For the time being, I am switching my focus to http://lovewarjourney.wordpress.com. I don't think that I will abandon this one all together, but feel the need to focus on the other one for now. So, come on over and say "Hi."
Peace.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Love: Grief
I love the idea of love. The mentioning of love brings a rush of thoughts, memories, and ideas to the surface: meals and conversations with good friends, a deep and emotionally moving sexual encounter with one's spouse, caring for or being cared for in the midst of illness or tragedy, the gentle chaos of joy squealing, barking, and laughing through the halls of home. Love is both spiritual and earthy.
But there is a downside - real love always involves pain. Whether it is disappointment, betrayal, or death, there is no escaping it. And that pain is experienced as anger or maybe depression, which eventually give way to grief. Love, at some point, must resolve with grief. And I hate the pain of grieving. It is raw and unbridled and unpredictable. It is the reason that I fear intimacy, because in relationship, I will hurt and I will be hurt. And both bring real wrenching grief.
* * * * *
Jesus wept.
The second person of the Trinity grieved, deeply. This has recently been revealed as a mystery to me. Lazarus' sisters, Mary and Martha, engage Jesus as he arrived at Bethany. In the midst of their grief, they came to him full of sadness and anger and faith. They were not shy about reminding him that Lazarus would have lived if he had only come sooner. And as they grieve, he is invited by the sisters to see where Lazarus is laid. And John records that Jesus was deeply troubled or disturbed. And he wept.
Why did he weep? Why did the one who prophesied that Lazarus would be raised up again, sob? The only thing that makes sense to me is that what will happen does not change what has happened: the experience of pain. Despite knowing that Lazarus would be brought back to life, Jesus grieves the loss. He could have downplayed or dismissed it - "Why are you crying? Don't you know that I am going to raise up? See, all better!" He could have chided them for weeping as a lack of faith. But he didn't. He grieved the loss, felt it fully. Even in the face of impending resurrection. It was still worth grieving.
* * * * *
I have not grieved enough. Not for the big things. Not for the little things. As I have been engaging this process in therapy, I feel weird, stupid even, for some of things that I am only now attending to. But I am learning that it doesn't matter. The experience has occurred and the pain is real. And I need to honor the experience and myself and Jesus by weeping. And he will take care of bringing things back to life.
But there is a downside - real love always involves pain. Whether it is disappointment, betrayal, or death, there is no escaping it. And that pain is experienced as anger or maybe depression, which eventually give way to grief. Love, at some point, must resolve with grief. And I hate the pain of grieving. It is raw and unbridled and unpredictable. It is the reason that I fear intimacy, because in relationship, I will hurt and I will be hurt. And both bring real wrenching grief.
* * * * *
Jesus wept.
The second person of the Trinity grieved, deeply. This has recently been revealed as a mystery to me. Lazarus' sisters, Mary and Martha, engage Jesus as he arrived at Bethany. In the midst of their grief, they came to him full of sadness and anger and faith. They were not shy about reminding him that Lazarus would have lived if he had only come sooner. And as they grieve, he is invited by the sisters to see where Lazarus is laid. And John records that Jesus was deeply troubled or disturbed. And he wept.
Why did he weep? Why did the one who prophesied that Lazarus would be raised up again, sob? The only thing that makes sense to me is that what will happen does not change what has happened: the experience of pain. Despite knowing that Lazarus would be brought back to life, Jesus grieves the loss. He could have downplayed or dismissed it - "Why are you crying? Don't you know that I am going to raise up? See, all better!" He could have chided them for weeping as a lack of faith. But he didn't. He grieved the loss, felt it fully. Even in the face of impending resurrection. It was still worth grieving.
* * * * *
I have not grieved enough. Not for the big things. Not for the little things. As I have been engaging this process in therapy, I feel weird, stupid even, for some of things that I am only now attending to. But I am learning that it doesn't matter. The experience has occurred and the pain is real. And I need to honor the experience and myself and Jesus by weeping. And he will take care of bringing things back to life.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Neither...
For my Old Testament class, we have to do a 10 page exegetical research paper on an OT passage of our choosing. We were advised to work this on 2 levels: the academic/research level and the formational level. On top of the normal research from commentaries, we are to sit with scripture and just be with it and let it wash over us for the course of a week. In light of this, we are to choose a passage that we are actually interested in as the goal of the paper is not to rail against a particular passage with which we have severe problems. I had a fairly immediate sense of being drawn towards Joshua 5:13-15. Despite the fact that it is a fairly short passage, the TA gave the ok.
