On Joy and Paradox
This is the LORD’s doing, and it is marvelous. -Psalm 118:23
I still hear their voices, even now.
The whispers of grandparents and grandchildren, siblings and cousins, strangers and friends. The whispers of nurses and doctors, chaplains and priests. The whispers of machines and monitors and mops and memories.
It is the memories that slide in and gutpunch me now, not the pain. Memories of nurses laughing at a bad joke I told to dispel my anxiety, memories of code calls on the seventh floor of the hospital that I couldn’t respond to, memories of hard, necessary conversations about funeral arrangements with my spouse.
Those memories shape what I see as important. They shape how my long-running perfectionist streak is now tempered by a streak of grace and compassion. They shape how I breathe through the moments of stress and rage, of utter sadness and grief, the moments where my emotions are insistent in their expression. The memories of the seventh floor, both before and after, shape how I understand myself, even if I no longer do.
It is a paradox. To know oneself and yet to not. To be alive when you should be dead. Yes, it sounds melodramatic as hell, and I would agree, except for that whole “being on a heart/lung machine for forty minutes” bit. The doctors really don’t prepare you for that, the chaplains can’t fathom it (unless they have been through it), the nurses see it too often, and the only One who does understand has bigger priorities than me.
Which is fine. Paradoxically, I have never been further from, or closer to, God in my life since surgery. It would be easy for me to proclaim the atheist screed of “God is dead!” And yet, I cannot, for I now have a new space to hold my atheist friends, one where their truth is heard and respected.
I disagree, of course, which is a good thing. If everyone agreed on the nature of God, Life would cease to be such an extraordinary experience. The diversity of multiple theological perspectives has always been, and will always be, the saving grace of humanity.
This is Holy Week, the time when Christians observe the final days of Jesus’ life leading up to the Crucifixion and Resurrection. It is a time when I am struggling with the juxtaposition of my Call and response, of a social Gospel that became social Justice, of Word versus deed. I am struggling to understand who I am this season- a crucified thief or the crucifying centurion.
The answer is in the memories, the whispers of the Divine. The small still voice of my soul telling my spirit, “Hush, friend, you are not forsaken. Be at peace.” My heart listens, heeding the call of this moment.
Hush, friend, you are not forsaken. Be at peace.
Be at peace.
#DailyReflection #LentenReflection #Day39of40
