A Day for Pushing Through

This is a mixed up sort of day.

Maundy Thursday. The day we mark the washing of the disciple’s feet, the institution of the Eucharist, the agony in Gethsemane, and the betrayal by Judas. A bloody day, filled with questions.

My baby brother is having surgery today, to hopefully correct a wrist injury he’s suffered from for nearly two years. An injury I’ve written about here before. T. has taught me so much as I’ve watched him struggle through this season. He truly felt it was God’s will to study worship and music, to major in guitar. He’d spent a year seeking the heart of God for his life after high school, and made the decision to pursue music. Within months of beginning school, he was forced to give up playing the guitar because of this injury. Over the last year and a half he has asked Jesus the hard questions, he’s struggled with the pain, and he’s walked into increasingly deep sensitivity to the word and spirit of God. Today the surgeon will shorten one of the bones in his wrist, in the hopes that the pressure that the bone creates will be alleviated, and that T’s ability to use his arm without pain will be restored. I have seen patience and depth sprout in him through this season, and today, as I mark again the body broken and the blood poured out, I am praying that God will restore wholeness to my brother’s body, because I know that the glory will be given to God alone.

March 20, 1212. The day Clare of Assisi left behind her riches and went to St. Francis to be blessed, to assume a life of poverty and devotion to Christ. I’ve been reading about Clare lately, talking about her a bit with a friend. She is the patron saint of eyes – significant in a season that has been about “seeing” with the eyes of Christ. One of only three female saints to be depicted carrying the host – the body of Christ – significant in a Lenten season that has time and time again driven home the idea of the body broken and the blood shed.

This is a day for pressing through. For remembering the verse in Hebrews that reminds us that joy comes after the suffering. “For the joy set before Him he endured the cross…”

I’ll go home from work tonight, and break a fast I’ve engaged in for the last week with bread and maybe with wine. Remembering the body broken and the blood shed. I’ll eat, and I’ll read, and I’ll pray, and I’ll rest. But until then, I’m pushing through, and the slogging feels slow and heavy.