Good Friday

But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our inequities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.
Isaiah 53:5

This afternoon I walked down to the Basilica and sat in one of the pews. I watched as people filed in and out of the silent church, taking a few minutes to kneel and pray before returning to the day. Today is Good Friday, the day more than a billion people commemorate the death of Jesus. Today we remember a mystery of the faith, that his punishment brings us peace and his wounds bring healing.

There is something inside of me crying out that suffering and war and hunger are not how things are supposed to be. This world is not as it was supposed to be. But, because of what happened on Good Friday, I have hope. There is more. There will be a day when God wipes away every tear from our eyes and there will be no more death nor sadness. This is the reason that today is called good: it does not end with the death. Easter is coming.

Reminder

Last night I dreamt about my sister Kristin. I haven't done this since a few months after she died. We were running around a house together, dancing and laughing. We went to a hallway and she taught me some steps from a line dance. She was healthy and full of life.

I wandered over to the bedroom from my childhood and everything in it was gone. Kristin had stuffed it all into my closet. When I opened the closet door, I found all of my things and a pair of gold heels that I love. I was relieved to know it was all still there, just moved to a different place.

When I woke, I wasn't sad. The dream didn't seem at all out of the ordinary. Maybe God was using it to remind me that Kristin is like those things in my closet, still here but in a different place.

Ash Wednesday

As the forehead of the congregant is marked with ash, the church leader says, "For you are dust, and to dust you shall return" (Genesis 3:19). I need that reminder. I've got pride issues, as David loves to tell me.

Today, Ash Wednesday, is the beginning of the season of Lent. Despite not being Catholic, I have been practicing Lent since junior high. That was a time when giving up candy or soda was cool, and my friends and I loved being able to complain about our sacrifices. "No candy for 46 days! How will you do it?" "Not that big a deal when you're awesome" (paraphasing).

This year, I'm praying for something different. My hope is that Lent will help me reflect on my own depravity so I can better understand how undeserving I am of God's love. I am but dust.

For those who are wondering (VANESSA), I'm giving up snacks.

Acceptance

(My dad as a little boy. How cute is he?!

Dad- bet you're wondering how I got this. I'm sneaky.)

I am in my mid-twenties, a place that feels like the beginning of the transition from young and sparkling to adulthood and expectations of maturity. I am realizing that some of my assumptions about aging are not true. The me I envision in the future is much kinder and more thoughtful, finds time to write letters to family and friends, sits in a sunshiny garden and reads, hosts parties and never avoids visiting with friends, returns all emails and phone calls the day they are received, prays for everything she wants to and everything she says she will, eats chocolate cake and never feels fat. For years I have been idealizing my future self, and becoming disappointed by how little I really change. When will I become this perfect me I imagine?

While reading tonight, I came across this passage:

"Grace strikes us when, year after year, the longed-for perfection does not appear, when the old compulsions reign within us as they have for decades, when despair destroys all joy and courage. Sometimes at that moment a wave of light breaks into our darkness, and it is as though a voice were saying: 'You are accepted.... Do not seek for anything, do not intend anything. Simply accept the fact that you are accepted.'"

The Shaking of the Foundations, Paul Tillich

I have heard my dad say, while looking at old pictures, that he still feels like the boy he once was though his body has changed. For better or worse, I am me. I will very likely be me for the rest of my life. And God calls me- the me I am right now- worthy and loved.

Miracles

Last night we went to an event at the hospital for staff, students and patients. Apart from feeling really cool walking through the hospital like I had important things to do, a special thing happened.

For a few minutes we got to hear from the amazing Dr. Ben Carson. He is the head of pediatric neurosurgery at Hopkins, has written a number of bestselling books, and even has a movie about his life (where he's played by Cuba Gooding Jr!). He spoke about times he has taken on cases that others called impossible because he knows that God can, and does, use him to perform miracles. 

He told the story of a baby who was born with a large tumor at his brain stem. The doctors told the parents there was no hope for the baby, and to take him home to be comfortable for the remaining 6 months of his life. Dr. Carson heard of the case and chose to operate. He removed a large portion, and in the next few months the tumor continued to shrink and shrink until it finally disappeared. A month ago he was giving a lecture in Oklahoma and a family came up to talk with him. The boy, now a perfectly healthy 20-year-old college student, stood before him smiling. 

Dr. Carson looked up at all of us and reminded us that it is often hard to be a Christian in a place where many believe that science and religion are mutually exclusive. But, they don't have to be. God works through medicine and performs miracles through doctors. Thankfully.

