Psalm 126: 5-6 proclaims this promise, “Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy. Look and see how far we’ve come from where we started.” “Planting rows of sorrow, waiting for the harvest. There’s strength through the sorrow and onto the other side. But as pastor Tim Keller has said, when you pray your tears you find that true lament leads to healing. It always needs to create more drama to sustain surface emotions. Self-pity leads us to a cycle of emptiness and addiction. To pour out our sorrows before the feet of Jesus is not the same as self-pity, or theatrics. In the gospel, lament is not self-preoccupation. In tracing the slow ascent of these songs, we resound with healing. In opening our hands, we are filled to overflowing. As we have walked through these dark weeks of Lent, of fasting, and of confession in the letting go we are securely held.
And by faith, we are raised to new life with him. In his descent, he crushed the doorway of descent and rose in triumph. There is nowhere that we can go in this life that he has not gone already lower. He submitted himself to the ultimate descent, and he entered into hell.
This week is the celebration of the cross and resurrection. While we are tumbling down the river in this boat, the good news is already here. We regain our bearings, but not quite yet. We can lean into our fear and hold our balance until the water grows calm and steady again. We can try to grab the branches that swipe us from the overgrown banks, or we can lean back and work with the movement of the water. It is turbulent and we are scraping unseen rocks below the surface and getting tossed in every direction. The water is carrying us swiftly downstream. Our boat often rushes dangerously close to the edge of the shore. The life of faith in real-time feels a little bit like floating down a river in a canoe. In the stress of life change, we have two options we can either grasp for control, or we can simply and actively let go. It takes time to get used to a new landscape, and to rediscover who we are given a different set of circumstances. In seasons of transition, even joyful ones, there’s often a little bit of disorientation as we’re learning a new way to live. And like the gospel narrative, after we have made promises of commitment, some days the wedding feels a long way off. His daily absence, his voice on the phone reminds me of the “I’m coming back for you,” of the gospel narrative. In fact, my fiancé lives a few hundred miles away, in a different state. He’s set his love upon us, but we still feel alone sometimes.
We’ve been given a ring and a promise, but the groom is taking his time. As a follower of Jesus, the metaphor of engagement is not lost on me. Lately, I’ve realized that lent is very much like engagement. I wonder how many other students she handed journals to? I wonder how many occasions we give a gift without knowing the impact it will have on the recipient?Īs spring is beginning to emerge, I’m feeling the thrill of the new season in extra measure this year as I’m looking forward to getting married in just a few months. That generative seed has come to bear much fruit. Lewis went to be with Jesus this week and I’ve been thinking about her legacy. Writing has had a significant impact on my prayer life and my creative work. Lewis’ generosity and intentionality toward me planted a seed in my heart. She gave it to me and said, “You need to start writing in this, every day.” The habit of journaling for me had been intermittent since I was barely old enough to write, but Mrs. She was one of the teachers at my high school, and she was a woman of grace and authority. Lewis gave me a flowered, lined journal as a graduation gift.
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