Every true Christian, but especially Catholics, should understand that in God’s field of view there are no such things as accidents. That is why the often used term “accidental pregnancy” is a laughable concept when considered from the Divine perspective. The same reasoning can be applied to suffering and evil, which God allows all of us to experience, not out of any sadistic motive but rather so that He can elicit some greater good from it ~ assuming that we are willing to cooperate. God sees the “big picture,” we only get to observe a few pixels, and so it is only through faith and trust in His providential plan that we can ultimately share in whatever good He has in mind. The extreme example of this transforming a horrific evil into the greatest possible good is the crucifixion and Resurrection of Jesus, an event which destroyed the power of sin and death while reconciling mankind to its Father and Creator. But it was anything but painless.

Each one of us is here for a reason, we didn’t just accidentally materialize. Rather, God foresaw and prepared well for our existence, including the particular circumstances of our lives, from the very beginning of time. And in virtually every case this plan required a great deal of suffering on the part of those who came before us in order for it to be effected. Here I am not simply referring to a mother’s labor pains but to the whole historic gamut of trials, sufferings, and yes, manifest evils endured by others, all orchestrated like clockwork over centuries, yet without which I would not now be sitting here composing this particular post. In my case this means that if the American Civil War, which cost some 600,000 lives, had never been waged there would be no Fran Pierson today relating this story. Neither would my siblings, father, grandfather, uncles, aunts, and countless first and second cousins have ever existed if our great grandfather, Aaron E. Pierson, had not signed up in the 44th Indiana volunteer infantry regiment in that pivotal fall of 1861.

It has often been said that war is hell, and I am sure that Pvt. Aaron E. Pierson, having experienced its bloody horrors firsthand, would have heartily agreed. After initial training near Ft. Wayne, Indiana, Aaron’s regiment was attached to Lauman’s Division in the army commanded by General Ulysses S. Grant in early 1862. The 44th Indiana was first engaged at the siege of Ft. Donelson, Tennessee which surrendered on Feb. 15, 1862 just two days before Aaron’s 22nd birthday. But the real test of its regimental mettle came seven weeks later, April 6, 1862 on a battlefield in Southern Tennessee called Shiloh, ironically meaning “place of Peace.” In fact, Shiloh became the greatest military engagement ever fought in the entire Western Hemisphere up until that point in time. Over 110,000 soldiers battled desperately for their respective causes for two days with a rate of casualties (21% overall) that had not been seen in any of the war’s previous engagements. It was the bloodbath that quickly dashed any romantic illusions by both Northerners and Southerners as to a quick and easy resolution to the sectional conflict.

The 44th Indiana played a particularly pivotal part in the battle, stationed along “bloody lane” in what became known as the “hornet’s nest.” This was the center of an out manned but desperately defended Union line. Overwhelmed by a dozen savage Confederate frontal assaults those same rebels eventually drove the Union lines back well over a mile and nearly into the Tennessee River on that first day. The firing was so intense that one could hardly see the enemy’s advance through dense smoke. Canon fire set parts of the woods on fire while the wounded could be heard screaming as the blaze overtook them. As an indicator of the fierceness of the fight, Pvt. Pierson’s regiment suffered twice the overall rate of casualties, a full 42% of its men killed, wounded, or missing.

Almost miraculously Aaron Pierson survived the Shiloh battlefield unscathed, physically if not psychologically anyway. Over the next month his regiment marched south under General Don Carlos Buell into Northeast Mississippi where they were deployed in besieging Corinth, and which the Southerners furtively abandoned on May 30. Buell’s army then turned east into Alabama in early June and it was at this point that Pvt. Pierson became disabled, whether by a some kind of wound or sickness is not entirely clear. Recall that during the Civil War two soldiers died of disease for every one who succumbed to battlefield wounds. After treatment for his ailment by the field doctors, Pvt. Pierson left his regiment to convalesce in Huntsville for a time before returning to the 44th Indiana in Eastern Tennessee. Still sorely weakened however, he was again treated then sent to convalesce in Nashville. A month later he was formally discharged in early October, 1862 and returned to his home in Noble County, Indiana.

