“What strengthens our faith, what remains constant, what gives us hope, is the Church of the suffering - whether these witnesses had to die for their faith or whether they had to let themselves be trampled on, day after day and year after year, for his sake.” - Cardinal Ratzinger
“Titus” lives in a high-rise apartment building here in downtown Steubenville, and our first introduction to him was a faint voice which barely carried through the door: “Yes? Come in.” Very few people invite us in during our door-to-door outreach in a somewhat undesirable apartment building, so Sr. Christin and I were a little uncertain as we opened the door - then we saw why he had not come to it himself. Titus is nearly a prisoner in his own bed. Having suffered a stroke some years ago, his whole right side is withered and cannot be used. He can speak, but struggles to find the right words, so he supplements words with eloquent gestures and facial expressions.
My initial response to Titus was profound pity, bordering on horror (what would it be like to spend practically my whole life in this apartment, surrounded by violence, anger, filth, and the pervasive smell of weed?). However, within the 15 minutes we spent with him that first day, my feelings had changed. Pity and horror became respect and reverence as I began to glimpse the strength of this withered man. Subsequent encounters have only confirmed this reverence. One time, I asked Titus how he was, and he started to stammer - “I… uh… ah…” Reverting to gestures, he indicated his weak side and shook his head disparagingly. Then he looked me in the eye, pointed at his heart, and flexed his working arm while flashing a big grin. “Your body is weak, but you’re strong on the inside?” I asked. He confirmed my guess with a curt nod, very pleased at our successful communication.
Titus is incredibly trusting and exceptionally resourceful. As mentioned, he often leaves his door unlocked, hoping for a visitor. With a vocabulary of about 30 words he has demonstrated love, gratitude, concern, sadness, pride, discouragement, and hope. The three most frequently used words in his vocabulary are “peace,” “appreciate,” and “s***” - the latter is used mostly to describe the state of the world and the microcosm of the world that is the apartment building he lives in, full as they both are of violence, fear, addiction, and sorrow.
At our last visit, Titus was more frustrated than is typical by his inability to find the right words. I felt the Holy Spirit prompt me to share what I see in Titus, as a way of trying to encourage him. So I asked if he was familiar with the book the Song of Songs in Scripture (he was). I shared that one of the images from that poem is that of an enclosed garden, a secret place known only to the one to whom the garden belongs: “Titus, I wonder if you are an enclosed garden for the Lord - surely He visits you in that place where you know exactly what you would like to say, and He understands everything. It must be a gift to Him to be able to visit you there and find comfort in you.” This simple statement caused Titus to weep. We held hands and prayed together, and I hope that Titus could see what I do when I visit him: a noble soul, cherished by Jesus, entrusted with a profound cross which he is carrying bravely.
Martyrs come in surprising packages. Titus is “trampled on” day-by-day by circumstances that seem crushing. Yet he shows me by his peace and joy that no matter how weak we may seem to be in the eyes of the world, we can, with Christ, be strong inside.
- Sr. Agnes Therese Davis, T.O.R.
