Holy Week in Grief

Holy Week. It comes every year. Lent is always one of my favorite seasons of the church. I appreciate the idea of embracing the darkness because in the end, Jesus will save us all. His light shines brighter than any darkness. No matter how bad you think things are. He will always win.

I've never experienced a Holy Week like this one. Ironically, it's not the first Easter surrounding the death of a loved one. Just one year ago, we lost my Grandpa during Holy Week. But we also knew that his time had come. I understood that his pain and suffering would soon be over, that he would be reunited with my Grandma again and stand in the presence of God. There was grief. But not like a shocking grief.

This Holy Week. There were a lot of feelings. A lot of thoughts about Austin. A lot of thoughts about what it all means, how it all works.

The message on Maundy Thursday was one of love. Throughout the last supper and that last evening, Jesus showed the same love to every single disciple, even Judas, who he knew would be betray him. Jesus tells us, "Love one another as I have loved you." His final commandment.

We will never be able to love as truly and deeply as Jesus did, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't try. It's not our place to judge others. Our job is to LOVE. All. Always.

I know this message. I think of it often. I remind myself of it when life gets hard and frustrating. But on Thursday, I felt ashamed because of that message.

I thought of Austin. The last few months we had. We had our differences and disagreements. I would get frustrated and angry. I wasn't living out that commandment. I should have been showing Austin love. He didn't deserve to be treated any differently just because we were having issues. He didn't deserve to be judged. Obviously I didn't know all of his struggles. I should have at least shown him God's love.

But I can't change that. And I'm ashamed of some of my actions. But what I can do is resolve to do better in the future. To treat those I disagree with or get angry at with love. Show them God's love and grace. "Love one another as I have loved you"

Good Friday. That was hard. I couldn't help but think of Austin at his ending. What led up to his ending. Did he feel abandoned? By those he thought loved him? By me? By God? Did he feel alone? And I think that he must have. He must have felt those things. And I can't imagine that pain.

I also thought about those of us who love Austin and who were left behind. "No chance to say goodbye. No way to ease the pain of parting." And this prayer: "For the times when we have not loved, even when we could, failing to carry out the simplest act of mercy, we ask the Father's forgiveness."

Then Saturday. The day that doesn't really get talked about. Unless your life is currently stuck in Saturday. Sometimes others will write something that so clearly states what you can't put into words. A friend, Kayla Becker, wrote something on Facebook that did just that: 

I’ve never really identified with the “Saturday” of Easter before. That silent day in between “Good Friday” and Easter Sunday. The day between the shocking grief and the stunning reality of what His brokenness healed. This Easter I’m stuck in Saturday.

We wear our grief like a cloak now. We’re no longer shocked and disillusioned. The weight of loss is just wrapped around us. And we are reeling as we try to put our lives back together around the trauma of loss. And I understand Saturday in a way I never wanted to.

We know the whole story. We know eventually the stone rolled away. The wounds became what healed us.

For as long as I’ve known the grief of the Friday of Easter I’ve also known the joy of Sunday.

But as for the ones actually written into that story, they didn’t know Sunday was coming. They didn’t know the stone would roll. The only knew the enormity of their loss.

In the blur of the visitation and funeral there are a few things people said that I remember vividly. One more than any other. Dear friends of ours wrapped their arms around me and said with more compassion and grace than I can muster...

“We know loss.”

And it was so simple. And it was so profound. When your heart is breaking, sometimes the most beautiful thing another human being can give you is the knowing. They were not indifferent to our pain.

And here they were years from the initial shock of it. And yet, it was still written into them. The knowing.

But in their knowing, I saw hope. They were not unscathed by their grief. They were not the same people they had been before loss. They did not pretend to be. But they knew something we didn’t yet. They knew Sunday was going to come. They used their wounds to heal.

And hasn’t that always been the way… brokenness is what heals. It’s the bridge between Saturday and Sunday.

I have not yet known heartbreak like this in my entire adult life. I am devastated. And I refuse to lie about that.

I won’t pretend this hasn’t rattled us. His death was traumatic and unexpected, and in ways we feel like we’ll never recover. I won’t pretend we haven't asked all of the hard questions. We lie awake at night, our faith deeply shaken.

I have exactly zero answers for all of the painfully difficult questions being asked. I won’t pretend that I haven’t questioned and tried to make sense of it. But it doesn’t make sense. It feels cruel and unfair. It feels painful, awful, and impossible. Because it’s still Saturday for me.

But the impossible beauty of living on this side of the Easter story is that I know eventually Sunday has to come. Even if I’m still living in Saturday. I know.

We might be shaken. We might be a bit like Thomas, begging to touch the wounds so we can believe it’s really true.

Sunday will come.
Wounds can be used to heal.
God is not indifferent to our pain.

Jesus is the bridge between the Saturday we’re in and the Sunday we believe will come.

And I don’t know if I’ve ever really been able to celebrate Easter in the way I will tomorrow.

Sunday will come.

As I was doing some reading, I learned about a Seder tradition of leaving a place set at the table for the prophet Elijah. "We have faith in his eventual return at the same time we acknowledge his absence. The empty chair at the table is both lament and expectation. His absence makes a very physical presence."

