Jesus’ Stunning Grief

July 27, 2013May 4, 2014 ~ Ami ~ 1 Comment

So yesterday I recounted the story of Lazarus and of how Jesus grieved. Go back and read that one if you haven’t already. It’s called “a shocking story, but with fresh eyes” Today follows closely on its heels and ties it all together.

And I said I would explain how Jesus’ grief relates to the “next” for me. And so I will.

Several months ago, I had the thought, “I wonder what it was like for Jon to see Jesus’ face. How beyond my comprehension that must have been!” But then that thought was followed by a selfish one, “But what about me?” I have no biblical proof for this, but in my imagination I see Jesus coming to get Jon, rather than Jon just waking in the presence of Christ. Does that make sense? Must be too much influence of that silly show Touched by an Angel as a kid. So my thought spiraled down this way… “But what about me? Did he look back? Did he ask Jesus if I was going to be ok? Or was there no more thought of me?” And of course, if all thoughts of me were utterly erased at the sight of His Savior, then that would be perfectly right. For it’s true, I think that “the things of earth grow strangely dim, in the light of His glory and grace.” But my internal battle continued…”And God, if you were there with exuberant delight welcoming Jon home, how were you also there weeping with me?”

Of course I knew the answer to that question. I know God is omnipresent. And I know that all believers are indwelled by the Holy Spirit. But all previous assent to these truths seemed irrelevant. So I battled for days, “God did you leave me all alone? How could you have been there? Did you weep with me?”

Here’s where Lazarus’ story comes in, and how the truths from it have become stunning to me. In the midst of my deep struggle with basic truths such as God’s sovereignty, His omnipresence, His compassion, HIs love for me, His promises to never leave me, God brought my friend Elizabeth.

She shared her own story of the death of her fiance just months before her wedding, how God carried her through the depths, and how He eventually brought her husband Rob across her path. She could share with me what loving two men looks like, and how God equipped Rob to “handle a woman with grief.” She could tell me what grief looks like several years down the road. She answered my questions before I ever asked them. We sat at my house talking for hours crying and laughing together. And it was Elizabeth who reminded me of Lazarus in John 11.

So I went back and started studying it with fresh eyes. I began to see the radiance of this story for the first time. God’s truth resounded emphatically when I saw Jesus weeping with His friends, angry at sin and death, and in awe of the power that was about to course through Him–all in one moment! And I realized finally, “Yes, Lord you were there delightedly receiving Jon, and you were there broken by grief, weeping with me.” I think I have in the past taken the totally personal nature of God for granted. Yes, there have been other times when I’ve been acutely aware of God’s presence, but in general it’s easy to forget just how invested in me He is. Another truth so shocking was that He was also there with every other believer for whatever they were facing at the exact moment! All the beauty of the promise, “I will never leave you or forsake you” rushed upon me. And the truth of God’s intimate presence was startlingly real. Perhaps I’m learning these basis truths experientially. You may be thinking, big deal. Of course these things are true. But I encourage you to view them as magnificently as they really are… not just as Sunday school lessons you’ve heard all your life.

The God who created everything knows me and loves me. He is more intimately aware and concerned with my life than I am.

Since then, God keeps using this passage to teach me. He reminded me that love doesn’t always look the way I think it should, but in His love He sometimes does things I don’t understand. As with Lazarus, He’s doing more than I think. Also, though God didn’t raise Jon after four days, he will be bodily raised one day! And I’ll get to see him. And laugh with him. And hug him. And most importantly, worship God for all eternity, alive together! But even before that, when Jon died he was absent from flesh and present with Christ. For the death of a believer is really him stepping into new life. As Jesus said of Lazarus, “His illness doesn’t lead to death.” So, for Jon his illness also led through death! In the immediate days of sorrow, it was NOT comforting hear folks say, “But we can rejoice, for Jon is with heaven with Christ!” I didn’t care. I wanted him back. Thoughts of eternity didn’t help assuage the grief. But I think now I’m starting to see the beauty of the words, “O death where is your sting? O grave where is your victory?” For those chosen by God, saved by grace alone, through faith in Christ alone, death is death only for those left behind!

