I’m disappointed to discover that the Christian Liturgical Calendar was not as useful an indicator of my mood as I was hoping. You may recall that I’ve posted recently about my relief that we had finally arrived in Lent. Finally we were in a season of grief that I could share with everyone around me. And that was very comforting. Plus I was expecting Easter to be a big exciting happy day. “He is Risen!” I would cry.
It is true, He is Risen. I was surrounded by joyful friends in celebration for the Easter Vigil on Saturday night, but my heart is still heavy. Easter Sunday wasn’t better. It was sadder.
I am not sharing in order to navel gaze and publicly emote at all of you. This season of sadness and deep longing for life to be and feel differently is opening my eyes to the suffering of the world. Sunday afternoon I left the Easter picnic alone because I needed some time by myself. While I was driving I had a moment of inspiration about what it means to be a faithful Christian in this time of waiting for Jesus to return.
Mary Magdeline was fortunate and beloved of God, enough so that she was the first to see the Risen Lord and go running in ecstatic joy to tell the news. And even though her male counterparts doubted her at first, eventually she was validated and Jesus walked into a room and revealed himself to them all. I imagine she was so thrilled. So happy that the first man who valued her, the first man who didn’t know her as “the Prostitute,” the first man to befriend her only to be violently killed before her eyes was not actually dead. He was still here. He could still be her friend.
And then just a few short weeks later He was gone.
As they strained to see him rising into heaven, two white-robed men suddenly stood among them. 11 “Men of Galilee,” they said, “why are you standing here staring into heaven? Jesus has been taken from you into heaven, but someday he will return from heaven in the same way you saw him go!” Acts 1:10-11
I imagine the deep disappointment of Mary Magdeline after Jesus departed this Earth on a cloud. Maybe the initial joy of the resurrection was so complete that her old suffering lived miles away from her brain. For a time the men and women in the early church forgot her past as well, they disregarded how her past was an embarrassment to their sensibilities and lived in joy along side her.
But months pass and in the waiting for Jesus to return from His Father’s house she began to forget what it was like to be close to Him. Perhaps a few months after Jesus rose from the dead, Mary would wake up sweaty from a dream where she was once again being sold and abused. I bet her traumatized brain would just regurgitate this horrid falsehood and she’d have to shake it away to make space for the truth. Jesus is returning. He will come back in the same way she saw Him go.
This is why each Sunday is a mini-Easter. Mary Magdeline. Me. You. We are practicing mini-Easters again and again until the Lord returns, and a whole lot of the time we don’t feel the joy. We feel the oppression of our fears instead. Fake it till we make it. Practice makes perfect. Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.
I know the tone of our blog has taken a downward turn as of late. Unfortunately, in spite of great joy in most aspects of our life, we have had more than one instance of bad news. My last post about our dear friends moving was sad to write. But even sadder still was the news of the passing of my sister Brittany at the age of 29. This is our family blog, so we document the thoughts, experiences and happenings of our family. Even though I debated much about adding anything to the blog about her death, it is one of the most affecting events in my life and can’t be excluded. I’m not ready to write much detail about the actual passing, and perhaps I never will be. But I do want to include the eulogy which I shared in Akron at her memorial service in front of at least 100 friends and family members who have known us since our earliest days. I also want to share a letter which she wrote me to accompany my birthday present two years ago, but that will be saved for another post. Below you will find what I wrote for her memorial service:
My Dad gave the eulogy for Brittany at the service we had in Austin. There were over 300 people at there and I hugged each of them, which was hard at first but got easier as the hugging went on. My dad wrote out every word which I don’t normally do when I speak in front of people, but this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say to a room of people so I’m going write the whole thing out. I’m going to begin with the poem he read on Thursday. It’s not a poem I would have picked, but when he read it in that room it just made sense. Here it is: Continue reading
Our family honors and respects life. Sometimes I don’t know exactly what that means when I look at the world around me and see the violence and harm people commit daily. I struggle to learn how to disagree with someone while still upholding their dignity. I forget how to discipline my kids without relying on subtle shame. I don’t always know how to eat ethically. I don’t always know how to spend my money without supporting unsafe work conditions. And sometimes I just want to stop thinking about the inherent outcomes of the millions of decisions I make daily. I count on grace for the things I have done and the things I have left undone, but I don’t think that excuses me from making deliberate choices to honor the dignity of life in this world.
Our 7 year old is reaching the stage of childhood where justice is very apparent, and injustice is unacceptable. The weight of every living thing is heavy on her heart. At our county fair she took a pony ride which she looked forward to all day. She struggled to be patient, waiting for her turn. And when it finally came she got on the little pony and started riding around and around. Surprisingly, she struggled to hold back her tears the whole time. Afterwards her Aunt asked her if it was fun and she said, “It was kinda fun for me, but I don’t think it was any fun for the ponies. I don’t think they do anything but walk in a circle all day.”
Here is a very dignified grave site for “Delicate” the Painted Lady butterfly
She is also raising some Painted Lady butterflies in her bedroom. Three of the caterpillars didn’t survive their life cycles, and one of the butterflies never fully expanded her wings. As an adult, I know that this is the reason why insects reproduce in such large numbers. Their delicate lives require the strength-in-numbers strategy of carrying on the gene-pool. Ants will cannibalize their dead so that they can reuse the nutrients for the survival of the colony. There are no individual ant’s right, or respect for the individual butterfly in the animal kingdom. But she doesn’t know that yet. She is grieving the loss of each one, and feeling terribly guilty that their short lives are happening in a mesh cage in her room, not the big green world of flowers.
People are animals. But they’re more than animals. The world is a ball of resources. But it is more than just resources. Having respect for the dignity of a butterfly is a small act, but it is one that I hope will translate into having respect for the dignity of all life. We won’t always know how to respond to that dignity, but at least we will acknowledge that it exists.