As I was reading for said Old Testament class, I decided I needed a break. I grabbed my bible and went up to the chapel to read and reflect for a bit. I have been feeling weird spiritually speaking as of late. Tired, overwhelmed and reluctant/resistant to being with Jesus and really engage Him in the midst of everything. So, I decided to try to spend some time with Jesus. I read the Joshua passage, which is as follows:
13 Now when Joshua was near Jericho, he looked up and saw a man standing in front of him with a drawn sword in his hand. Joshua went up to him and asked, "Are you for us or for our enemies?"
14 "Neither," he replied, "but as commander of the army of the LORD I have now come." Then Joshua fell facedown to the ground in reverence, and asked him, "What message does my Lord have for his servant?"
15 The commander of the LORD's army replied, "Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy." And Joshua did so.
The place that I am drawn to (at this particular point) is the simple word "neither" in response to the question of whose side the man was on. I am so aware of wanting to have God be on my side as I wrestle through stuff. And in a sense He is. He is for me. He cares about me, loves me, guides me, protects me, etc. However, He is not on my side. Part of the way that God is for any of us is that He calls us onto His side. He is where there is life, light, grace, strength, and goodness. Anytime that I want to have God on my side, it is probably a good measure of my self-righteousness. There is a choice of sides, but only for me, not for Him.
Can I be ok that He is not on my side? Do I hold it against Him that when I look at all the crap and ask whose side is He on, and He responds with "Neither." I don't know that I have an answer for that. Regardless of that, His invitation is for me to rest, receive, and engage from Him. But I hurt right now and I become only more acutely aware of that pain and tension and frustration when I still myself in front of Him. Part of it is that I have actually looked at who I am and why I am that way. I have found much that bothers me in glaring proportions, particularly in terms of my lack. And I feel like there is so much lacking. How is it that my struggles, darkness, and places of brokenness (lack) can weigh so much at times? And I feel like I am just starting to scratch the surface. Then throw in the reality that I am going to be helping people walk through their own stuff. I feel inadequate and overwhelmed.
At the same time, I am waiting to see in new ways my strength, my courage, my redemption, the distance that I have already come. God, grant me strength to stand on your side in the midst of this. Grant me the patience to receive from you even when you are not "on my side." Grant me the desire to cling to you in the midst of my frailty, fear, and pain. Let me be a person of worship everytime You ask me which side I am on.
As I was reading for said Old Testament class, I decided I needed a break. I grabbed my bible and went up to the chapel to read and reflect for a bit. I have been feeling weird spiritually speaking as of late. Tired, overwhelmed and reluctant/resistant to being with Jesus and really engage Him in the midst of everything. So, I decided to try to spend some time with Jesus. I read the Joshua passage, which is as follows:
13 Now when Joshua was near Jericho, he looked up and saw a man standing in front of him with a drawn sword in his hand. Joshua went up to him and asked, "Are you for us or for our enemies?"
14 "Neither," he replied, "but as commander of the army of the LORD I have now come." Then Joshua fell facedown to the ground in reverence, and asked him, "What message does my Lord have for his servant?"
15 The commander of the LORD's army replied, "Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy." And Joshua did so.
The place that I am drawn to (at this particular point) is the simple word "neither" in response to the question of whose side the man was on. I am so aware of wanting to have God be on my side as I wrestle through stuff. And in a sense He is. He is for me. He cares about me, loves me, guides me, protects me, etc. However, He is not on my side. Part of the way that God is for any of us is that He calls us onto His side. He is where there is life, light, grace, strength, and goodness. Anytime that I want to have God on my side, it is probably a good measure of my self-righteousness. There is a choice of sides, but only for me, not for Him.
Can I be ok that He is not on my side? Do I hold it against Him that when I look at all the crap and ask whose side is He on, and He responds with "Neither." I don't know that I have an answer for that. Regardless of that, His invitation is for me to rest, receive, and engage from Him. But I hurt right now and I become only more acutely aware of that pain and tension and frustration when I still myself in front of Him. Part of it is that I have actually looked at who I am and why I am that way. I have found much that bothers me in glaring proportions, particularly in terms of my lack. And I feel like there is so much lacking. How is it that my struggles, darkness, and places of brokenness (lack) can weigh so much at times? And I feel like I am just starting to scratch the surface. Then throw in the reality that I am going to be helping people walk through their own stuff. I feel inadequate and overwhelmed.
At the same time, I am waiting to see in new ways my strength, my courage, my redemption, the distance that I have already come. God, grant me strength to stand on your side in the midst of this. Grant me the patience to receive from you even when you are not "on my side." Grant me the desire to cling to you in the midst of my frailty, fear, and pain. Let me be a person of worship everytime You ask me which side I am on.
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