looking through me

Tag: hope

April 4, 2015

good friday (and saturday)

Good Friday. Not the first one—not for the disciples—nothing good about it.

Had I been with them, how long would I have stayed in the garden before I ran? How far would I have fled? Would I have trembled in the eerie midday darkness and watched my Hope die on that tree? Or would I have cowered far away? Maybe I would have needed to watch. Or maybe I would have needed deniability as I tried to fit the shattered pieces of the past three years into some semblance of sense.

And what about Saturday? Were the eleven back together by then? Mourning? Panicking? Planning? Arguing? Praying? Or maybe they were silent. Stunned. Confused. Angry. Afraid. These were the ones who didn’t have the faith to cast a demon out of a boy or the discipline to stay awake and keep watch with Jesus or . . . or . . . or . . . the list of failures was long. What would that Saturday when their world failed have been like for them?

Today I endure Friday because Sunday’s coming, because I know the end of the story. But they lived through each agonizing minute devoid of Hope. It would have been a brutal test of faith even if they’d understood everything Jesus had told them, so how much worse was it when they didn’t get it?

I can’t begin to experience how the disciples felt that first Friday and Saturday. I can’t fathom their devastation and fear. The one for whom they’d given up everything to follow was dead and buried. Three years, their expectations, their reputations, their futures: gone in less than a day.

So this Saturday I sit in the waiting. Uncomfortable. Antsy. A little less judgmental of the fleet-footed disciples. Because I know and celebrate what they’ll learn tomorrow: the tomb is empty and Hope is alive!

 

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March 29, 2015

still

Stilllll.

I breathe out the word. A long, slow exhale. I feel my shoulders drop—when did they creep up to my ears?—and my spine elongate.

It’s a powerful word.

In the midst of the frenzy, in the midst of the mundane, be still.

Without realizing it I had lumped be still and all its cousins—do not worry about tomorrow, rejoice always, take my yoke—into the category of Some Day. An aspiration for Some Day when everything aligns and all facets of life hum along in perfect harmony for fifteen consecutive minutes.

But the truths of the Bible weren’t recorded in times of tranquility and ease. The words weren’t given to people who had it all together. They were as shocking and improbable to the original audience as they are to me. The first hearers didn’t have the ability to put them on a future to-attempt list; they had to respond that moment. No response—postponing the decision—was itself a choice, a rejection of the opportunity. The same is true for me.

Imperatives are possible. That’s the beautiful part I’ve been missing.

Be still is not an intellectual riddle or a code to be broken or a fanciful dream. I can be still. It’s a truth I am equipped to embody. Not perfectly. Not through my own strength or ability. But as I go about my day, the word whispers through me: still. A check to see what reality I’m living in as I drive, reply to emails, cuddle my nephew, put sheets on the bed, sit in meetings . . . It’s a reminder to find stillness in the only One who can provide it.

So I repeat the word throughout the day. A silent call to rest in Jesus.

As I hear it, my soul settles. The internal pressure lessens. The deep breath illustrates how shallowly I’ve been breathing, how shallowly I’ve been living.

This moment I will be still.

 

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