Good Friday

Good Friday is an odd sort of day to encounter, when you're having a year in which you've boldly declared that this year the thing you're giving up for Lent is in fact the practice of Lent.

It's odder still when you in fact gave up Lent because it had become a grinding obligation - a continual and unending suffering, with no room for feasting or joy.

I woke this morning, and stood in the shower (the place where I do some of my best thinking and praying) and pondered.

For the last several years, I've lived the Lenten season as a reflection of life.  My life seemed to only carry suffering, there was little love or joy in my faith, and Lent seemed a perfect fit for that - a season of fasting, suffering, denial, preparation.  A season that moves inexorably towards this day that we mark the crucifixion, the death of a savior.  Easter had become a sort of afterthought - an "oh yes, and there was resurrection," but I was stuck on that Friday, stuck in death and pain and anguish.  I lived out my days and months and years in a Friday mindset.

And this year I declared that enough was enough.  I wasn't going to encourage my natural proclivity for suffering and angst.  Lent moved quickly, this year, with an awareness of the coming of Easter, but not the weighing, dragging of days that it has had for the past several.

I read somewhere that Christians are Easter people, living in a Good Friday world.  I was just a Good Friday person most of the time.

And so I found myself pondering in the shower this morning, feeling almost offended that a day had arrived that demanded my attention focus, at least for a time again, on the suffering.  How dare I be forced to think about that?

And yet, if I can't, if I can't pause and recognize this suffering that has been marked for my healing, what good am I?  How can I be an Easter person, if I can't also see and empathize with a Good Friday world? If I close my eyes and cloister myself in my own controlled world?

I become useless cloistered away in that fashion, and I wither.  And, the reality that these last years have so clearly taught is this - I can't control even my own world, my own desire to avoid personal suffering.

And so today I'm pausing.

I paused through an hour long Tenebrae service - a carefully constructed meditation on shadows, with roots in the fourth century.  I walked in silence from the church, with the others in attendance.  The solemnity that follows the removal of Christ, his laying in the tomb.  The entrance to the days between.

And I'm pondering.

I have learned that being a Good Friday person isn't healthy, and I'm working to learn what it is to be that Easter person, while still carrying great empathy and compassion for a Good Friday world.  I'm learning what it is to exist in those Good Friday moments, without them becoming overpowering.

And I'm thinking about my one word for the year.  Heal.

I'm recognizing that without a Good Friday moment, that healing would not be mine.

And so I wait, today, for resurrection Sunday.

From Richard Rohr

Today's meditation from Richard Rohr was stunning, and I wanted to share it in it's entirety here:

Question of the Day:
What struggles have given me a deeper insight
into the workings of the Holy Spirit?

The best thing that I can possibly do as a teacher/preacher is to help people to recognize and trust their own deeper spiritual intuitions.  I am convinced this is what we would call the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit.  We are not alone; guidance is always being offered. 

My great disappointment in so much of institutional religion is that I don’t think it helps people to trust their deeper spiritual intuitions.  So often it appears to be doing a non-stop flight over all of that.  Often we give people answers to questions they have not yet struggled with or suffered for.  So the answers that they finally have are not deeply understood or deeply felt.  They are not their own answers, and are forgotten easily.

