Isaiah 25:6-9; Romans 6:3-11; John 19:16b-40
Did Jesus’ mother, and his aunt, and the two Mary’s who were his followers grieve? I mean, I’m sure they did, they must have, because grief is connected to love, and they loved him deeply, so they must have grieved deeply, but the Gospel only tells us what they did, not how they felt. I’m not blaming the Gospel––emotions were not a huge part of the vocabulary of those times. In the last few decades especially, we have progressed in our understanding of emotional and mental health and trauma. Words like PTSD, depression, anxiety, trauma––these are words that weren’t in the Bible, although the experiences were probably the same. And so today, we can name what those women, and indeed all of Jesus’ followers were experiencing, and we can call it grief.
We are in grief. It’s important to say that, and to hear it, and to acknowledge it. Each one of us, to varying degrees, are experiencing a global grief that is both specific and general. On an individual scale, we may be grieving the death of a loved one, made more intense because we cannot gather together and share one another’s burdens. Some of us are grieving the loss of work. Losing one’s job causes grief. Not just because the income is lost, which is always significant, but also because the meaning and worth that we derive from working is lost, too. If we are lucky enough to still be working, we may be grieving the loss of daily interaction with our co-workers, or the loss of our normal workplace. These are genuine losses.
If you are a student or a teacher, you will be grieving the loss of your classrooms and your learning communities. If you are still working in the public sphere––if you are a health worker, or a postal worker, or a retail worker, or a utility worker––you are probably grieving the loss of security and safety, as you must wonder which of the people you come face-to-face with might get you sick.
If you are a senior, you are likely grieving the loss of your social gatherings, of seeing the faces of young people, of getting together for coffee and a chat.
If you are a parent, especially of school-aged children, then you are likely grieving your own losses and those your children’s.
You may be grieving the shut-down of those things that give you joy, like the arts, or sports leagues. It may sound silly to say that we grief the loss of the Stanley Cup or NBA playoffs this year, but some of us do. The grief is real.
And those are just the specific losses. We are also grieving the death of systems that are almost too big to grasp but have an impact nonetheless. The death of the economy as we know it, of the world as we know it. We are grieving the profound loss of a future on which we built our present.
Today is a day to grieve. It is a day when we can gather together and acknowledge that death is real, that loss is real, and that in the face of all this, we are exhausted and overwhelmed. Oh yes, the exhaustion that you have been feeling is a symptom of grief. I am guessing that most of you are more tired than usual, even if you are doing less than usual. That is a manifestation of grief. As is being constantly forgetful, short-tempered, and easily distracted. You are not the only one experiencing these things. We all are. This is grief. All of the manifestations of grief that we have heard about––denial, depression, bargaining, anger or blame (either of others or ourselves)––these are all our daily realities right now, along with having trouble sleeping or needing to sleep more, having poor appetites or eating more junk food, and decreased motivation. Made worse, of course, because we are protecting one another by staying apart. Technology, as life-saving as it is right now, is no substitute for physical presence. Another loss we grieve.
But here is the thing about grief and Good Friday. About grieving on this day of crucifixion. We are not grieving alone.
Today, above all other days, we proclaim that God is with us in grief, because it is God who is on the cross. Today is the day that we proclaim that God the Son, Jesus Christ, experienced what it is to die alone. What it is to be separated from family and friends as you take your last breath. Today is the day that we proclaim that God the Father experienced what it is to grieve the loss of a beloved. God did not turn away from the pain of the world, did not escape into some heavenly cloud until it was all over. God descended into the pain, into loss, into grief.
God not only experienced it two thousand years ago, God continues to experience it today. God has never abandoned God’s creation, not even in its darkest moments, and so God is with the seniors in McKenzie Towne, God is with the critically ill in ICU, God is with the nurses and doctors and morgue workers in cities overwhelmed by death, God is with those who are sitting at their kitchen table crossing items off a grocery list because they can’t afford all of them anymore. God is with you, and God grieves with you. This not some abstract statement. God became human, and God suffered, and God died. God knows, in bone and flesh, in heart and mind, what you are going through, because––as Emmanuel, as the Word made flesh, as Jesus of Nazareth––God has felt it, too.
And yet, “if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.” We cling to this promise, and we proclaim it even today, especially today, because it means that just as Christ shares our loss with us, we share new life with him. We know that Good Friday is not the end. We know that the crucified one is raised, that the tomb is empty. Jesus was raised, the first of us all, as a fulfillment of God’s promise that God “will destroy ... the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; God will swallow up death forever.” We know that the Lord “will keep [our] going out and [our] coming in from this time on and for evermore.” We have seen this accomplished in Jesus’ resurrection to new life, and we will share in that, because we are united with him.
Grief does not mean we have given up hope, and hope does not mean that we do not grieve. Grief and hope, the cross and the empty tomb, go together. We know that death is real, and we proclaim that it is not the end. Today is a day to lament and grieve, and it is okay to take the time to acknowledge the pain of our losses. And so, for now, we will sit with our grief, and we will lament, both our own pain and the pain we have caused others. But we will do so knowing that God is with us at every moment, and we will do so secure in the promise that new life is coming. Thanks be to God. Amen.
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