Thursday, March 27, 2014

Making the Dead Alive

I'm not a fan of death. I know that probably sounds obvious. No one really likes death, right? So many of us find ourselves nervous about the reality of our own mortality and the process of dying. But, I'm not talking about my own life here.
    
     Though I'm not a fan of losing my own life, what I really hate is the feeling of loss. The kind of loss that forces me to say 'Goodbye' or the kind of loss that forces me to realize that life isn't quite what I thought it would be and life isn't really going to turn out the way I had hoped. Have you ever been there? It's moments when you think to yourself 'I'd give anything to have _______back again'. It's moments where you realize that your dreams are slipping through your fingers or that person you loved so deeply is gone forever. It's that moment when you realize you will never get to see that person again or live that life you thought you had ahead of you or hold that child in your arms or walk down that sidewalk again...it's then we find we are at the end of ourselves. Life is no longer what we thought and we feel that punch to the stomach and the lump in our throats. I think we've all been there and each of us, if given just a moment, could bring that sick feeling to our gut again. Have you been there? Are you there right now?

Loss. Life suddenly Shattered.
                The loss of a life. The loss of a dream. The loss of a friend. The loss of a future.
Loss.

     Let me shift gears for a moment. I have always loved the idea of dead things coming alive. No, not in the creepy zombie kind of way that seems to fascinate so many around me. Rather, people, dead in their hearts, finding life again. One of my favorite Bible stories is one in Ezekiel when God creates an army out of a valley of dry bones. If you haven't read it, check it out. It will blow your mind (Ezekiel 37:1-10). It's dead stuff coming alive. Crazy. Can you see it? The gritty picture of tendons being reconnected, flesh being put on like clothing. Can you imagine?!

     How about the story of Lazarus (John 11)? A dead man, called forth from a tomb. In fact, Martha, one of the women in the story, tries to tell Jesus not to roll back the stone that was in front of the tomb because she knows by that point - four days after Lazarus' death - that he is going to wreak! Death stinks...literally. Loss of any kind is not for the faint of heart. The experience itself is offensive, painful, smelly, surreal. It has such an impact, at least on me, that most times I don't even want to roll back the stone to look at it. It's ugly. It's incredibly painful.

     I don't know what loss you've experienced. Maybe you just lost a spouse and you're staring at a future without the one person who really knew who you are. Maybe you're arms are literally aching for that child you once had but never had the chance to hold - your heart feeling like it may never recover. Maybe you witnessed the painful decline of a mother or father who no longer recognized you or knew your name. Perhaps you've lost the one person in your life who always believed in you - who always knew just what to say. What have you lost? Who have you lost?

     I will not tell you that things will make sense here on this earth. I will not tell you in simple platitudes that God has a plan and that God will make your suffering into something glorious. I believe those things are true, but I refuse to put them on such deep wounds like a simple bandaid. Rather, I wish to sit across from you in a coffee shop, hold your hands across the table and tell you as the tears role down my cheeks and yours, 'Dear friend, I know you can't see it now, but God is here and He can handle all of your questions, your pain, your anger, and your brokenness. Take it to Him.' I do not wish to sweep your pain under a rug to avoid the hard questions. I cannot pretend to understand fully why God has allowed the losses I've experienced in my own life or the losses you've experienced in yours, to happen. I could come up with some great theological ideals to make pain seem more palatable, but to do so without first sitting with you in your pain and truly experiencing your suffering with you would be wrong and dismissive. To do so without wrapping my arms around you and crying with you would miss a major part of the Gospel.

     I've always loved the idea of things that are dead coming to life. Like a tree that looks completely dead but one day begins to sprout and the tiniest bit of green begins to peek out of the dead stuff. A dead tree can sometimes look like a complete loss; something irredeemable, rotten, or beyond hope. But then, after some rain to moisten its roots, sunshine to nourish its cells, and time to heal and grow, suddenly there's life again. Suddenly death turns into life and hope begins to grow. I love 'Lazarus' stories where all hope seems lost, but then there's life. I love stories about broken down, dry bones coming to life again and finding meaning and purpose again. I wonder if that's the miracle of life. We once were dead, but made alive. We experience loss and somehow that makes us more alive, more able to feel, more able to have compassion on those around us experiencing the same thing. The pain is so real, but when we let hope in, we move from death to life once more.

     Friend, I don't know what you've experienced. What have you experienced that has brought you to the end of yourself? What have you gone through that has been so incredibly painful that you're terrified to roll back the stone and experience because you're afraid to know what it's really like on the other side?
In the midst of great loss, whatever it is, may you find comfort in the One who is capable of bringing hope in death. May you find strength in the One who is always making the dead alive