It has been a heavy season. All around me, people are losing
loved ones, facing long days of suffering, and experiencing pain. This past
week, a friend lost her mom unexpectedly.
A few days ago, my brother shared with me about a mutual friend’s newly
discovered, aggressive brain tumor. Today, I read about an old classmate’s
infant son who has very few days left on earth. I could name many more painful
situations effecting people I love, but it just feels like too much right now.
I see the heaviness and sorrow in this life, and honestly, I
just want to run from it. I want to go to sleep and open my eyes to a new day
and new, happier news. This heaviness is so unpleasant. It’s uncomfortable, and
it often makes us feel empty and far from ourselves. In times of loss and pain,
life feels complicated. It’s hard to go back to routine, have mundane
conversations, or just walk through a day feeling normal. Not only are we
dealing with personal pain, but we also have to live in a world that keeps
going. The world does not stop when things get heavy.
As I processed some of these pain-ridden scenarios tonight,
I turned to a Lent reading plan I’ve been spending time in this season. This
past section of the plan has been difficult. Of the three sections laid out in
the book, this “Repent” portion has been the one I’d prefer to avoid. But of
course, God challenged me significantly through these sections of scripture.
Reading through Lamentations and Psalm 51 gives one a very sobering look at
their life. There is little in these passages that makes me want to jump up
with excitement and tell others about all the encouraging truth I just read.
These parts of scripture are, in fact, heavy. They are full of challenge and
conviction and acknowledgment of our brokenness. And though they are part of
God’s bigger story, I again would rather run away from the heaviness they hold.
Lent feels a bit like this. It’s this part of the grand
picture of God’s intentions for humanity that has such sobering, painful
elements to it. I’d rather read the Christmas story and the good news about
Jesus’ highly anticipated arrival. And yet, I’m being drawn further into the
beauty of this hopeful, painful story of Christ’s last years on earth.
In many ways, it feels appropriate that life is heavy during
this season of Lent. The painful reality of today points me to the significance
of the Cross. In this one symbol, we see the brutal suffering of Christ mixed
with the powerful love and hope he made available to us. He is both heavy and
light; He is pain and joy.
This season, whether I’m naming it one of heaviness or Lent,
or both, is pointing me to God’s great faithfulness. He is a God who knows
suffering because of his incarnate Son. And he is a God who promises hope in
the midst of pain.
18 So I say, “My splendor is gone
and all that I had hoped from the Lord.”
19 I remember my affliction and my
wandering,
the bitterness and the gall.
20 I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.
21 Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:
22 Because of the Lord’s great
love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
23 They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
24 I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him.”
Lamentations
3:18-24
In the great paradox of the Cross, we are reminded of God’s
ability to be all that we need. This life is heavy at times, and we can remain
in the heaviness without being consumed by it. More importantly, we can’t run
from the discomfort of heaviness, especially when it impacts the lives of
people we love. In this season, I want to grow in compassion and the
willingness to walk with others through pain.
Father, allow us to
lean into you during this heavy season. Whether we’re experiencing pain and
suffering personally, or we’re looking into the lives of others, let us draw
close to you. Let us return to you as our first love, our source of strength
and hope. Let us repent and experience godly grief that sees where we have
separated ourselves from you. And let us remember who you are. Let us remember
pain in a healthy way, allowing your healing and grace to steady us. Let us
remember your faithfulness, always.
In this season of
Lent, draw us close to you. And let a more hopeful, empowered, fuller person
emerge. Where we wanted to open our eyes to lighter, more pleasant news,
instead let us see your faithfulness and your compassion. We love and trust you
today. Give us grace to walk through the heaviness little by little.
Amen.