Recently, as many of you know, I was on vacation in Italy.  I saw a lot while I was there, but probably the most dramatic thing that I saw, the thing that, completely unexpectedly, caused a powerful stirring of emotion within me and brought tears to my eyes, was in Assisi.

It was not the town itself, although is perched beautifully atop a mountain.  Nor was it the Basilica of St. Francis, although it is an impressive structure.  It was not the fabulous frescoes that covered the walls of the basilica, although they are considered some of the greatest art in the Western world and regularly draw thousands of art aficionados to visit the basilica.  It was not even the tomb of St. Francis himself, before which I knelt in prayer.

No, it was none of these things.  It was, rather, a thing located in a little side-room.  There, preserved in a glass case, was the rough habit worn by St. Francis during his earthly life, the habit he took up after that dramatic scene on the streets of Assisi, when he stripped off his rich clothes, laid them at the feet of his father, and turned his back on earthly possessions.  Such an intimate and personal thing used by the man considered by most to have been the most perfect example of Christian discipleship who ever lived.

The little room held other personal items used by St. Francis during his earthly life: the breviary from which he prayed, his deacon’s dalmatic and stole, and some of the strips of cloth he used to wrap and bandage the greatest spiritual gift that a human being can receive: the stigmata, the wounds of Christ which he received as he hung upon the Cross.

St. Francis, is, of course, the first recorded case of a stigmatic.  And, in fact, although there have been a number of stigmatics since his time, no one else’s stigmata were like his own.  For as well as bearing the wounds of the nails in his hands and feet, there were also extrusions of flesh which took on the appearance of nails, with a nail head on one side and nail points on the other, which bent back and grasped his skin.

Of course, intense physical pain and suffering always accompany genuine stigmata.  It must be that way, since the stigmata are signs of a soul’s union with the suffering Christ for the redemption of the world.  If there were no pain, the stigmata would easily and quickly become a source of pride.

Some hold the opinion, however, that St. Francis was, in fact, not the first stigmatic.  Some believe that the very first, after Christ, was St. Paul.  Their belief is based upon the line from our second reading today, from St. Paul’s letter to the Galatians: “From now on, let no one make troubles for me; for I bear the marks of Jesus on my body.”

Was St. Paul a stigmatic?  We don’t know.  He could have written that line, meaning that he bore the literal marks of Jesus on his body.  That he was a stigmatic.  Or he might have meant something else.

Probably none of us will ever be a stigmatic, bearing the wounds of the torture of Jesus at the hands of the Romans on our bodies.

But, in another sense, we too bear the marks of Jesus on our bodies.

Earthly life is filled with suffering: physical suffering, spiritual suffering, mental suffering, emotional suffering, sickness, disease, injuries, wounds, hunger, thirst, and death.  Everyone suffers – in one way or in another.  Each person’s is unique, and no one’s suffering is more or less than another’s.  Each person’s is his or her own.  And for that person, it hurts, whatever it may be.

The question that we must ask ourselves is, “does my suffering have meaning?”

For the atheist and the secularist, the answer to that question ultimately is no.  Suffering is random and accidental.  Maybe you’ll have more; maybe less.  Maybe you’ll skate through to the end of your life with very little.  Dumb luck.

 But for the Christian believer, the answer to the question is a resounding yes.  Our sufferings, as individuals and as members of the Church, have meaning and value in our lives, precisely because they are a share in the sufferings of Jesus Christ.  And they can have a redemptive value, in our own lives and in the lives of others, if we look at them in that way.

 And when we do, we can say along with St. Paul, “From now on, let no one make troubles for me; for I bear the marks of Jesus on my body.”