A Lenten story from one of our Circle of Hopers:
I don't remember last Easter. Most Easters of my adulthood have been spent studying for finals, so we could assume that's what I was doing. Perhaps I was a little more aware and involved this year, as I at least knew Lent was on the horizon. As giving up something seemed weird and overwhelming, I fell into the phrase: "just participate." It seemed like a good enough stretch, a focus that wouldn't stress me out too much; plus, I had never really participated in Lent before, so it was new. What followed in the next six weeks ended up being nothing short of overwhelming and life-changing. As I walked with Jesus in the wilderness, I identified my own wilderness: a combination of sorrow and grief from traumatic losses in the past year, the loneliness and social isolation that are natural products of my medical education, and the feeling of being busy all of the time as I tried to balance school, church, and long distance relationships with family and friends. If the run-on sentence didn't clue you in, my wilderness felt vast, overwhelming, and unchangeable. But Jesus was meeting me in that wilderness that I was now aware of, as I read the daily prayer before getting out of bed each morning, and as I walked home in the dark after (an equally dark) PM and cell.
In the middle of Lent, I felt a transformation. In the course of one week I went to the PM, went to cell, had a breakfast meeting with my cell leader Aaron, and went to a cell coordinating group meeting. It wasn't until I was sitting in that last meeting that I realized the change. I hadn't given any of these "time commitments" a second thought. There was no juggling, no added stress, no debating whether or not I should go, and absolutely no fear that I was sacrificing valuable study time. Gwen White said during the women's meeting (which also happened about this same time) that her litmus test for knowing if something was from God or if she was making it up was whether or not she was surprised. Well, I was certainly surprised. My survival mode, the paradigm that I thought was necessary to "do my life right now" was shattered. I was elated by the freedom God had given me, a freedom I hadn't asked for and didn't think I needed. I continued to walk with Jesus and participate, praising him as King, as they did when he entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. And then I was with Him as Holy Week went on, participating in his frustration and despair, trying to further understand his relationship with his disciples while I was sharing a meal with other Jesus followers. Perhaps my participation some 2000 years later helped me understand some of the feelings Jesus had too.
I knew what was coming. As transformed as I felt, and happy to be following Jesus, I knew what it meant to "participate" on Friday. And as enriching as it was to dine with Jesus, witnessed in the faces of my church family on Thursday, Friday I had to walk with Him as he suffered and bled, carrying the cross that he would then be nailed to. I didn't really want to do it, but I walked the stations of the cross. As I felt self-conscious praying on the street corner and strange men said weird things to me as I passed by, I felt humiliated, stupid, and I wanted to turn back. But I continued, determined to finish, to witness the sacrifice and love of the One who had transformed my life, had made me new, and who was now dying for all of mankind, slowly and painfully. This year of my life has made me familiar with death and mourning, and as I participated in Jesus' death and the mourning of those close to him, the raw sorrow of grief and loss was renewed within me. Then Saturday was quiet. There was nothing to do except my normal stuff, and I thought, "What now?" I had been following Jesus, walking with him, witnessing His love. But now he was dead. The day had a new silence—and I imagined how the disciples felt, the disappointment and despair, not to mention the fear of being tied to Jesus following yesterday's events. I was isolated—retreating into my wilderness because I didn't know what else to do.
Sunday morning I stumbled out of bed, my body confused by the darkness and lack of sleep. As I walked down Locust street to meet my ride to Lemon Hill (thanks Michiko!) I became a little incredulous. It was 5:30 am, a time of day I rarely acknowledge, and I was walking the empty streets of the city alone, listening to hymns on my phone in the darkness. This was crazy. My sleepy intellect quickly succumbed to what I felt in my heart: I was walking the steps of Mary Magdalene to the grave. Still shocked by grief, disoriented from lack of sleep, and feeling alone without Jesus there. On Lemon Hill, as the drums reverberated through my chilled body wrapped in a blanket, I saw the sun rise slowly, gloriously, and there in the midst of energetic children, stories of transformation, and cheerful greetings, Jesus was THERE. With us, resurrected, alive! He was among us—at brunch with friends and new people to meet, at the PM where there was dancing and singing and joy, with more stories of resurrection and transformation.
All I really did was show up. At the beginning it felt so passive, but then Jesus transformed my attendance into a meaningful journey, one that I am still walking now. All I really can say to that is, "Hallelujah! Christ is risen!"
Sunday morning I stumbled out of bed, my body confused by the darkness and lack of sleep. As I walked down Locust street to meet my ride to Lemon Hill (thanks Michiko!) I became a little incredulous. It was 5:30 am, a time of day I rarely acknowledge, and I was walking the empty streets of the city alone, listening to hymns on my phone in the darkness. This was crazy. My sleepy intellect quickly succumbed to what I felt in my heart: I was walking the steps of Mary Magdalene to the grave. Still shocked by grief, disoriented from lack of sleep, and feeling alone without Jesus there. On Lemon Hill, as the drums reverberated through my chilled body wrapped in a blanket, I saw the sun rise slowly, gloriously, and there in the midst of energetic children, stories of transformation, and cheerful greetings, Jesus was THERE. With us, resurrected, alive! He was among us—at brunch with friends and new people to meet, at the PM where there was dancing and singing and joy, with more stories of resurrection and transformation.
All I really did was show up. At the beginning it felt so passive, but then Jesus transformed my attendance into a meaningful journey, one that I am still walking now. All I really can say to that is, "Hallelujah! Christ is risen!"
