It's Over

When I was a senior in high school, I had a friend approach me twirling a butterfly knife. As he walked toward me, spinning and flipping it, he explained how I'd never really been his friend, he was angry because I was more popular and he felt betrayed.

He brought up stuff from way back, kept walking closer, flipping that knife. He was big too. I was still trying to figure it all out when he lunged at me.

As I grabbed his hand to stop him, my mind was completely and utterly confused. There was the reflexive move to protect myself, but the rest of my brain was in chaos, plowing through history, trying desperately to understand. Why was he so angry? Why didn't I know it? Is there someway out?

Holding his arm away from me, I looked at the knife. It was plastic.

This stupid high school prank is the only experience I've had which I think gives a glimpse of how Mary felt the day Christ died. And it doesn't even come close.

She knew for certain she was a virgin who had given birth. The same angel who promised her that, also promised her son would,

"... be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over Jacob's descendants forever; his kingdom will never end." 

But it was ending. It had ended. He just said it. 

"It is finished." 

She had been with him when they fled to Egypt. Saw him wow the rabbis in the temple at 12. Watched him turn water into wine.

If she didn't see, she heard about the blind seeing, the lame walking, the hungry fed and the dead returning to life. And she had to have thought, "It's true. Everything the angel said was true."

Except it wasn't. It was finished.

I struggle to think how confused she must have been during all the beatings he took. When they stripped his clothes and put thorns on his head. When they drove nails into his feet and hands. When they hung him there.

She must have wondered, "When will he do something? Say something? Put a stop to this? Isn't there a way out?"

But there was no way out. His last breath. The spear. The tomb.

There are times when I can't understand God and his purposes. I have a hard time understanding the wickedness of man, mine included. I look at the chaos of the world and I'm bewildered. And I'm reminded of Mary.

Everything she knew was true on Thursday was crushed in Friday's finality. Then Saturday's all consuming despair was blown away in Sunday's sudden wonder. When I am overwhelmed with confusion from the weight of my circumstances I need to remember Mary. Because even when it's finished, it's not over.

Spiritual Prozac

A friend of mine was in her Sunday school class when they broke up into small groups to work through some things from the lesson. They were provided with some questions, some of which were personal. And, if you were honest, they required a level of transparency.

My friend made a mistake. She answered honestly.

There are some things going on in her life she's struggling with and she told them. For the rest of the time, the other folks in the group spent their time trying to fix her. She didn't need to be fixed. She needed a safe place to tell her story.

We have a problem in the U.S. church. We don't allow people to deal honestly with pain.

If someone was running a bandsaw and got their finger too close to the blade, we would expect them to say, "OUCH!" We would probably even understand if their words were a little more gritty than we would normally be comfortable with.

But when the bandsaw rips into someone's soul, it's a different story. No matter your struggle, there's no room for gritty, because God works all things for the good of those who love him.

For some reason, when people are dealing with heartbreaking loss and suffering we hand out spiritual Prozac. It's hard to sit with them in it, so we quote some scriptural happy pills and move on.

The problem is it's not remotely scriptural. Christ was called a man of sorrows, acquainted with the deepest grief. There's a whole book called Lamentations. We're told to weep with those who weep.

It's hard. It will cost us something. And it is beautiful. It's one of the things the church has been called to do. Because no one should carry their burdens alone. And no one should be made to feel lesser because of the burdens they carry.

David was allowed to ask why God had forsaken him. Jesus was allowed to quote him. I don't think anyone ever wondered why they didn't have more faith. Why do we require more from each other?