Strong Enough

We read a poem by Samuel Beckett in class today:

"Ooftish"

offer it up plank it down
Golgotha was only the potegg
cancer angina it is all one to us
cough up your T.B. don't be stingy
no trifle is too trifling not even a thrombus
anything venereal is especially welcome
that old toga in the mothballs
don't be sentimental you won't be wanting it again
send it along we'll put it in the pot with the rest
with your love requited and unrequited
the things taken too late the things taken too soon
the spirit aching bullock's scrotum
you won't cure it you won't endure it
it is you it equals you any fool has to pity you
so parcel up the whole issue and send it along
the whole misery diagnosed undiagnosed misdiagnosed
get your friends to do the same we'll make use of it
we'll make sense of it we'll put it in the pot with the rest
it all boils down to blood of lamb

Beckett is mocking faith. He's being sarcastic about the way in which religious people tell you to endure suffering because something positive will come of it, as well as those who advise you to turn to God when you suffer. He's saying, "Sure, bring your cancer and all your other problems, we'll compile them all together and give them to God, ha!"

Nasty, no doubt. But it makes you think. At least, it made me think. People always do say that the purpose of suffering is to test us, to make us stronger. But what about those of us who buckle underneath the weight of it?