He Never Told Her About the Stitches

I remember one particular bike race where my friend, who was a professional bike racer, was a little bit apprehensive about the race because he knew that he had to finish the race, and then get right back into Dad-mode. His wife had a very special event that she was going to attend with some of her friends. I can’t recall exactly what it was, but I remember that if she didn’t get to the event at the beginning, she was going to miss it altogether.

Unfortunately, my coworker crashed right at the end of the race. He needed to get the road debris cleaned out of his wound, and then he needed some stitches. What was crazy is that he was able to get dropped off at a minor emergency clinic, and then be seen by a doctor right away. But the timing was such that if he waited for anesthesia, his wife would miss her long-awaited special event. She wasn’t there at the clinic at the time because she had just dropped him off and was going to return in about fifteen minutes with the kids. My friend made the choice to have the work done without any painkillers whatsoever. He was cleaned and stitched up in time, and his wife made it to her event.

I recently asked my friend if he ever told his wife that he made this choice — the choice to go without painkillers so that she could attend her event. He said that he didn’t ever mention it. It just never came up. I’m thinking that if it was me, I’d probably mention it. Maybe all the time. I’m very happy that he at least let me know about that, because it was a powerful witness to the love he has for his wife.

What I’ve noticed is that love and sacrifice are very closely related. The reason they are related is that no one can read the mind of another, maybe with the exception of an unusual gift from God. Generally speaking, no one can read the mind, heart, or soul of another. But we interact, and we learn about each other. The words we exchange allow us to see into the mind, heart, and soul of others. But words may or may not be true. People have the God-given option to lie. What goes along with the words are our actions. And when the actions are in line with the words, they ratify and validate the words. Nothing will validate words faster than a sacrifice.

When it comes to love — and I’m talking about any kind of love, not just marital love — when we love someone, we want what is best for that person. Even if what is best for the other person is not what is best for us. Even if what is best for the other person is inconvenient, burdensome, or painful. If we are going to love someone, then we really need to understand that we can expect to sacrifice.

In Mark chapter 12, in the story of the greatest commandment, Jesus lets us know that the number one commandment is to love God with basically everything we have. Thanks to God’s mercy that has been poured upon me, I know what it means to give as much as I know to give to God. I also know what it’s like to live apart from God, keeping everything I’ve been given to myself. There is no comparison whatsoever between the happiness that comes with giving everything to God and the empty shallowness of living in this world for myself. It is so astoundingly weird that when we give our lives up to God, which is a real and sometimes painful sacrifice, our lives become fulfilled and rich. It seems like life actually begins anew in those times.

I’ve never heard anyone regret the choice to live God’s first commandment, even though they could easily list the many sacrifices that were made in the attempt. But I have heard others say that they regret the time that was wasted in their choice to live apart from God.

This Gospel is hard. Possibly the hardest. It calls us to a life of love, which generally leads to a life of sacrifice. We are all on this journey, and our journey is not yet complete. When it is complete, our ability to sacrifice will be gone. Until that time, God is letting us know that what is best for us is to give everything that has been given to us back to him. That is a real sacrifice.

If you are the person who keeps a list of what you have given, start by noticing the list. You do not have to announce every cost. My friend didn’t. Love that is real spends something. A running bill is a different thing. This week, pick one quiet gift and let it stay quiet on purpose. Do not bring it up at dinner so that it will be seen.

If you are the person who never lets the costly thing be seen, that can be love. It can also leave your spouse standing in a story they do not have. My friend never told his wife. I would have said something. Maybe a lot. Both of those instincts live in a marriage. If the silence has started to turn into scorekeeping in your own head — if you are waiting for credit you never asked for — one plain sentence is enough. I skipped the painkiller so you could go. You do not need a speech. You also do not need to make them feel guilty for going.

If you are the spouse who was loved this way and never knew, you cannot collect a sentence that was never said. You can ask one honest question, if the marriage can hold it: is there a cost you have been carrying that I have not seen? Then listen. Do not turn the answer into a new bill.

Do not use this story to demand that your spouse suffer without help. And do not use it to stay a martyr who never asks for anything. Love spends. Sometimes it also needs one sentence so the other person is not loving a version of you that hides the cost.

This is a pastoral reflection, not clinical care and not a substitute for it. If you or someone you love is in immediate danger, call 988 or local emergency services.

Drawn from a homily first preached in 2018.