cancer. We have already passed through darkness. Then, as now, we chose to trust in the Father’s love. When I pray the “Our Father” and say “Thy will be done,” I feel that my whole life is already held in heaven. The future does not belong to me: it is in God’s hands. All I have to do is say yes.

I often think of Loppiano (Italy) where as a young man I felt a very strong call to follow Jesus. Over time I understood that it was an invitation to recognize him above all in suffering, in that face that the charism refers to as ” Jesus Forsaken “. Even when my wife was ill, before the cross I understood that it is not enough to remain below and look on: we must ascend with Him, enter into His abandonment and let ourselves be carried to the Father. Our home is there.

Before the diagnosis I had a very full life: I taught at the university, I accompanied students and young people, I supported families and I participated in the life of the Movement. Now my world has shrunk. I’m on leave of absence and in order to avoid infections, I go out little. But something surprising is happening: people seek me out. They write to me from every continent and pray for me. Some young people in Taiwan have created a group to pray together every week. I thought I had sown very little; now I see that love returns multiplied.

When I speak openly about my illness, many find the courage to open up about their own wounds. My weakness becomes a space for communion. It is as if, Christ, lifted up on the cross, draws hearts to himself. This illness, which humanly is a death sentence, turns out to be an opportunity to welcome others.

There are sufferings that can be shared with everyone and others that can only be expressed to God, in a deep dialogue with Him. I know moments will come when I won’t even have the strength to offer my pain. So I prepare myself in this way: by repeating my yes. “Not my will, but yours be done” (Lk. 22:42). I know I can’t face what lies ahead alone. But I also know I won’t be alone.

In these months I have understood that love is not the sole remit of those who know Jesus or call themselves Christians. In the hospital, the doctors and nurses who treat me do not share my faith, yet they love with a tenderness and attentiveness that move me. I have seen in their daily gestures – an extra phone call, a patient explanation, a discreet presence, that love is greater than labels. When I look at suffering through the eyes of love, it no longer remains trapped in fear: it is transformed, it becomes a space of hope, something mysteriously positive. It is as if every act of care, even if unconscious, is already a pathway to God, because wherever there is love, it leads to Him.

And within this immense communion – made up of my family, friends, students, young people and doctors who love perhaps without fully knowing why – I experience that everything is already held within a design of goodness. I don’t have to control it or fully understand it: I can simply dwell within it, day by day, with gratitude.

Compiled by Carlos Mana

Photo © Engin Akyurt-Pexels