Yesterday was a rough day. I started out the day in a state close to euphoria after the election results. But life marches forward.
I received an email on Tuesday night from the leaders of my church. The email was an invitation to a time of prayer for the family of our youth pastor. Our youth pastor's son, Ben, is three years old and has been battling cancer for the past year. They learned this week that the cancer has returned aggressively and that treatment is no longer effective. In his parents' own words, their time with Ben is short.
Last night I went to this prayer service with a heavy heart. And as I made my way to the University District I was struck by the traffic caused by others coming to the service. With a full sanctuary, I joined with probably a thousand people to pray for this family.
It was one of the most powerful services I have ever attended. And the beauty was in the fact that it was a service of lament and grief. We prayed for healing but we also sat in the darkness together and part of our worship was asking the questions that so often are avoided in a church service. Why? Why to someone so young? Why have our prayers gone unanswered? Our new pastor read from Psalm 88 where the psalmist begins in a state of lament and he stays there. There were no trite words of "God is in control" or "God has a plan," words that fall so short in the midst of tragedy. Rather, there were words about the grief and pain that comes in the face of death. And our pastor wisely pointed out that in these times, "Grief surfaces grief," which is so true. So we grieved together for this family and also for our present griefs and the losses of our collective past.
I came to the service with a heavy heart and I left with a heavy heart. And I think that is how it should be. I do not know this family personally but I ache for them. And I'm glad that this service didn't try to keep us away from that anguish. As a community, we bear the anguish together. Yes, there are times to speak of hope but there are also times to mourn for the state of a broken and unjust world. Last night was one of those times to sit with the griefs we bear for ourselves and for others and not shy away from pain but share its immense weight.
So I sat with my community in the darkness and wept.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
5 comments:
Edie,
I've watched several close frends and my father fight and finally be overcome by cancer. We've wept with our community as well as they've lost children and loved ones. I agree, these are the times when faith matters most but when truisms paraded by the currently un-hurting in front of the hurting can be so thoughtless. As true as they may be it is more a picture of Jesus weeping for Lazarus that I need at those times. A friend to weep with is worth a thousand pithy quotes.
I read the book "God on Mute" and found it very comforting as I wrestled through these deep 'why?' questions. The author was more real about his inner questions and struggle then most would care to admit or feel comfortable voicing.
I spent a similar night at church praying,with hundreds of others, for our friend George who had suddenly slipped into a coma, before he died. I will never forget the pastor asking people to raise their hands if at any point George had prayed for them. Almost every hand in the place went up.
It was definitely a time to mourn as this amazing man who had always been the one to pray for and encourage others, was taken home, leaving behind his wife and four children.
There truly are no words sometimes.
I cried as I read this. I do not know this family - but my heart is hurting for them. I will be praying that God heals - and that the time they have with their precious boy will be rich, full of love, joy and peace. Please keep us posted on how he is doing.
i've been thinking of this post all day. it seems inappropriate to comment in a way that is a one paragraph answer when your point is it all goes so much deeper. so i guess i'll just say i'm glad you were able to be present in the moment in an authentic manner with things that will never make sense.
Thank you for sharing Edie. It's making me really think about how I handle grief (other's and my own). And Gary, maybe I'll read that book.
Post a Comment