Aaron Pierson’s war experience was over, but his suffering from whatever malady he had contracted in the field was to continue for the rest of his life. I know this to be so from various disability forms written in his own hand to the Bureau of Pensions in Washington, D.C. dating from 1882 through 1899. He writes that for 13 months after arriving home the local home town doctor treated him but the chronic nature of his injury persisted. Finally, in early 1864, he was referred to a Dr. Mitchell in much larger Muncie, Indiana. It was while receiving treatment there that the now 24 year old Aaron met an attractive 18 year old named Phebe McColly. They were married on July 7, 1864. Over the next 27 years Phebe and Aaron would parent and raise 12 children. In the early 1870s Aaron trained in ministry and became a rural Baptist pastor. Phebe herself died in 1895 when their youngest, Belle, was only four years old. Phebe and Aaron’s third child was my grandfather Estle Eugene who later married my grandmother Antoinette Rosalie Lane, a devout Catholic who would bear 10 children (including my father) before her premature death at age 48 from tuberculosis. Undoubtedly, it was her years of patient suffering and prayer that eventually brought my grandfather into the Catholic Church, though not until many years after her death in 1927.

Aaron Pierson passed away on March 30, 1904, age 64. Though he survived on that deadly battlefield, had it not been for his war disability and the life long chronic suffering that it imposed, he would likely have never met Phebe McColly. If so, their (by now) hundreds of descendants, myself included, would never have seen the light of day. Pvt. Aaron Pierson represents just one branch of my extended family tree, and each twig on that tree had to fall exactly into place in order for my particular existence to be realized. In that sense can we ever fully appreciate what an exceedingly rare and tremendous gift every human life really is? Only God could have foreseen such an outcome and I wager that any person who studies their own family history will discover many such similar near misses as well as timely connections. Every single piece had to fit perfectly into the puzzle over many generations for a final picture of one totally unique individual to emerge.

So when our turn comes to suffer for the sake of our children and posterity we have no right to complain because we cannot always see what Aristotle astutely termed the “final cause,” i.e., that objective towards which our being is directed. God is the true orchestrator, we are but solitary notes dropped on the page yet each is critical to the score. No human being has the skill or wisdom to predict, much less control, such complex yet exquisitely designed human forms which are called into being at some precise moment. This means that the IVF and eugenics crowd is getting it all wrong in their blind bid to produce “perfect human specimens.” They dabble in such foolish vanities firstly, because they fail to know and appreciate their own detailed family histories which, in turn, derives from the fact that they have no humility or gratitude before the God who wrote those histories eons ago.

Wars and injustice; terrible suffering and even rape are horrible realities in this, our fallen world, yet out of such tragic events God invariably manages to bring forth something good, desirable, beautiful, and loving. So should a child conceived in rape be summarily disposed of due to circumstances beyond its control? Is that not to argue that two wrongs will make things right? Unfortunately this seems to be the perverse mindset guiding today’s narcissistic culture of “claiming my rights” and which only yields a culture of death. (The current deadly stalemate in Israel is a perfect example of pursuing this entitlement dynamic.) In the end the smart, sleek controllers invariably resort to various forms of genocide to solve their problems just as Herod did 2,000 years ago. Yet even in applying sophisticated algorhythms, Artificial Intelligence, or the latest gene splicing technology humans are sorely ill equipped to play God because, unlike Him, we can never know the future with certainty.

We today have much to learn from our all too forgotten ancestors who had to somehow deal with the vagaries of life without all the convenient data, gadgets, and pills to soften the blows. More often they encountered evil, suffering, and even death when it arrived with a quiet reserve grounded in faith, and manifesting an equanimity that would shame the shallow assumptions of our 21st century. Back then it was called strength of character. Some rebelled and cried foul to be sure, but many more accepted that it was God’s providence that guided their lives and their families. For if man proposed, it was God who actually disposed, and in return for submission to His divine will one could always count on knowing a true and lasting peace. I suggest that you get to know your ancestors better, and I daresay you will find a wealth of virtue and good example to be learned from. And show them your immense gratitude by praying sincerely for them in anticipation of finally meeting them one day in the celestial halls of heaven. Deo Gratias!

Francis J. Pierson +a.m.d.g.