I had a friend in college whose grandfather died. Not an unusual occurrence for a twenty-something, but this death struck her particularly hard because her grandfather didn’t believe in Jesus. His unbelief was intense, to the point where his daughter, my friend’s mother, sat at his bedside and implored with him to believe on Christ for salvation. He refused. We take comfort in death because of what comes after for believers, but what hope is there in a death like that?
I witnessed her intense grief. But all the while, she would stop her crying and look to someone near here and say, “Can you pray?” Or she would say to herself over and over again, “If my grandfather isn’t saved in Christ, the Lord is still sovereign.” When she did this, my friends and I would glance at each other with looks of surprise or even contempt. If I’m being terribly honest with you, whenever she did it, it got on my nerves.
The other day, I learned that this friend recently had a significant health scare. If it had been the worst, it would have been horrible and deeply grievous. I heard that my friend did the same thing in that crisis that she did when her grandfather died: she prioritized prayer, and verbally told herself that if the worst happened, the Lord is still sovereign.
How often does faith make you uncomfortable? I have many friends who express their faith differently than I do, and I can respect them and admire how we are different and live my life. But there’s always been something about that one friend’s habit that tugs my heart in a way I really don’t like.
I have a similar feeling when I read old saints such as Teresa of Avila, Augustine, or Lady Julian. Even more recent figures such as Bonhoeffer or Elisabeth Elliot. It occurs to me that dependence as extreme as that is difficult for me. And there’s lots of reasons for that. Bonhoeffer and Elliot are not without their complexities. I live in a psychological world which would explain how it’s legitimate to grieve without hope. I can explain to you why in moments of crisis, my faith can be a background foundation to the emotional outbursts I’m having. I’ll remember it later, but right now I’m literally in crisis mode.
What is the relationship between faith and this part of human life? What “should” it be? Are there more human or less human reactions to pain or crisis? Are there more or less faithful reactions? I like to think that my humanity is a part of my faith and visa versa. They do not oppose each other or exist outside of one another, but they constantly dance, pushing and pulling all through life. The question is not, how do I suppress myself and replace it with my faith, but how do I let my faith bring about the truest “self” that I am? And that requires work, it requires push and pull.
Pain and grief are necessary parts of the human life. They were a part of Jesus’s earthly life. We see him mourn. We see him cry aloud. And we see him take this posture most frequently in the presence of the Father. But, I do think if I was there in one of his moments of crisis, he would look a little like my friend, asking for prayer and resting in the Father in the midst of his pain.
I do want to work on the faithfulness I practice in difficult situations. I’m aware that my personality structure might never (in this life) lead me to externally show such expressions of faith as my friend, but she reminds me the importance of letting that discomfort make me ask the right questions of myself. It makes me check on the status of the dance, what’s pushing and what’s pulling? Where is my heart oriented? What would it mean for me to lean into an uncomfortable faith?
Memos
My favorite cultural philosophers came out with a new album! I have yet to let the fullness of it seep into my consciousness, but I do think it is great and definitely worth a listen.
I find myself returning to this episode of Speaking with Joy again and again as a comfort listen. Sarah and Joy Clarkson may be two of the most influential writers on my life in this season, and hearing them geek out about long books is quite an enjoyable hour.
I was quite busy in the kitchen this weekend. I was toying with a new sourdough recipe that I’ve got close to perfection. I’m also making sauerkraut for the first time, mainly as a desire to not waste some leftover cabbage. What I’m most excited about is this ginger beer recipe! I love a good mule, and I’m always looking for tummy-healthy treats. :)
What I’m Reading:
I finished These Precious Moments, and it was fabulous. This essay collection inspired me to take better stock of my days and find the threads that have followed me throughout my life. While I’ll never have the exciting stories of galavanting around Europe with my college friend, her stories made me see the beauty in mind. And isn’t that the ultimate goal of personal essays?
Have lovely weeks.
Kara