Held in the Balance

Joy is the experience of knowing that you are unconditionally loved.
-Henri Nouwan

As a culture our default is to rush too quickly towards celebrating the joy of the resurrection on Easter without letting ourselves experience the full weight of sorrow that Good Friday and Saturday held. We can spend the days before Easter preparing for our Sunday best, put together, pretty, in plaids and pastels. Focusing on the celebration and forgetting the dark days of lamenting that preceded the new day dawning.

For our world, our country and our own lives, we can’t help but feel the weight of these dark, uncertain days that we face in a pandemic. We can’t shut our eyes to the despair and loss we see all around us. We all have something to grieve in this time, great or small—it all matters.

We may know intuitively that this too will pass, that we will at some point come back to a state of normalcy. Yet at the same time, we can not ignore the heavy sadness felt in the pit of our stomachs, the acidic regret that rises in our throats also knowing intuitively that life as we knew it, will never be the same again. This will mark us, this will wound us, this will forever change us in both hard and beautiful ways.

This grief we are experiencing, we would rather push it down and ignore it. Brushing it under the table so we can once again set our Easter tables. Our Sunday best, put together, pretty, in plaids and pastels for our friends and family to gather around.

This grief is not something to ignore and it is not something unfamiliar to Jesus. He is well acquainted with the deepest of grief. In John 11:33-35, we read that a deep anger welled up in Jesus and He was deeply troubled, weeping over the death of his dear friend Lazarus. 

Jesus, the fullness of God yet fully human, was deeply angered and troubled even though He knew the outcome. He planned on raising Lazarus from the dead yet overcome with sadness, He wept. He still allowed Himself to feel the depths of His friends deepest sorrow. He still felt the full weight of losing His dearest friend. This deep darkness before dawns first light foreshadowed the deepest and darkest two days in all of history that preceded the rising of a new and glorious morn. Jesus knew He would soon overcome death once and for all, yet He still wept.

Now in this time, our grief, great or small—matters to Jesus. He is with us in our grieving. He weeps and laments with us. We are held in the arms of the One acquainted with the deepest of sorrow. We can put aside our Sunday best and we can allow ourselves to just be held in the balance of both sadness and joy.

No matter the condition of our hearts or the mess of our lives. In our Sunday best, put together, pretty, in plaids or pastels or in our mismatched pajamas, still with sleepy bed heads—We will rise! Separated and sheltered in our homes yet united, gathered together in faith. Our truest joy found not in the absence of sorrow but in the deep and confident knowledge that we are firmly held and unconditionally loved.

“He was despised and rejected— a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief. We turned our backs on him and looked the other way. He was despised, and we did not care.” Isaiah‬ ‭53:3‬ ‭NLT‬‬

“When Jesus saw her weeping and saw the other people wailing with her, a deep anger welled up within him, and he was deeply troubled. “Where have you put him?” he asked them. They told him, “Lord, come and see.” Then Jesus wept.”‭‭John‬ ‭11:33-35‬ ‭NLT‬‬