Archive for the ‘Grief’ Category

Now a man who was lame from birth was being carried to the temple gate called Beautiful… (Acts 3:2)

My mother’s funeral was very well attended.  Following the service, our home was flooded by dozens of friends who were faded into faceless, sepia-toned images by my state of shock.  But two grief-painted portraits hang side-by-side in memory’s hallowed gallery.

She was a pretty, middle-aged lady who tried with all her might and makeup to be beautiful and wise.  With one arm on my shoulder, she guided me around my mother’s yard, explaining each plant, flower, and emotion of the day’s experiences as if I were a tourist.  She was Job’s friends meets Charlie Brown’s teacher—infuriating and unintelligible!

To the speechless onlookers separated from us by window glass and better judgment, we must have looked like Pain and Comfort quietly walking through Grief’s Garden.  Pedestrians may have observed a beggar at the Beautiful Gate, but grief bends reality making cripples of the strongest.

“Randy Stevens is here to see you,” said a faceless voice.

We were just on the little boy side of toddlerhood when Randy’s parents noticed a problem.  Muscular Dystrophy became the rule which measured the childhood reality of my friend.  What began as weakness all too quickly became struggle, resignation, and a chair.  Disease stole Randy’s health almost as quickly as divorce separated him from childhood friends.  We did not meet again for years.

Doctors predicted Randy would not live to see sixteen.  He was seventeen the night he came to see me after the funeral.  He was only able to see me because he had lost all voluntary motor functions, including his ability to speak.  In a disease-twisted mass on the floor of a van, barely alive, he just looked at me.

On the ugliest day of my young life, I saw something beautiful.

Twenty-five years hence, I am grateful for my ugly beautiful memory of Randy Stevens.  I am only just learning to see the Ugly Beautiful and Randy is one of my tutors.   I am humbled he came to see me.  I am surprised by the wordless volumes he spoke in those brief moments and thankful that tears still come with these recollections.

Forty-one years hence, I am only just beginning to love the Ugly Beautiful and I am humbled by a Savior that came to see us.  I am continually surprised by the wordless volumes the Word became flesh speaks to my soul.  Inescapably drawn to Jesus’ cross,  I am filled with wonder and amazement at a God who bends grief into glory and ugly into beautiful.

Death’s Pierce

I remember the day my childhood ended. August 27, 1986 was to be the first day of my senior year of high school. The simultaneous ringing of a doorbell and telephone awakened me to a terrible reality—my mother was dead. I was sixteen years old, but whatever part of me was still a child was introduced to adulthood by grief. Death pierces us all; sometimes with a needle, sometimes with a sword, sometimes with a cross.

Mary’s Piercing

Mary’s grief was unique. When Joseph and Mary took the newborn Jesus to be dedicated in the temple (Luke 2:21-35), they were full of extraordinary hopes and dreams. Their baby would be the long-awaited Savior of His people—the Chosen One and Son of God—the King of the Jews. All parents have delusions of grandeur where their children are concerned. Mary and Joseph had God’s guarantee.

Simeon’s prophesy over the newborn Jesus must have carried Joseph and Mary to unknown heights of joy. But without warning, Simeon turned to the teen mother and said something terrible: “…a sword will pierce your own soul too.” Don’t let his poetry dull the effect, Mary shared God’s joy and sorrow. What must life have been like for Mary with this Sword of Damocles hanging over her soul?

Jesus’ Piercing

God’s grief was a bottomless pit. Jesus’ torture and death by whip, thorns, nails, cross, and spear were gruesome and cruel, but they were barely a pin prick compared to what impaled his soul. Thomas could see where nails pierced flesh, but none of us can see what pierced the soul of Jesus (John 20:24-28).

700 years before the cross, Isaiah wrote about Jesus’ piercing: “Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows…But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities…the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all…it was the LORD’s will to crush him and cause him to suffer…After the suffering of his soul, he will see the light of life and be satisfied…” (Isaiah 53:4-6, 10-11). Jesus’ soul was pierced by the full-on wrath of God—in short, Jesus’ soul was shot-through with Hell!

For who and what was Jesus’ soul pierced? Notice the pronouns: “our infirmities…our sorrows…our transgressions…our iniquities…” Do you get the picture? Then don’t miss this detail: While Jesus was suffering hell on the cross he also “carried our sorrows/grief”. He carried all the grief of all His people—even those yet to be born. Ironically, he carried the sorrow of the sword which pierced his mother’s soul. He even carried the grief I experienced over the death of my mother on August 27, 1986!

Easter

The sweetness of Easter joy is impossible if it does not follow the bitter drink of Good Friday’s cross. So in order to fully savor the moment, I like to summon to my heart and mind all the sad things and shame which have pierced me throughout my life. I then take it all into the empty tomb and remember “He carried my sorrows”. In that hallowed place, my sorrow becomes his and I envision the day when sadness will have as much hold on me as grave clothes have on Jesus!

Selah: Hobbit Theology

At the end of the Lord of the Rings book trilogy, Sam says the most amazing thing to Frodo: “Have all things sad become untrue?” For those who believe, that’s what the resurrection of Jesus Christ means (1 Corinthians 15:55, Revelation 22:1-5). One day, on the other side of the grave, all our sadness will become untrue!

In eternity, will you visit your empty tomb?

Have a joyful Easter!