Contemplations of a Cardinal
Born in Columbia, South Carolina on April 2, 1928, Joseph Cardinal Bernardin was the son of Italian immigrants Joseph and Maria Bernardin. At age 24, the young Roman Catholic was ordained as a priest. In 1972, Bernardin became Archbishop of Cincinnati; and ten years later, he was appointed the seventh Archbishop of Chicago. Pope Paul II elevated Bernardin to the Sacred College of Cardinals in 1983. Bernardin had gained respect as a compassionate priest, an insightful theologian, a capable administrator, and a trustworthy ambassador of the Church.
Then, his world was shattered by allegations of a horrible crime. Stephen Cook, a former seminarian, charged that Bernardin had sexually abused him. With a stained reputation and a shaken confidence, Bernardin questioned God. The Cardinal would later write: “When I was wrongly accused of sexual abuse, I asked: Why, God, did you let this happen? Still, I knew that my accuser needed prayers as much as I did. Those days were painful, but also filled with grace. I felt an outpouring of love and support. Above all, it was a time of spiritual growth.” Cook eventually recanted and Bernardin was exonerated. Shortly thereafter, the two men met face-to-face. The Cardinal said this reconciliation and healing “filled me with new life.”
But there was a second crisis waiting in the wings. In 1995, the Cardinal was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. These are his words: “My father died of cancer when I was six years old. So when I was diagnosed with a tumor, I already knew that cancer changes lives – not only the life of the person carrying it, but the lives of loved ones as well. When I learned that I had an aggressive cancer, I kept asking myself: Is this real? Is it true? There were many tears and periods of sadness. When we are sick, everything changes.” Bernardin underwent extensive surgery, followed by post-operative radiation treatments. It was a grueling period in his life. But the cancer was in remission and Bernardin remained hopeful. During this time, he became a crusader and spiritual leader for the sick. He visited children’s hospitals and community nursing homes. Then, fifteen months later, the cancer returned. Declining further curative options, Bernardin held a press conference. He told reporters: “In all sincerity, I am at peace. I consider this as God’s special gift to me.”
Bernardin chronicled his life’s triumphs and trials in his heartfelt book The Gift of Peace. The Cardinal died on November 14, 1990 at age 68, just days after he completed his compelling autobiography which includes this message: “Growing up, I spent years looking through my mother’s photo albums. I carefully studied my parents’ homeland in northern Italy. As time passed, I came to know the mountains, the trees, the houses, and the people. The first time I actually travelled to that part of Italy, it felt as if I had been there before. As soon as I entered the village, I thought, My God, I know this place. I’m home. Somehow, I think this is the way it will be in the afterlife. As I enter heaven, I’ll have the feeling that I am home.”
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The following contemplations are representative of the Cardinal’s Christian beliefs.
The good and the bad are always present in our human condition. If we “let go” and place ourselves totally in the hands of the Lord, the good will prevail.
“Letting go” means releasing from our grasp those things that inhibit us from developing an intimate relationship with Jesus. It’s a lifelong process, and it isn’t easy. Each day, open wide the doors of your heart to Jesus and his expectations of you.
Learn to distinguish between life’s essentials and life’s peripherals. Essentials guide you to love others, while peripherals steer you to focus on yourself. Spiritual growth blossoms as you devote more and more time on the essentials.
Suffering may cause a sense of loneliness, even abandonment. Yet suffering, as proven by Christ, can also be redemptive and life-giving.
Whenever we are with people who suffer, it becomes evident that there is little we can do to help them other than be present with them; to walk with them as the Lord walks with us.
If we are to love more as Jesus loved, we must first come to terms with suffering. We must accept the purposefulness of suffering before we can become effective instruments in our mission to help others.
It’s tough to watch loved ones struggle with pain. But we must believe that by being strong and supportive, we make an enormous difference.
As we minister to those who are hurting, we encounter the living God.
Jesus opened his arms wide as he embraced little children. And as he opened his arms wide on the cross, Christ embraced the whole world.
The things people remember most are small acts of kindness and thoughtfulness.
It is during times of sickness that we need people the most.
By embracing pain, by looking into it and beyond it, I have come to see God’s presence in even the worst situations.
Without prayer, you cannot be connected or remain connected with the Lord. You cannot experience lasting peace.
When you are sick, put yourself completely in the hands of the Lord. He will never abandon you. This is what gives us hope.
Jesus never promised to take away our burdens, but he did promise to help us carry them.
Death is my dear friend, the one who will lead me home to God.
