Saturday, November 24, 2018

Man Of Sorrows

I do not understand this mystery: the Father's love envelops us and surrounds us, but He does not (usually) take away the Cross. In my limited way, this might seem like a contradiction, but it's not. I long to understand its meaning, but all I have is to love God in the midst of it.

At other times, it has seemed like grief was a deep hole or chasm from which I would never emerge. Now, it seems like an alternate reality. It's not denial, but it's close, like a bewildered confusion. The world makes no sense now. It goes on, just as it did before, but I go on, with effort.

There have been moments where I said, "I don't think I can do this," and Jesus answered, "Yes, you can." Jesus the great high priest is exalted, of course, but he is our brother. I can see him weeping with us, and holding us near.

We need the hope of the resurrection, but sometimes, not yet. You can't look at the sorrow and tragedy in the world and go, "Well, that's enough of that." We need to live there, to sorrow and to weep. Jesus wept, and he knew he would raise Lazarus from the dead. He knew! What is the weight of that sorrow?

Yet I know one thing as the oddest comfort: I'm alive. Not just my body, but my spirit. No one who is dead inside is able to feel sorrow. We are the oddest creatures: we start here in this sad world, all the while knowing we are more. We might hide it, or deny it, but we know.

All the loves end up the same. If they are good, they are eternal, and they are one. I don't quite understand this, either, but I know it.