I’ve long suspected something that was finally confirmed for me the other night by something I read. Catholicism is for those who are “strong in their weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

It’s not for those with fantasies of fairy dust that makes all hurt go away. It’s for those who know that God is not a magician and Christ on the cross was a message.

By “weak,” I don’t mean those who suffer from illness or crippling disease. They are often the strongest among us because of their rock-hard faith. They’ve looked at enough images of Christ hanging from the cross to know pain and death will not have the last word.

A person can have wealth and health and good looks and scores of friends and admirers and still be weaker than those who require constant care. They are weaker because they have forgotten what love or charity really mean.

This came to mind the other night while reading this passage from Tertullian’s “Treatise on Prayer” in the Breviary:

Of old, prayer was able to rescue from fire and beasts and hunger, even before it received its perfection from Christ. How much greater then is the power of Christian prayer. No longer does prayer bring an angel of comfort to the heart of a fiery furnace, or close up the mouths of lions, or transport to the hungry food from the fields. No longer does it remove all sense of pain by the grace it wins for others. But it gives the armor of patience to those who suffer, who feel pain, who are distressed. It strengthens the power of grace, so that faith may know what is gaining from the Lord and understand what it is suffering for the name of God.

It was the word “patience” that jumped out at me. Let me explain. I deal with a lot of sickness — and have for years: terrible spinal pain for 12 years, liver cancer for the past five years and the exhaustion that comes with it all.

On top of everything else, I must fight the deadly temptation to despair.

Illness tests patience. What was easy becomes hard. It’s as if the world has slowed down only for you. The question “Why?” is a constant companion. You dislike when people ask, “How are you?” because you sound like a broken record. If you say, “All is great,” you feel like a phoney; and if you tell the truth, you feel like a downer.

Your friends may still be your friends, but they’re not around as much as they were before. They want to enjoy their lives, and it’s hard to have “fun” with someone who is always sick.

I fully understand those who sink into despair and never battle their way out of it, especially those with no faith or a weak faith. They are the hardest to bring to Christ. It’s hard to understand God’s love while swallowing painkillers all the time and dreading waking up in the morning for fear of some new fresh hell. Faith, I believe, is the only way to cut through such despair.

I understand, too, that despair makes pain worse. Deep frustration tears the heart and soul apart. And without faith, it leaves no answers behind, no comfort.

I’ve been around many an atheist. They always challenge faith by asking: If God is good, why do people suffer? It’s not a stupid question. I used to ask that myself.

The devout understand that Christ on the cross is not a symbol of future good health, at least here on earth.

Suffering comes not from above but from a broken world. Christ came to make us whole. It sounds naïve, but I’ve always believed that if everyone followed the Ten Commandments and the Sermon on the Mount, the Kingdom of heaven would begin to form around us — not the kingdom of the New Jerusalem, but something closer and better than what we have.

To those who suffer, you will lose a lot. But for those with faith, you can also gain. Your faith will grow deeper. Your attention to such things as music, art and books intensifies. You will one day look at your spouse, the one who shows you only love, as a gift from God. The Gospels will become a clarion call, and the Psalms will sing to you. God will be closer to you — maybe closer than he’s ever been.

And the friends who care, who don’t disappear, who are always checking up on you — the ones who see compassion as deeper than fun — will also be friends in Christ.