There is a strange and quietly painful contradiction in the Christian life that we don’t often talk about. It’s this: sometimes the deeper our love for God becomes, the harder it feels to bring Him our sufferings.
It sounds illogical at first.
Shouldn’t love mean we share everything?
Shouldn’t a child run to their loving Father when they are hurting?
Yes, of course - and we know this in our heads. But in the depths of our hearts, many of us who are striving to live closely with Christ, especially in the Catholic tradition, can feel an invisible wall when it comes to offering up our own pains.
We hold
back, not because we don’t trust God, but because we love Him so
much that we simply don’t want to cause Him any more sorrow.
“He Has Enough to Grieve Over”
This is the feeling that lives quietly in many hearts: God already has enough sadness to bear. The world is full of suffering, rebellion, violence, loneliness, and despair. And if that weren’t enough,
He has already watched His only begotten Son hang on a cross - bleeding, betrayed, mocked and dying, all for our sins.
How can I add my own little heartaches to that infinite sorrow?
How can I bring my bruises - which feel small compared to the world’s wounds - to the foot of the Cross, knowing that Jesus is already carrying the weight of the world?
And yet, here’s the deeper reality: He wants me to.
God Is Not Like Us
We must always remember that God’s heart, while pierced, is not overwhelmed. His love, while grieved, is not diminished. His desire for intimacy with us is not exhausted by the cries of a suffering world.
As Isaiah reminds us:
“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” (Isaiah 49:15, RSV-CE).
This is not sentimental poetry - it is divine truth. God’s capacity to love and receive is infinitely greater than we can understand. Our pain does not burden Him in the way that we might imagine it would burden another human. Instead, it draws Him closer to us.
And this is why Jesus Himself invites us:
“Come to me, all who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28, RSV-CE).
This isn’t a generic offer to the masses - this is a personal invitation. And yet still, something inside me resists. Not because I don’t believe Him, but because my love feels like it should protect Him from any more sorrow. Even though I know He is God, I still find myself wanting to shield Him.
The Temptation to Handle It Alone
When we try to withhold our sorrows from God, we often end up carrying them alone. We say we’re “offering it up,” but in truth we sometimes just bury it. We suppress, endure, grit our teeth, and hope it will pass - all in the name of sparing God.
But this isn’t what “offering it up” really means in Catholic life. Offering something up isn’t the same as hiding it. It’s not stoicism, and it’s not an effort to make ourselves appear stronger.
True offering is relational. It’s the movement of the heart toward God, a handing-over of what we are feeling, no matter how ugly, raw, or small it might seem.
When we offer up our sufferings, we aren’t giving God more sorrow - we are giving Him more of ourselves.
Why It Still Hurts to Offer It Up
And yet - even when we know this - it still hurts. Why?
Because there is a paradox at the heart of love.
When we love someone deeply, we naturally want to protect them. We shield our loved ones from bad news, from unnecessary stress, from extra burdens. And in our love for God, we often instinctively do the same. We don’t want to be one more voice in a sea of petitions. We don’t want to add to His “sorrows.”
But this is where we must remember: Jesus has already carried our sorrows - all of them. Not just in a general sense, but individually. Every sorrow you are tempted to withhold from Him has already been absorbed into His sacred wounds.
“Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted” (Isaiah 53:4, RSV-CE).
So we are not adding sorrow to God’s life by bringing Him our pain. We are simply recognising what He has already taken up for us.
The Pain of Love Is Not Rejection
One of the most beautiful truths of the Catholic faith is that suffering - when united to Christ - becomes redemptive. It’s not meaningless. It’s not wasted. It becomes offering.
But this doesn’t mean that it becomes easy.
To love God deeply and still hand over our suffering is a mature and painful act. It’s the kind of spiritual surrender that requires not only humility, but vulnerability. It feels like handing over our weakness, knowing we could instead pretend to be strong. It feels like letting our tears be seen, even when we’d rather offer a smiling face to our Lord.
But in this offering, God doesn’t receive our pain with weariness - He receives it with joy. Not joy in the pain itself, but joy in the trust that the offering represents.
“The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise” (Psalm 51:17, RSV-CE).
Jesus, Who Knows Our Hesitation
We are not the first to struggle with this. Look at Gethsemane.
When Jesus knelt in the garden, sweating blood, He didn’t hide His pain from the Father. He offered it. He prayed with the raw honesty of a Son who knew He was loved - and still asked if the cup might pass from Him.
In that moment, He showed us how to offer our suffering. Not by pretending it doesn’t hurt, but by being truthful in love.
“My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt” (Matthew 26:39, RSV-CE).
And so, in our own Gethsemanes, we can say the same. We can bring the pain - not hide it. We can offer our sorrow - not suppress it. And we can trust that God receives it with the same tenderness that He received His Son’s.
When It Feels Too Small to Matter
There’s another struggle here, too: the fear that our pains are simply too small to bother God with.
Compared to the crucifixion… is a broken friendship really worth mentioning? Compared to persecution, martyrdom, or war… is my anxiety about finances, or health, or loneliness really “offering-worthy”?
The answer is yes - not because of the size of the suffering, but because of the size of the love we offer it with.
Mother Teresa said: “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.” The same applies to our sufferings. We can offer up even the tiniest pinprick if it is offered in love.
A Heart-to-Heart With God
What we are truly invited into is not a legal transaction of offering in exchange for grace, but a heart-to-heart exchange.
Offering up our sufferings is not a duty to fulfil - it is a conversation of the heart. It is saying to God: “I am in pain, but I trust You. I don’t understand, but I love You. I don’t want to burden You, but I know You welcome it.”
And slowly, through this pattern of honest offering, our love deepens. Not because we are trying to prove something, but because we are letting ourselves be seen.
Trusting That God Wants It All
We may never fully overcome the ache that makes us hesitate before offering our troubles to God. But we can live in the tension, holding both our love for Him and our trust in Him.
He is not weary of you. He is not tired of your tears. He is not overburdened by your pain.
He is a God who chose to enter into our suffering - not to avoid it, and not to silence it, but to redeem it.
“Cast all your anxieties on him, for he cares about you” (1 Peter 5:7, RSV-CE).
He cares. Not just about the big picture of salvation, but about you. Right now.
Closing Prayer
Lord
Jesus,
You bore
the weight of the world upon Your shoulders,
And
still You say, “Come to Me.”
I
confess that I find it hard to offer You my sufferings,
Not
because I don’t love You - but because I love You so much.
Help me
to trust that You want all of me,
Even the
broken parts.
Take my
sorrows, Lord - not because they are worthy,
But
because You are.
May my
offering, however small,
Be
united to Your Cross and made holy in Your hands.
Amen.
************
A prayer for the rest of the week for all who read this blog post and for all who never will.
Lord of mercy, draw us back to You in every moment. When we grow lukewarm, set our hearts aflame. When we grow proud, humble us. When we wander, lead us home. Grant that all who read this prayer may turn to You with contrite hearts.
Through Christ our Lord.
Amen. ************
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