“Please take this cup of suffering away from me.” Luke 22:42
This is a Jesus I can relate to.
Turns out adulting can be over rated. In addition to added responsibility and schedule juggling there is all the extra “stuff.”
There will be an empty chair this Easter where someone we loved once sat. When I look at my husband during Good Friday service, his chin is in his hands. His eyes moist with hurt.
We need Sunday for hope. But we sit in the Friday pain and Saturday ache resonating with our Jesus friend who understands.
Two steps through a door and I’m wishing differently. A tsunami of tears threaten and I hold my breath because somehow it feels safer than letting them go. To sit is to dwell in the hurt and deal with what is. But, love for another draws stronger than running away.
Sometimes the very bravest thing we do is take the next step.
Hear the next piece of news.
Life this side of Glory is predictably unpredictable. In the midst of laughter and sarcasm and fun there are honest whisperings of brokenness. Sudden loss. Unanswered prayers to become a parent. Children making wayward choices for those who are. Job dissatisfaction. Marriages gasping for breath. Disease. Hurts. Debilitations. Waits…
Struggle is a tie that binds.
Hanging in hurt is a feeling we all know and understand.
My suffering will never match the pain my Jesus chose to endure for me. But, begging God for a way out, finding relationship a worthy sacrifice for pain, and residing in agony? These are things both my Jesus and I understand.
Friday is good because it is reminder that we are not alone.
Saturday we hold vigil like so many of the situations we experience that don’t quickly resolve.
Sunday there is new life.
Tomorrow promises balloons and brass and Easter dresses with sparkly shoes, yet that is for the future. I’m okay with not being there yet and I don’t rush it. I actually find incredible solace here.
This moment overflows with profound appreciation for a Lord who didn’t do all things supernatural.
Jesus, in his humanity, gave us freedom to cry out, to ask the questions, to believe that eventually new life will emerge from the dead spaces, and, when that doesn’t happen immediately, rest in the normalcy of wait, too.
This Lord, who WILL restore all that is broken this side of heaven, gifts us a Friday and Saturday to provide peace in despair and a Knowing Friend through all our days.
I hear your cry.
I know your pain.
I will love you through it.
And one day you will smile again.
This is a Jesus I can confidently trust my life to.