Likewise, the depth of Jesus’ grief has thoroughly comforted me. How marvelous is Hebrews 2:17 ‘Therefore, He had to be made like His brothers in every respect, so that He might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. For because He Himself has suffered when tempted, He is able to help those who are being tempted.” He had to be made like his brothers in every respect. Therefore, he also had to know grief like his brothers. Jesus fully satisfied God’s wrath for me, and He did it as one who knew all the weaknesses of human flesh, yet without sin.

And we don’t just see Jesus’ grief for Lazarus, but also his much more profound grief in Gethsemane. I was reading Knowing God by J.I. Packer and came across these words about the garden. I certainly don’t think I can improve upon them so I’ll just give you the quote.

In discussing how you would see Jesus presented in the gospel of Mark, Packer says, “Your final impression will be of One for whom this experience of death was the most fearful ordeal. In Gethsemane, ‘horror and dismay came over him, and he said…’My heart is ready to break with grief’ (Mark 14:34 NEB). The earnestness of his prayer (for which ‘he threw himself on the ground,’ rather than kneel or stand) was an index of the inward revulsion and desolation that he felt as he contemplated what was to come. How strong was his temptation to say ‘amen’ after ‘take away this cup from me,’ rather than go on to ‘nevertheless not what I will, but what thou wilt’ (Mark 14:36 KJV), we shall never know. Then, on the cross, Jesus bore witness to inward darkness matching outward darkness with his cry of dereliction, ‘My God, my God why hast thou forsaken me?”

My first thought after reading this paragraph was that Jesus even grieved perfectly. Though there was tremendous grace in the ER to say- “God you’re good. He’s yours,” how many times since then have I doubted or railed against God? I have not always grieved well. And I have not always said, “not my will but yours.” But O how beautiful it is that Jesus already grieved perfectly! And His death and resurrection are sufficient for my failure to grieve perfectly. He’s sufficient to remind me of Himself when I doubt.

I wonder how much greater was Jesus’ grief because He had never been separated from HIs Father. Never was there a fractured relationship due to sin. Never was there less than a perfect union. I can’t say that I’ve ever sweat blood.

I’m humbled by these instances of Jesus’ grief. But this is the humanity of the One who is also God. Words to an old hymn just sprang to mind as I type, “No one ever cared for me like Jesus… O how much He cares for me.”

So how does Jesus’ grief relate to pressing in to God’s “next”? Well, Jesus’ own grief was temporary. And so shall mine be. It will not last for eternity. For after the cross and death Jesus was raised, exalted and seated at the right hand of the Father. And now I’m called an heir with Christ, one day to be glorified with Him. One day to never see sin and death again. For as Paul said “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed in us.” (Romans 8)

It is because He grieved that I can have a “next.” It is because He said “not my will by yours,” then suffered unto death that I know life, and freedom, and joy and peace. So I return to the passage I began with yesterday– “If God be for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all, how will he not also with Him graciously give us all things?” God is for me. There is such power in those simple words. Moreover, these verses have “to do with knowing and enjoying God, and not with anything else. The meaning of ‘he will give us all things; can be put thus: one day we shall see that nothing–literally nothing– which could have increased our eternal happiness has been denied us, and that nothing–literally nothing– that could have reduced that happiness has been left with us. What higher assurance do we have than that?” (Packer)

How then could there not be “next”? Not just in eternity, but in this life also. This is hope. This is confident expectation.

a shocking story, with fresh eyes

July 26, 2013May 4, 2014 ~ Ami ~ 3 Comments

Rainy day reflections... — Rainy day reflections…

I’ve been thinking a lot about Jesus and grief. Well, duh. That seems like an unnecessary sentence. Of course these are the two biggest themes in life for me right now. My confident expectation is that the first will always be the biggest theme. But I’m coming to realize that the second will over time make way for other themes. Just recently a friend encouraged me to press in to the reality that God has more in life for me. It’s not deserved or earned, but God does have a “next” in store for me. That was hard to believe for awhile. It is still is hard to believe sometimes. For a long time it felt like my “next” had died with Jon.

