Fair & Cruel

"How could...something...so fair...be so cruel? When this...black sun...revolves...around you. There is an answer in the question...and there is hope within despair. - Death Cab for Cutie (Black Sun)

Imagine my surprise, a few weeks ago, after I posted my last blog, and seconds later my mother's tablet (which I haven't had the heart to disconnect) beeped. A message had arrived in her "inbox" : my blog. I had no idea she'd subscribed to it. The irony. And I thought, "This is all...so...unfair."

If you think about it though, really, really think about it? Death is fair. It is, perhaps, the fairest thing ever. An eternity in heaven, a home amidst the stars, free from pain and sorrows, in exchange for a life that was glorious at times, yes, but crushingly brutal at times as well. Want to leave your sins behind? Want to sleep well, really deeply, as you never have before, free from stress and fear and quiet hours fraught with the deep and painful concern that no one will ever truly understand you in this world? God eventually says, "Come with me." And when your time comes? I bet we all fight it, but I imagine not for one second longer than it takes to catch a glimpse of it: of what's next, of the loved ones waiting for us there, and the realized utter reality of heaven. It’s probably the easiest of goodbyes, because now you know that even those you leave behind will be along soon enough. No need to worry.The sting of death is lost when its reputation is destroyed. I bet my father whistled his way outta here and my mother? I bet she sang. A sweet hymn. For sure.

I’ve noticed that when I get into trouble with my grieving? It's when I start making my mother's death about me. It's hard not to make someone else's death about you, when you're all that's left : they're gone. Forever. But we must be careful, for the devil is in "forever". It's just a word - again, for those of us left behind - that can, yes, trigger hopelessness. But, in truth, forever isn't such a long time. If, for example, I have thirty years left on this earth? Then I'm only thirty years away from seeing my mother again. That's no "quick minute", I know, but it's a lot shorter than the vast expanse of this lie called “forever”. And between now and then God would have blessed me with a lot of living to do.

A friend gave me a book on grieving recently and in it there’s the suggestion to look at the entire tragedy of loss from God’s perspective. Imagine the difficulty of creating a creature so delicately complex and then asking it to figure itself out, knowing full well, as the Creator of the universe, that it never entirely can, due to the free will that must be imparted to it for that journey of self- discovery to even begin. Without free will you'd just have a bunch of robots. Yet the very thing it needs is the very thing that hinders it. For free will is all about life; to exercise it or to surrender it. In the process, these lovely creatures do so many beautiful things, and hurtful things and things that are just downright mysterious. And you let them, in Your grace and mercy, because you know that in the end they will be yours again anyway. Together at last, you can finally tell them what it was all about, and no matter what, you will love them through and through.

If you really, really think about it? It just doesn't get any fairer than that.

Mom, Death & Jacob

"So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak. When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob’s hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. Then the man said, “Let me go, for it is daybreak.” But Jacob replied, “I will not let you go unless you bless me." - Genesis 32 (22-26) 

Yesterday I refused communion for the first time in nearly fifteen years. I just wasn't feeling it, and more importantly, my heart wasn't right. I knew that. I sensed it. And even though God and I are wrestling these days, and I'm punching him in the face every chance I can get a hand free, I still hold the bread and the cup in high enough esteem not to partake in them without a mind that's focused, or a heart that's ready.

On Dec 4th the Lord took my mother from me. Or maybe it was the 3rd. Or the 2nd. All I can say is, by the time I found her, face down on the floor in her bedroom, she'd been dead quite a while. Ice cold. Full rigor. Her eyes were closed tightly, as if the pain in the end were nearly unbearable. A massive heart attack, most likely, or a massive stroke.

I don't want to hear about how "it's a part of life" or that "these things happen". I don't want pious advice or empty platitudes. I only want one thing: answers. Jacob wrestled the angel of the Lord, and so, now, do I. Each day I step into the field and I shake my fist at God and ask the same questions before I attack him: Why did she have to die that way? What did she ever do to You? Why did I have to find her like that? Was I such a bad son? Such a shitty believer? What in the world were you trying to teach me? What lesson? What admonishment? How. Could. You. Do. This.

During this same time, I've had friends preoccupied with serious matters of their own. One is fighting cancer, another alcoholism. One has a child that's been forced to endure four surgeries in the past four weeks. I've got people I love fighting loneliness and illness, two more fighting brokenheartedness and failed relationships. Some of them are believers, some of them aren't. And I am watching, studying it all. They're human. It's life. Blah. Blah. Blah.

You see, the speed of the game is slowing down for me, and that can only happen with experience. But here's the thing : I don't necessarily like what I'm seeing. I see nothing but utter chaos. I see no order, no method to the madness, no direction and very little hope. I see people making grand stands, commendable examples and witnessing with a fervor that leaves me awe struck, but I'm losing my ability to see why. That's the truth. It's dark where I'm at. I can't see anything, much less any "why's", and I'm sorry if that disturbs you.

There's only one thing I can say: every, single time I have stepped out into the field to wrestle with the Lord? He has not backed down. Not one, single time. He shows up. He brings it. And as we struggle with one another, as I bite, punch, grapple and claw at him with all I have? As I scream at him with a rage that is all consuming? I have felt it...more than once...I have: his chest against mine...and I have felt Him weeping.

And I know beyond all knowing that I can fight all I want, for as long as I want, for the rest of my life if I so choose, and My Lord will never let go of me. Ever. And I love Him for that. I really do.