I’m restless vacuuming today.
It’s not something everyone understands, but is something that some understand. The repetitive motion of the back and forth, seeing the dirt problem magically disappear, knowing that there is control and movement in this one area of life.
Usually vacuuming is accompanied by the song “Zombie” by the Cranberries but today’s soundtrack is prayer.
It hasn’t escaped my notice that three people from our three different full time ministries are suffering from Stage 4 cancer. There is grief and helplessness mingled together as prayers of no words escape me.
“God, you know all the things, all the prayers, all the words and I can’t even right now.”
At times we can feel heartless in the midst of our sorrow as the ability to hear one more thing seems to shut down a piece of us. Our hearts and bodies, rather than crying out, whisper dejectedly “no more, please, no more.” And we sit in the sorrow that we know is nothing compared to the sorrow that is a breath away rather than a degree removed.
It’s not something we get used to, ever. We can feel numb with sorrow but not relaxed in it. To the depth of us we know we are not created for this, yet, this sorrow is something we are called to share as caring people.
Last night as a family we watched The Princess Bride and a line from the movie struck me. Familiar yet with a new resonance.
“Life is pain…anyone who says otherwise is trying to sell you something”
Times like this in the midst of our own grief or grieving with others, it can feel like life is pain. That our cup is filled and overflowing with sorrow that flows in like the tide but never recedes.
Is life pain?
Yes, sometimes the deepest pain. The pain of loss, of helplessness, of not enough or too many words from people who love us. The pain of unknowing and dreadful certainty.
These times are deep and dark and tomb-like. Feeling like there is an inevatible end but maybe that end is worse than the now. We want relief but it doesn’t seem to come.
But there’s another quote. Inspirational, but gently so.
“See from His head His hands His feet
When I survey the Wondrous Cross by Isaac Watts
Sorrow and love flow mingled down
Did ever such love and sorrow meet
Or thorns compose so rich a crown.”
Jesus isn’t trying to sell us anything. What I meet in Jesus at these times is a recognition of deep, experiential sorrow. Flowing tears and presence. Jesus doesn’t scold or chide us out of our sorrow. We are at the foot of the cross and in the quiet of the tomb during these times.
But it’s not just sorrow. It is the love that makes all the difference.
Unlike the quote from Princess Bride, Jesus isn’t trying to sell us anything. There is no false joy and hope in the mingling reality of our sorrow and the power of Jesus’s love. There is no sales pitch. There’s just safety. Safety to be where and how we are. Safety to know that our sorrow comes out of love for others and deep connections.
I don’t feel deceived about having a perfect life. My own experiences and that of others has been evident from a very young age. What I do know and have ‘bought’ is the reality that in the midst of the loneliness of sorrow, I’m not alone. I have Jesus himself and the community around me.
There is nothing transactional about Jesus’s love. It is freely given. I am not deceived, I am surrounded by the love that understands. That’s the glimmer of light at the opening of the tomb.