But grief is not the only theme by which God intends to characterize my life. My wise friend is right. It’s time to live with expectancy that God is doing more in me and through me than I understand. Of course He is. Through no merit of my own, He’s weaving my story into His story. A tiny part in the grand plan of redemption. So then, it is not really my story at all, but His. And as He ties my life to His story, what beautiful assurance there is in the generosity of my God! For “He who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all, how will He not also with Him graciously give us all things?” That doesn’t mean that God is promising the house, the family, the health, the wealth, and the prosperity. But what He is promising is Himself. He already gave the most costly thing He has. So therefore, no good thing will finally be withheld from me. I know who He is. And I know He is doing good. (Romans 8)

So It’s not my grief that I’ve been reflecting on most recently. What I should have said is, I’ve been thinking a lot about Jesus’ grief. And herein lies a vast storehouse of comfort.

I said there’d be a “Part 2” to my previous post, and so there will be in due course. I think my dearest friends already know what it looks like, for they bear it with me. There’s more to say, but perhaps Part 2 will come after some months as time changes the shape of grief for me. But for now, it’s the riches of my Savior’s humanity that have captured my attention. He is bringing me to more fully understand the words of Isaiah 53- “surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows.” And it is in viewing Jesus’ grief, that He so clearly reminds me of the “next.” Let me explain, but first let me tell you a story.

In my desperate place God keeps meeting with me in distinct ways through His Scripture. He continues to shore up these lessons and illumine my heart. He’s made several instances in Jesus’ life to be shockingly beautiful to me. Specifically, I’m talking about Jesus’ grief for His friend Lazarus, and His grief in the garden of Gethsemane.

So let’s talk about Lazarus. Pretend you’ve never read this story before. Read it with fresh eyes. Did you know that John is the only gospel writer to include the story of Lazarus? I suppose it’s because John was writing to present Jesus as God. And he certainly does. But in John 11 we see the cohesive unity of Jesus’ deity and His humanity. Here’s the scene. Lazarus, Martha, and Mary are close friends of Jesus. We don’t know how they came to know Jesus, or how their friendship blossomed, but it’s evident that He loved them. Knowing how Scripture plays out, it’s safe to say that His love for them was stronger than even “family love.”

So Jesus received word that Lazarus was close to death, and everyone expected that He would go. They expected that He would rush in and save the day. After all, they’d seen Him do it before. He had turned water to wine, fed a multitude, gave sight to the blind, calmed a raging sea… Therefore, they believed He could heal His friend. And they were right. He could have done that. But what Jesus actually did was incomprehensible and seemingly callous. He stayed where He was for two more days! Let that sink in for a minute. He stayed. What would you have done for someone like family? You would have hopped on the next plane to Jerusalem! You wouldn’t be able to heal your friend, but out of love you would have wanted to be there.

John 11 tells us however, “Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So when He heard that Lazarus was ill, He stayed two days longer in the place where He was.” Did you catch that? Let me paraphrase. Because He loved them, He stayed. Now since you’re reading this story for the first time, doesn’t that sound ludicrous? If He loved them, how could He stay away? Yet He did. If He really had the ability to heal His friend, wasn’t it just cruel not to go?

Let me blatantly foreshadow for a second. He is going to show them something they certainly didn’t anticipate… that His love for them was bigger than what they knew. And that sometimes love doesn’t look at all the way it is expected to look.

So Jesus tells His disciples that the illness does not lead to death. Whew! The sigh of relief penetrated their hearts and a glimmer of hope sprang to every face. Lazarus was going to be all right. A quick aside- I knew that glimmer of hope for a moment. “Ok we’ve got him back, but it’s still touch and go.” My husband was going to be all right.

Back to my story.

But a few sentences later, Jesus plainly tells them that Lazarus has died. How then could His words be true- “His illness does not lead to death”? Did He lie? For Lazarus really was dead. As a first time reader, my confidence in this Jesus certainly is starting to wane. He’s either delusional or merely a charlatan. But yet I can’t put the book down and I cling to a frail hope that “maybe he knows what he’s doing?”

Finally Jesus comes to Bethany only to encounter loud mourning and lamenting. Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. Had He made a mistake? How could He not have cared? Why hadn’t He come earlier? And Martha and Mary both cried out, “But Lord if only if you had been here…” Even in their deep grief they were confident that Jesus could have saved their brother. No doubt though, there must have been the questions stirring inside, “But why didn’t you?” I think I’ve played that question 1000 times.