The presence of love and the presence of grief. Together. Acknowledge both. Welcome both. Leave the door open. Allow the emptiness a place at the table.

And then. Sunday. Easter. A day of celebration. Of rejoicing. To be honest, it felt odd to celebrate something so amazing as the resurrection of Jesus when I was still grieving the loss of Austin. Throughout the morning, I realized that I need to focus on where Austin is now.

In heaven! For eternity! For Austin, there is no more pain, no more tears, no more sorrow. There is only the absolutely joy of being with God! And that's because of the Easter miracle. The suffering has ended."The great promise of Easter had prevailed." Truly. Easter makes all the difference. And I can celebrate that.

He is Risen. He is Risen indeed.

Death isn't a scary thing

I just finished reading a wonderful book called "Heaven is for Real". It is the true story of one little boy's trip to heaven and back. The book caught my eye at Barnes and Noble and I couldn't not buy it. For some reason, death has always fascinated me.

I don't want to give too much of the story away and I really think that everyone should read this book. You're free to borrow my copy even! But in this book, a four year old boy has to go in for an emergency surgery and throughout the following months and even years, he starts to share with his parents about his amazing journey to heaven during his surgery. He talks about meeting Jesus and how much Jesus loves the children. The greatest thing about this book is that it gives you an insight into the belief of a child - the most pure and innocent belief there is. God talks about how you must have the faith of a child to enter heaven, and in this book, you start to understand why.

Growing up, whenever I was asked what my biggest fear was, it was never death. I was never afraid of dying. And that was because I knew that something greater was waiting for me after I die. You hear about this amazing place that God has created for us. And that He sent His son to die for us, so that we can enjoy that eternal life. How could you be afraid of that? My friends and I use to joke in high school about how excited we were to one day be able to frolic down the streets of heaven paved of gold.

In college, I was fortunate enough to take a course taught by the college pastor (and the man that married AJ and I), Pastor Trachte (PT). This was probably one of the most popular religion courses on campus. Throughout the class we discussed how death is viewed in a number of cultures, visited a funeral home, read books, interviewed other people and heard stories of death and dying. One of the most memorable parts of this class was when another Wartburg professor came to speak to our class. He told us that during a surgery, he had visited heaven. He talked about the hundreds of people he saw, the colors that were indescribable and what it was like coming back to earth.

Hearing these stories or reading these books, you can't help but wonder - 'how can this not be real?' It also reaffirms the idea that one day we will see those who we love once again. Being able to be reunited with our family and friends - what a wonderful thought. Knowing that even though they've left us here on earth, they're still watching us from above.

A couple of summers ago, AJ and I were up in Northern Minnesota for a wedding. On our way back to Iowa, I really wanted to stop in the cities to visit my Grandma's grave. My grandma had passed away when I was out in Colorado. In fact my family had just made it back to Minnesota before she passed after dropping me off in Colorado. Because I was out there I was unable to make it back for the burial. And even though I did make it back for the memorial service, I had this guilt. I felt guilty about not being there when she passed. I felt guilty for almost making my dad not be by his mom's side or to be there with his dad and the rest of his family. I felt guilty. And I carried that guilt for a long time.
So I was determined to visit her grave so that I could properly say good-bye and to also introduce her to AJ. When we got there, we had a really hard time finding her grave and the computers at the cemetery to help you were all out of order. Finally, my uncle was able to direct us to the correct area and we found her. I finally had the chance to introduce her to AJ and then he went back to the car so I could have a couple of minutes. I'm not sure I could tell you know what I said to here that day, but I remember what I felt. I felt the tears coming and apologizing for my guilt. But at that moment, I felt lighter. I felt free. I know that was my Grandma telling me it was okay and that I needed to let it go. It was an amazing feeling.

Once we left the cities, we drove back down to Waterloo. Throughout our drive, there were storms and tornadoes all around us. Luckily we had timed things just right and we missed all the major storms. I know without a doubt that was my Grandma making sure we would make it back safely. How great is it to know that our loved ones are taking care of us like that?! That is a day I will never forget.

I had this post written a long time ago but I figured it would be an appropriate Good Friday post. To me, Good Friday is what makes all of Lent and the Easter story real. For me, Good Friday seems to have the most "human" components of the entire story. Maybe it's because on Good Friday, Jesus goes through the most inhumane acts of pain, humiliation, torture and finally death. Maybe Good Friday makes it all real because when I was in high school at a Christian retreat, we walked through a "live" Stations of the Cross. Seeing each station portrayed in front of you, hearing the banging of nails to the cross and the mourning cries from Mary and Jesus' mother... it makes it real. 

If you haven't had the chance to ever see a "live" version of the Stations of the Cross, I suggest you do it. Or finding a showing of the Passion Play. Or maybe rent the movie, 'Passion of Christ'. (Here is a YouTube video I found, if you're interested) Being able to see the events, processing them, it makes you think. Think about what Jesus must have gone through. What He did for us. For me. For you. And because He did this for us, we don't have to fear death.