Tears from Heaven

This morning, some of the followers of Jesus gathered along a busy roadway. Around a cross we gathered and heard again the passion story.  As the story reached its conclusion...as Jesus breathed his last...the first of a few gentle rain drops fell.  As the cross was hoisted upon the shoulders of the followers, the others fell into a somber and silent line. Slowly, we began to walk down the street - following the cross. The gentle tears from heaven fell softly upon our faces.

This scene never ceases to move me to tears. Even on those Good Friday's when the sun is shining and the day is warm, I feel the goosebumps and chill of pain as we take this journey. Today the sun is hidden and the air is chill with rain drops falling gently and sporadically upon us as we walk. It is a journey I have taken in three different towns over the past 16 years, but this year feels different.

In the past I have been moved by the pain Jesus must have felt, the humility, the defeat, the rejection... the heartbreak.  But today the pain of this walk took on a new meaning for me. Perhaps it comes from having shed so many of my own tears of grief this year but suddenly I realized that pain isn't just about suffering...it is also about love.

There is no doubt that when Jesus carried the cross to his death he felt all those things I had imagined before (pain, humility, defeat, and rejection), but...what made that walk possible was love.  If Jesus hadn't loved all the children of his Father, our God - he wouldn't have been on this journey at all.  As my own tears fell I thought about watching my own children grieve during their heavy losses this year. I remember hating so bad to see them hurt and yet finding comfort in knowing that their tears showed that my children knew how to love well - for only out of great love could separation hurt so bad.

As we neared the end of our journey the rain fell in a heavy downpour, as if the heavens couldn't hold it's grief any longer. In a pouring rain we bowed our heads and said a prayer.  My heart is full and my tears are no longer for sorrow - they are instead praise and thanksgiving for God's love.

The journey to the cross did have pain...but it was first and foremost a journey of love.

Psalm of Grief and Rage

I have often wondered how the Psalmist went from raging at God to praising him in only a few sentences. How can rage be dispelled that easily and quickly?  Today, I need to rage at God. I am angry. I am hurt. I am heartbroken…I am sick of tears. So I do what I always do when I need to have my deepest discussions with God – I go on a walk.  Normally I find the steadfast beauty of creation to be a comfort – God speaks to me through the earth and I find peace.  Not today.

I am at the beach and I come back from my walk offended. I am offended that the ocean remains so calm and tranquil while my soul is in the midst of a raging storm. I am offended that I had to walk among flocks of sea gulls, looking happy and blissful in the warm rising sun. In truth, they feed on dead things…and my bones have been picked clean in death. They don’t even pay me mind – I have nothing to offer them but tears.

Now I have returned to my room and I feel no better than before, which is new territory for me. I think again of the Psalmists. How did their rage turn so quickly to praise? My answer…what other choice did they have? If we lose our faith and hope that God will indeed comfort those who mourn, what are we left with? An endless, empty hole. If we stop believing in his steadfast love and goodness we are doomed to stay in the darkness of evil.  We have to praise…we have to rejoice that God is good and that all things have opportunity for good and glory…because the alternative is terrifying.

Much of my ministry I have dealt with death and I am the one who offers the words of comfort…God cries with you…God did not take your loved one but he has received them well…God is good and will carry you through.  I have believed all these things and I believe them now.  I suppose I am not as angry at God as I thought – perhaps it is the earth I rage at…the world which takes the good from us at too young of an age…the natural order that can’t guarantee that those who hold such promise and give so much to making this life better, will not live long lives.

My daughter has lost three very significant people in her life in a matter of months, this last a great mentor and friend…a wife has lost her soul mate and best friend…a family has lost a kind and loving person…a school has lost a valued teacher, his colleagues a dear friend…students have lost a mentor and big brother figure who guided them through the turbulent teenage years…a track team has lost their coach and leader…a parent has lost someone she could never thank enough for the blessing he brought to her family with his nurture and love.   Rest in the Peaceful arms of Christ our brother, Deric Beiter

I will praise God for the goodness shared for a time – I will thank God for knowing this man and for the influence he had upon my daughter and our family….I will. But today…I can only rage.

Garden Psalm

God sat with me in a garden today. With a slight nip in the air, the sun working hard to warm the new day, I took my new book of poetry and went for a walk.  I found myself in a churchyard where off to the side was a small prayer garden. It looked inviting in the glow of morning.  I sat upon a bench and read a few poems aloud to the birds and squirrels - and perhaps some puzzled neighbors wondering what crazy fool was reading poetry out loud on a busy Tuesday morning.

"Around me the trees stir in their leaves and call out, 'Stay awhile."
The light flows from their branches.


And they call again, "It's simple," they say,
"and you too have come 
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine."
                (When I Am Among the Trees by Mary Oliver)

I stop reading and gaze at a flowering tree. I really should learn the names of these beautiful things. I am struck at how the tree is a visual metaphor - some flowers are only buds, not yet given birth. Some were open, red, beautiful and mature - glorious. Others were brown and giving way to death. It made me sad. Remembering I was also here to deal with grief and loss.

But then the words of the poem came to me..."and you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light and to shine."  As I thought about the dark and shadowy world of sorrow my eyes traveled around the little garden and I saw that even in the shadows, there were beautiful things growing.  And there, out of the darkness of a deep mound of mulch and wood chips, sprouts were forcing their way into the light.  I looked again at the glorious, red flowering tree and beneath it I notice a lush carpet of red petals that litter the ground. A royal carpet. It will now turn to fertile soil and thus will bloom again.  There is even beauty in death. I am no longer sad.