Beautifully, the scene shifts to some of the most tender words in Scripture. “When Jesus saw her weeping… He was deeply moved in His spirit and greatly troubled.” Don’t let the language trip you up– This is Jesus grieving! It’s Jesus full of sorrow over His friend’s death. It’s also His great compassion for His other friends. This is Jesus carrying their sorrows and bearing their griefs! It’s also Jesus indignant over the curse of sin and death. But then the words get even sweeter, “Jesus wept.” Have you wept over the death of a loved one? Then you know the crushing emotions He felt. If Isaiah 53 is true, then Jesus, manifesting His full humanity, experienced the full weight of grief. Isn’t that kind of amazing?

But wait there’s more! Jesus commands that the stone be rolled away. What!? Are you kidding me? You would have said just what Martha did…”But Lord, he’ll stink!” They still couldn’t see it. So often neither can we. Yet Jesus responds, “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?” So the story reaches it’s dramatic climax.

“Lazarus COME OUT!” Can you imagine it? Can you imagine Jesus’ authority as the words rumbled out, His deity on full display? I wonder if Jesus hadn’t specified, “Lazarus,” if ALL those who had gone on before would have also been raised by the sheer power of His voice?

Out stumbled a figure still bound tightly in all his grave clothes. Hold on a minute, the Bible has mummies? Yep. But this was no wraith or zombie. (Good, because I’m not a huge fan of zombies).

It was a perfectly well, living, breathing, raised from the dead, Lazarus.

Now the Bible doesn’t say this but I can imagine the celebration that night was unparalleled! In my head I see Lazarus, having been cut loose from his wrappings, run to Jesus and embrace Him in an unashamed bear hug. And in my imagination I see more weeping, but weeping mingled with laughter.

So how does this relate to the “next” for me? What are all the conclusions and implications from this story? Well I fear this post has already gotten lengthy, so you’ll just have to come back tomorrow for the rest.

Well, I’ll at least give a quick teaser…. Because Jesus loved Jon and me, He stayed. He stayed His rescuing hand, and with exuberant delight welcomed Jon home. Like Lazarus, Jon’s illness did not lead to death, but through it.

But what about me? Was He there weeping with me too? The truths God keeps cementing in my mind very clearly lead me to say, yes.

So this is grief

July 7, 2013March 14, 2015 ~ Ami ~ 11 Comments

I want to talk about my grief for a few minutes. I suppose I’ve learned some things about it over the last several months. By the way, I know the picture above doesn’t really go, but it makes me smile before dealing with such a heavy topic. I don’t know what grief will look like a year or five years down the road, but this is what it looks like now. This is part one. There’s too much for one post.

I recently finished reading A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis and I was comforted by how closely his thoughts mirror my own. He writes of the sense of utter confusion and shock that overtake you in the beginning. He writes of the fear that memories of his beloved would fade. That’s a big one for me! I can also understand the wrestle for joy, the temptation to feel guilt, the hard questions, and the desperate cries for help. It was good to see someone who was undoubtedly one of the great Christian authors struggle the same way I am. I get it when he says, “The act of living is different all through. [His] absence is like the sky, spread over everything.”

Grief doesn’t look the way I thought it did. Though I had experienced some grief before Jon’s death, they were much different circumstances. I had not experienced losing my other half. So here are my thoughts. Deep grief is messy. It’s not linear, and emotions and questions you think you’ve resolved, rear their ugly heads without any warning or explanation. It’s a weight that threatens to crush. It’s the feeling of an unending battle. Or a wilderness that stretches unbroken.

There’s a lot of loneliness that comes with the death of a spouse. A lot of loneliness. I’ve gone from having evenings of quality time with the one I love to evenings, and now days by myself. And even when I’m with people, I’m still lonely sometimes. It’s really easy and tempting to take the loneliness and run to other things besides God–exercise, shopping, ice cream, people, Duck Dynasty (ha!)… But I’m learning to run TO Christ in the loneliness, to meet Him as my true companion, and to know the comfort of His presence. I’ve filled many pages in my journal, but I admit I haven’t fully figured out this loneliness thing.

