Restoring Trust In Our Journey of The Cross
Lent, as many of you know, is upon us. I’ve never been good about the sacrificial components of Lent. They just weren’t part of my upbringing. I would say, however, Lent was an intentional time. We had Ms. Paul’s fish sticks for dinner every Friday. I recall Good Friday’s when my mom made us stay in our bedrooms between the hours of noon and 3 pm so that we could reflect on the Passion of Christ. I hate to throw my brothers under the bus, but I’m pretty sure there was an epic game of Monopoly that took place instead of “thoughtful solitude” during this time. I’m happy to report I’ve evolved a bit over the years.
Whether or not you’re Christian or believe in the sacredness of Christ’s journey, if you live long enough, “The Cross” will find you. Grief, difficult medical diagnoses, unmet expectations, or trauma can catapult you to a place where all semblance of predictability is lost and heartache hijacks your breath. Having the rug pulled from under you can leave you reeling with a lack of trust in the unknown. So, the challenge becomes, how do we navigate? Perhaps more poignantly, how do we re-establish trust in the unknown when the known is so hard.
The scriptural accounts of Jesus’ journey of the Cross are harrowing. The pain and torture of his journey to death are difficult to reflect upon. Even in the midst of such profound suffering, we know the triumph of Easter will come. Jesus’ resurrection is bold, it’s dramatic, and the pain of The Cross is transforming. Yet, we all know life’s difficulties don’t always have the same path to renewal. Often times, hardship lingers muting our ability to see anything but pain in our rear view mirror.
For me, Lent is a season that offers the opportunity to reestablish trust in the unknown. Acknowledging tender and fleeting moments of divine Grace can resurrect and boost, even for an instant, a blinded heart. The key is to remain open.
A young friend of mine recently lost her mother to cancer propelling her into a life journey that will forever include a void. The death of her mom has rocked her world. There will be no glorious Easter mornings that replace her grief. Bittersweet might become her new normal as she marks moments of importance in her young and vibrant life. Like so many others, my young friend must learn to live with her own very personal Cross.
A big component of faith is about how we can find a centeredness amidst the awfulness. It’s hard not to become bitter when you’re faced with repeated adversity. I’ve learned when things are especially hard, the smallest of Graces can be like a restorative balm. A simple hummingbird sighting can be a reminder that there is a world of healing wonder just beyond my kitchen window. Delighting in a child’s giggle is infectious and just might lead to a therapeutic belly laugh. Such serendipity keeps me open to goodness in spite of suffering.
For my young friend who’s learning to live in her new normal, my prayer is that she remains open to small Easter joys; so that in tandem with her grief are reminders of simple Graces that reach the spaces between her tears. As we enter these last few weeks of Lent, I wish for her and all of you that God’s sweet and sustaining Grace will help you restore trust in the unknown.