Mourn with those who mourn

"Compassion is hard because it requires the inner disposition to go with others to the place where they are weak, vulnerable, lonely, and broken. But this is not our spontaneous response to suffering. What we desire most is to do away with suffering by fleeing from it or finding a quick cure for it.... And so we ignore our greatest gift, which is our ability to enter into solidarity with those who suffer. Those who can sit in silence with their fellowman, not knowing what to say but knowing that they should be there, can bring new life in a dying heart. Those who are not afraid to hold a hand in gratitude, to shed tears in grief and to let a sigh of distress arise straight from the heart can break through paralyzing boundaries and witness the birth of a new fellowship, the fellowship of the broken."

Henri Nouwen

A dear friend of mine is going through a heartbreaking time. Everything in me wants to make things better, but I feel powerless and I don't know what to do. It is terrible to feel powerless. 

We are to mourn with those who mourn. We are to pray. These things I can do. Please pray with me for my friend and her family. Pray for healing, strength, and hope.

Grace

It is one of those times when my spirit feels heavy and discouraged. So much of life is sad. There are layers upon layers of pain and grief that every person carries, whether visible or protected inside, and my burden is that I tend to take others' sadness as my own. My sweet friend Vanessa gave me these verses yesterday, and they remind me that I don't need to be strong. It's okay to cry and breathe in the pain of this world. His grace is enough. Thank goodness.

Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

2 Corinthians 12:7-10

Pinocchio and me

The other day we watched Pinocchio, a sweet gift from my mother-in-law. I was a little distracted by the Blue Fairy (me: "Do I look like her? I want to look like her." David: "No.") and the realization that the movie is not far from propaganda for kids ("I'm collecting stupid little boys... You know, the disobedient ones who play hooky from school."). Still, I couldn't help but love moments like Pinocchio's dancing and Geppetto calling his fish "my little water baby." 

I was struck by the words the fairy used to bring Pinocchio to life: "Little puppet made of pine, awake! The gift of life is thine." I, too, have been given the incredible gift of life, both now and to come. Thank God my gift does not depend on me being an obedient girl (who doesn't play hooky from school), because I would have failed a long time ago....

A crown of beauty instead of ashes

I am usually thankful for tears. The welling up of feelings and pain finally overflows into an exhale of relief. Then there are other times when the pain is so big and so terrible that tears don't help. Instead of relief, you feel exhaustion and bitterness and a terrifying lack of control. My sister Kristin died almost 4 years ago, and I still feel those tears. And then sometimes, when the tears are far away, I feel guilty that time has passed and I have moved past too. And I worry, did I grieve properly? Am I grieving properly?

These past few days stories of death and loss have been all around me. One of the volunteers at my work has lost 5 people this year. This week she came into the office, and I overheard her say, "It is good. I know that doesn't make any sense, but it is good. It only makes sense in God's kingdom."

I know it is the experience of pain that makes other moments sweet. And life is rich when we live in all sides of it. When we breathe in the pain. When we do not rush to replace it with fleeting joy. When we can sit, feel, grieve, and accept.

God is weaving our lives' experiences into a tapestry of redemption and reconciliation. One day we will see the pain there with the joy, and we will see God's spirit through it all. What seems so arbitrary now will be shown as a piece of a plan much bigger than ourselves. This is not the end. No, this is a step on the way to a much better end. There is more. We must hope.

"...to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair...." Isaiah 61:3

Lent

This is the first week of Lent, a time of preparation for Easter. For forty days, Christians attempt to recognize their own sinfulness so they can fully appreciate what happened at Jesus' death and resurrection. Easter is meant to be a celebration, full of life and light and not full of bunnies and chocolate and terrible pastel colors. I'm not saying these are bad things (except maybe the pastel overload), just that there is a little too much attention paid them during the holiday.

Though it may sound strange, I find so much comfort in knowing that I am broken and entirely dependent on God. At the end of my life, whatever I did that was good was only because God was merciful. It was not by my power, but His power working through me. I will not look back on my life and say, "I should have done more," or, "I wasted my life." If I live in my own power, those statements will always be true. But if I recognize that any good I do is a gift, I will be appreciative rather than regretful. 

Jesus said that children will inherit the kingdom of heaven. It is not because they are pure and innocent, but because children cannot do anything on their own. They are dependent, and they do not fool themselves into believing that they can accomplish great things on their own. 

Let me be like a child.