Afraid to ask?

But Jesus will turn sadness into joy Lenten question #17 April 17

John 16:16-22 [Jesus said] “In a little while you won’t see me anymore. But a little while after that, you will see me again.” The disciples asked each other, “What does he mean? … We don’t understand.” Jesus realized they wanted to ask him about it, so he said, “Are you asking yourselves what I meant? … I tell you the truth, you will weep and mourn over what is going to happen to me, but the world will rejoice. You will grieve, but your grief will suddenly turn to wonderful joy. … I will see you again; then you will rejoice, and no one can rob you of that joy.”

Our Lenten roses, in full bloom

This will be the last twenty questions post until after Easter, since Jesus asked the last three questions after his resurrection. As Jesus forewarned his disciples about the grief they would feel at his crucifixion, he also told them that horrific event would not be the end of the story.

Soon they would experience their world falling apart. Despite all of Jesus’ warnings along the way, the disciples reacted to Jesus’s arrest, judgment, and death as any of us do to threat and trauma: by “freeze” (their paralysis in the Garden of Gethsemane), by trying to fight (Peter), and by flight (most of them). In his fear, Peter denied knowing Jesus. All of them felt a combination of guilt and despair. Judas killed himself. Others went back to what was safe and familiar (fishing). Thomas lacked the courage to believe the good news when it came. Like Peter and John, he had to see it for himself.

The women, though—including Jesus’s mother—stuck by him. Along with John, they pushed through the mocking crowd close enough to the cross to converse with Jesus as he hung in agony. They witnessed his death.

Did the women remember and believe what he had said, that they would see him again, in great joy? We’re not told. But, like Mary of Bethany (Mark 14:8), they did what they could; they embraced the positive action that was available to them. Still wanting to serve and care for Jesus, they went to his tomb on Sunday, as soon as they could after observing the Sabbath.

Imagine the thrill of the angel, the stone rolled back, the empty tomb, their next task (“Go and tell his disciples”)—and then Jesus, alive! meeting Mary Magdalene in the garden.

Let’s allow ourselves to take part in the narrative, to feel what they felt on that Passover weekend, as the Lamb of God was sacrificed so that his shed blood would protect us from death. With the women and John, let’s find the courage to stand by Jesus at the cross.

And let’s remember it’s OK to ask our questions. Whatever hard place you are in right now, draw near and share your grief and doubts and fears and confusion with the Lord. He understands and welcomes us. We may not be capable of understanding, yet.

But today is not the end of the story.

Advent 3, Joy: and darkest night

Hebrews 12:2-3 … keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith. Because of the joy awaiting him, he endured the cross

Hebrews 5:7 While Jesus was here on earth, he offered prayers ad pleadings, with a loud cry and tears, to the one who could rescue him from death. And God heard his prayers because of his deep reverence for God.

Psalm 116:10 I believed in you, SO I said, “I am deeply troubled, Lord.”

My daughter Rachel invited me to a “Darkest Night” gathering at her home tomorrow evening. Here’s part of her invitation:

“As we approach the longest night of the year on 12/21, we remember that in the midst of Christmas joy we also hold distress, loss and longing – sometimes especially at holiday times when there’s a face missing from around the table or we recognize distance from those we love or we realize that there is darkness just outside the candlelight of our world.”

How does joy fit together with grief and trauma?

The first Christmas week after Karis died, I lay on the couch where she had so often rested, trying to get myself together enough to do my part toward making Christmas happy for the rest of my family.

While I still had not managed to overcome my grief enough to pull out the Christmas boxes, a friend came to visit me. She looked around at the absence of decorations in my home, and said, “Debbie, I am so disappointed in you. I always thought you were a woman of faith.”

On that note, she left me. Oppressed by an added layer of guilt and shame, and the sense that I had another loss to grieve—the loss of trust in my friend—I returned to the couch.

In stark contrast, another friend appeared at my home. She quickly discerned my condition, and said, “Debbie, talk to me. Tell me what you’re feeling.” She wasn’t shocked or offended by my outpouring of grief and tears. She didn’t say, “If you only had faith, you would get your act together.”

She said, “What is the most important thing you want to do for Christmas? I have time. I’ll help you do it.”

This friend understood and shared my grief. She didn’t take it on herself, but she walked with me through it.

After she helped me put up my family’s stockings, each with their name, including Karis’s, my friend left me. The comfort of her presence and compassion lifted my spirits enough that I continued decorating my house. Later, my two daughters completed what I didn’t manage to do. I hold their kindness in my heart as the most precious gift of that Christmas.

The invitation to lament, to acknowledge and express grief, can open space in our souls for joy.

All the children of the world

But Jesus says the Kingdom belongs to those who receive it like a child

Mark 9:34-37 The disciples had been arguing about which of them was the greatest. Jesus called them over to him, and said, “Whoever wants to be first must take last place and be the servant of everyone else. Then he put a little child among them. Taking the child in his arms, he said to them, “Anyone who welcomes a little child like this on my behalf welcomes me, and anyone who welcomes me welcomes not only me but also my Father who sent me.”

Mark 10:13-17 One day some parents brought their children to Jesus so he could bless them. But the disciples scolded the parents for bothering him. When Jesus saw what was happening, he was angry with his disciples. He said to them, “Let the children come to me. Don’t stop them! For the Kingdom of God belongs to those who are like these children. I tell you the truth, anyone who doesn’t receive the Kingdom of God like a child will never enter it.” Then he took the children in his arms and placed his hands on their heads and blessed them.

If you’re like me, the most heart-wrenching stories and photos coming out of southern Turkey are the children, injured if they’re still alive, freezing, hungry, without shelter and often without their families. Lord, have mercy.

In my imagination, Karis and her brother Michael are among those welcoming into Heaven the children who did not survive the earthquake, caring for them with tender love.

Heaven feels so close.

And our petty quarrels and power struggles so ridiculous.

Jesus loves me. This, I know.