(Richard Rohr, "The Authority of Those Who Have Suffered")

~~~

It feels odd to post a critique of institutional religion. I'm probably the biggest proponent of the organized church that I know.  And I don't particularly care what form it takes, either.  I've met Jesus powerfully at mass, and in a crazy charismatic church, and in a home church, and sitting in the dark in a car with a friend.  I feel strongly that each one of those moments, and everything in between encompasses the body of Christ.

That said, Rohr's words hit me strongly.  Because I've had people offer me answers to questions I didn't know I had, and they weren't my answers.  I needed to go through a lot of painful experiences to have answers to those questions.  I wrote, in one way or another, about some of those experiences here, here, and here over the last week.  I'm grateful for those experiences, and for the answers that came in the midst of suffering.

They've changed the way I pray.  Though I prefer to be left alone at times to simply live out my own "mysteries of faith", my nature is to fix it.  Quick answers.  "Easy" solutions.  Box that problem up into manageable sizes.  I've learned to really value the friends who ask me to listen for my own spiritual intuition (as Rohr puts it).  And I'm learning to emulate them as I walk with others through hard parts of their journeys.

Good Friday Service

I attended a church service this morning, at a large local church.

Dad and I went together.

After it ended, he waited until we got to the car to ask if they had mentioned the crucifixion even once.

Only in a song.

An hour and a half long service, on Good Friday, and the crucifixion wasn't mentioned.

It wasn't that it was a bad service, the music was well done, and so were some of the other elements.  It was nice to share communion today.

But today is the day for remembering the suffering of Christ, and, it seemed that they couldn't be bothered.  To pause and allow suffering to exist for a few moments.  To imagine what it would have been like to be the disciples, watching their beloved die, and then, sitting in the dark, seemingly hopeless day, waiting.

We jump right to resurrection, and it seems we cheat ourselves out of something that comes with the waiting in darkness.

And so, I offer you this - posted on Dana's blog today as well - as a beautiful reminder to pause today, and be grateful for the sacrifice of the cross.

Pondering 12:12

I'm rather crabbily considering Romans 12:12 today "Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer."

The verse started running through my head late last night as I was turning out the lights to sleep.  I made a mental note of it, sensing it's importance, and fell asleep.

A few friends have shared stories with me of powerful encounters they've had with Jesus in the last few days. "The Weight of Glory" kind of moments, and I was mentally wrestling through the balance of being overjoyed for my friends and their moments of encounter and healing, and jealous, because I'm tired and longing, and life has felt dry in some ways the last little while.  Not bad, but dry - that longing for something more and deeper that comes at times.  That longing to more tangibly encounter Jesus.

I woke again this morning with the verse still underlaying my thoughts, playing on repeat through my conciousness, forcing me to pay attention.  Making me wonder if the time and consideration I've given to a "theme" for the year is playing out.

Joyful in hope.  I can do that.  Two of my favorite words of all-time appear in that statement.  The quest for joy has been a definining one this past year.  And hope, well, it's such a "hopeful" word!  It's life-giving to know that there is still hope.  Through the many years I struggled with depression I knew deeply what it was to be hopeless.  Each day that I wake up without that overwhelming darkness is truly a gift for me, even years after being healed.  Joyful in hope.  Sure.

Patient in affliction.  This one makes me cringe.  I mean, I can do it, but I've been through two really rough, nearly hellish years in a row, and I'd rather not have any more affliction.  And, to be really honest, if I've learned anything, it's that it sure seems that God loves to answer prayers like this.  I picture his mental dialogue going something like "She wants to be patient in affliction.  Not many people ask for that!  Only one way to develop it too..."

Faithful in prayer.  If there is a statement in scripture that I would like to have as a defining one for me life, it is this - that I am faithful in prayer.  A year ago I made a "be relentless" list of five things I was going to talk to God about because of the growing conviction that I was willing to trust him and come to him with the needs of others, but rarely addressed my own needs with him.  I had a varying degree of success with remembering to talk with Jesus about those things over the course of the year, and I was thinking again yesterday about the need to be faithful in coming to Jesus with my own needs.    Somehow, as I've been pondering "faithful in prayer" this morning, I think there is a balance in that - the ongoing knowledge that I am often called to pray for others, but also the willingness to really trust God with my own heart and needs as well. 

I cringe a little, too, at how closely "faithful in prayer" seems to be tied to "patient in affliction".  I'll admit that these brutally hard years have done much for my prayer life, but like I said, I'd rather that they not be the story of the rest of my life.  I'd kind of like a new year filled with joy and miracles and newness.

Joyful in hope.  Patient in affliction.  Faithful in prayer.

Seems there is much that these words are speaking to my heart right now.  It will be interesting, I think, to see where this all goes.

Exalts and Renews Us

From the calendar on my desk this morning, and very timely given many of the things I've been thinking about lately...

"But as we have brought suffering into the world, God does all he can, without taking away our free will and so taking away our humanity, to change suffering from something that bruises and destroys us into something that exalts and renews us."
(Caryll Houselander)

A few more quotes

The calendar my friend gave me last week, with quotes from female saints, continues to hit chords in my heart nearly every time I flip a page.

This quote appeared late last week:

“I fear suffering, but not if it is dealt out by the God of mercy, who will not make me bear what is above my strength. My dying is eternal life with Christ. To the extent that I comprehend Christ in faith, to the same extent I shall embrace him in love.” (Saint Katharine Drexel)

And this one appeared this morning, as I was struggling again with a number of things, including forgiveness issues, and begging Jesus for his presence and his grace:

"In this mortal life, mercy and forgiveness are the path that always leads us to grace." (Blessed Julian of Norwich)

Three Thoughts From Henri on Forgiveness and Relationships

three thoughts from Henri Nouwen...

From Blaming to Forgiving

Our most painful suffering often comes from those who love us and those we love. The relationships between husband and wife, parents and children, brothers and sisters, teachers and students, pastors and parishioners - these are where our deepest wounds occur. Even late in life, yes, even after those who wounded us have long since died, we might still need help to sort out what happened in these relationships.

The great temptation is to keep blaming those who were closest to us for our present, condition saying: "You made me who I am now, and I hate who I am." The great challenge is to acknowledge our hurts and claim our true selves as being more than the result of what other people do to us. Only when we can claim our God-made selves as the true source of our being will we be free to forgive those who have wounded us.

Being Handed Over to Suffering

People who live close together can be sources of great sorrow for one another. When Jesus chose his twelve apostles, Judas was one of them. Judas is called a traitor. A traitor, according to the literal meaning of the Greek word for "betraying," is someone who hands the other over to suffering.

The truth is that we all have something of the traitor in us because each of us hands our fellow human beings over to suffering somehow, somewhere, mostly without intending or even knowing it. Many children, even grown-up children, can experience deep anger toward their parents for having protected them too much or too little. When we are willing to confess that we often hand those we love over to suffering, even against our best intentions, we will be more ready to forgive those who, mostly against their will, are the causes of our pain.

Laying Down Your Life for Your Friends

Good Shepherds are willing to lay down their lives for their sheep (see John 10:11). As spiritual leaders walking in the footsteps of Jesus, we are called to lay down our lives for our people. This laying down might in special circumstances mean dying for others. But it means first of all making our own lives - our sorrows and joys, our despair and hope, our loneliness and experience of intimacy - available to others as sources of new life.

One of the greatest gifts we can give others is ourselves. We offer consolation and comfort, especially in moments of crisis, when we say: "Do not be afraid, I know what you are living and I am living it with you. You are not alone." Thus we become Christ-like shepherds.