Likewise, the “Why me?” syndrome is a seductive trap. How quickly my thoughts spiral to destructive places when I start comparing my lot with others. The constant emotional roller coaster is teaching me how desperately I need God. And how I must cling to truth of the Gospel to combat my emotions. “The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places. Indeed I have a beautiful inheritance.” (Psalm 16:5-6). And this verse is true because of Christ. He holds my lot because He died for me. He is the pleasant place. He is my inheritance.

There’s also the temptation to put guilt for Jon’s death on myself. And that’s something that’s just a lie. God knew the number of Jon’s days before He ever created him. God is sovereignly working all things for His glory, and my good. God’s plan of redemption is so much bigger than Jon and me.

Speaking of lies, many of those pop up too.– “Ami, you know that look that passed between you and Jon, well it wasn’t real. You just imagined it.” And another popular one, “God is punishing me for loving Jon too much.” Again I look to my arsenal of truth.

“You are precious in my eyes, and honored and I love you.” (Isaiah 43:4)
“There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” (Romans 8:1)
“For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry Abba! Father!” (Romans 8:15)

Another thing that’s been a big deal for me, are the conflicting thoughts of remarriage. Now I’m really letting myself be vulnerable before you. So please handle my words with care. I only bring up this facet of grief because I’m trying to paint a picture of how it looks for me. I was shocked at how quickly the idea of remarriage surfaced, which of course led to more guilt. “Do I not love Jon as deeply as I thought? How can I even have these thoughts! It’s only been months!” I didn’t anticipate dealing with this topic for a long time. But it’s actually one of the biggest conflicts of grief for me; I desire to love and be loved again. Yet I long for Jon. And I worry about the criticism of others. Yep I struggle with that. It’s called fear of man. The topic of remarriage spirals me to questions I can’t answer like, “How will I love someone else like I love Jon? How could I handle another man kissing me? What happens to all my pictures? And my wedding rings?” And so on and so on.

But thankfully, some wise people reel me back in, and remind me that God is big, and that guilt is not grace. I don’t have to answer these questions now. They remind me that if God does ever bring someone into my life, He will meet me with abundant grace, just like He does now. And he would meet that guy with grace to handle a girl who is a widow. And they remind me that enough love for two people is not a hard task for the One is in control of everything. So, I think you get the picture. Grief is a place of conflicting emotions and thoughts you don’t anticipate.

And then there’s just the plain old “missing him.” I miss everything about him. His quirks. His goofiness. His hideous green sport coat (that came out only for costumes these days) His passion for the Gospel. I miss his touch. His smile. This is a place I could park at for awhile, but I’ll keep going.

Yet among the loneliness, fear, lies, and conflict, God tells me that He is the one that truly satisfies. This is true. ”How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts! My soul longs, yes, faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and flesh sing for joy to the living God.” (Psalm 84:1-2) I want to stay in this place as long as He wants me to. And whatever state I find myself I want to serve with undivided devotion.

So this is some of what grief looks like for me. I’ll stop here for now. Just two more things. I was reflecting on the imagery of the wilderness yesterday, and not coincidentally, God brought Isaiah 43 to mind. “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert, to give drink to my chosen people the people whom I’ve formed for myself that they might declare my praise.” (43:19-21). So I thought, “God are you making a way for me? Is there a river in my desert?” Then the most beautiful thought flooded my mind. God already has made a way in the wilderness. He has already done a new thing. He made a way at the cost of His own Son. And in my desert, Jesus is the Living Water.

Finally, Christ knows grief. Perhaps some of the agony of Gethsemane was that of grief? “Surely He has born my grief and carried my sorrows.” (Isaiah 53) Yeah, He really did. He really does. Talk about Hope!

Hey, so maybe your husband hasn’t died, but I bet you have suffered in some way. I bet you can relate to the wilderness feeling. And I bet you can relate to lies and temptations. It would be ridiculous of me to think that the death of a spouse is the deepest form of human suffering. Everyone suffers. But if you’re in Christ, He gives you drink in the wilderness too. And we will declare His praise! This is awesome.