Ever since I became a Christ follower Easter weekend has been emotional for me. On Good Friday I think about Jesus being treated like a criminal, mocked, brutally beaten, separated from God and killed. I always think about how unfair He was treated. On Saturday and Sunday I imagine His followers hiding out, scared for their lives, doubting and grieving over their lost friend and teacher. How hopeless must they have felt? On Sunday I usually think about how amazing it must have been to see Him risen! The disciples must have had that winning redemption feeling! (Warning: this is not a very spiritually mature analogy) You know when you are playing in a big game and you are way behind and the other team has been trash-talking the whole time and you come back and win....WOO HOO!!! You think, "I knew we were going to win all along!" But you were really scared and doubtful. And then to get to see your teacher, friend, Abba again and know everything He said was true! Best. Day. Ever!
This Easter weekend was different for me. On Good Friday my thoughts were consumed with Mary, the mother of Jesus. I have never read and thought about the Easter story from her perspective before and it tore me up. I thought about the panic she must have felt when she heard the guards were coming for Him. What could she do to keep Him safe? I thought about how it must have felt to be in the crowd in front of Pontius Pilate as people yelled, "Crucify him!" This wasn't some historical figure to her, this was her child. The hurt and agony Mary must have felt as He was stripped and whipped with a lead-tipped whip. Her baby that she cradled and nursed having His fleshed ripped apart as people cheered. Regardless of how you feel about Christ, you cannot deny the suffering His mother must have endured watching Him bleed and be tortured. When I imagine Mary at the foot of the cross looking up and praying that her son's chest would rise and fall just one more time, it hits way too close to home and brings me to my knees. One thing I learned since the death of my sweet John is that your desire to mother and take care of your baby does not end with your child's life. You still feel responsible and very protective of your baby's earthly body. Once Jesus was dead I'm sure Mary was wondering, "What now!? What are they going to do with my Jesus?" We know from scripture that a wealthy member of the Jewish high council named Joseph went to Pilate and asked for Jesus' body. Joseph wrapped Jesus' body in linen and placed him in his own newly carved tomb. I wonder if Mary had anything to do with that? Regardless, she must have felt relieved and so thankful when she heard that Pilate gave her son's body to a believer and friend and that He would receive a proper burial. After following His body to the tomb she went home with the other women and made preparations.
The verses about Mary and the other women preparing spices and ointments take me back to the first few days after John's death. So many decisions to make, such a desire to do everything perfectly for your beloved child, so many tears mixed with numbness, and so many loving women to help. Mothers, sisters, aunts, and girlfriends, these are the beautiful souls that help you do the sacred work of burying your baby and saying good bye. The same women who come alongside you when you have a new baby or an illness in your family. They think of all the things that you cannot and are extra hands to do what has to be done without you having to ask. Who else can you share your raw emotions with except those who know what it is like to love as a mother, daughter and sister? I know Mary was readying herself to see her son's broken, cold body as she walked to the tomb early Easter morning. I'm sure she was heartbroken when she first noticed that the stone had been rolled away. Where did they take her son? The women walked inside the tomb and saw a man dressed in dazzling white robes. He told the women that Jesus was not there, He had risen! The angel said to go quickly and tell the disciples that Jesus was alive and that He was going to Galilee. They would see Him again! In that instant Mary's heartache turned to hope and joy. So much information and so many questions but none of that mattered - she would see her baby boy again! Hallelujah! Scripture says the women ran away "quickly from the tomb." I love the image of these middle-aged women in this joyous sprint. How fast could my feet carry me to my baby? What happened next is so beautiful, just imagine it as a mother:
"And as they went, Jesus met them and greeted them. And they ran to Him, grasped His feet, and worshiped Him." (Matthew 28:9) Praise God!
The miracle of Easter sustains me and promises me that through grace John has risen as well and through grace I will go to the Lord and John.
On Sunday, we went to church in Waco at First United Methodist with Christian's family. As we walked in I saw a sign that said "Communion" in a little room off the lobby. I told Christian that I'd be right back and took Maggie with me into the small room. There was a very nice elderly women in there named Rochelle who would give me communion. She stood behind the padded kneeler and shook my hand and said, "Nice to know you!" I loved that because that is what my Granny always said when she met someone. I knelt down as Maggie stood next to me holding my hand. Rochelle asked if I had any prayer requests or specific concerns weighing on my heart. I told her about John and how thankful I was for the gift of Easter but that I couldn't feel the joy in my heart as I would like to this morning. She held my hand, patted it and prayed for me with tears streaming down her cheeks. As she prayed Maggie stood perfectly still and quiet (which never happens) and stroked my hand with hers. I looked up and committed the moment to memory. It was so beautiful. I was kneeling with Maggie standing beside me holding my hand with her eyes closed and Rochelle standing before me holding my other hand with both of hers as she prayed and wept with me. Two women more than 70 years apart nursing my heart and loving on me. When Rochelle prayed, "Thank you Lord for John and for his eternal life in Heaven...." Maggie said, "With Jesus!" We both started laughing and told her that she was right. Maggie stood through the rest of the prayer with her eyes closed and when Rochelle and I said, "Amen." Maggie yelled, "Amen! God Wins!" I will always remember that communion as a holy moment in my life.
My communion with Rochelle reminded me of a poem I read a few weeks ago on a blog that I follow called "Cheetos for Breakfast." A friend of the blogger wrote this poem after losing her son at 21 weeks pregnant.
No Words, Just Tears
They told me to recline for labor,
But I was on my knees.
I was on my knees
When I learned who you were.
Knees on the floor,
Hands in the air,
So much cause for praise.
I was on my knees,
Clearing the garden,
Planting seeds in the rain.
They wrapped the monitor around
And it moved up and down
With your body.
You were kicking against it
As hard as I was.
You were never on your knees.
She said she lost hers, same as mine
Twenty years ago.
She caught my son, she felt the weight.
She knows. She knows.
One day gone, and clothes hang loose.
All of me is too small without you.
Every sight of mother with child
Whispers, My son, my son, my son.
The longing all day, the longing all life,
For the moment to recline.
We push, we writhe, on cursed ground.
You drive us to our knees.
They say they want to take the work,
They tell me to be still.
They’ll cook, they’ll clean, leave me undone:
You forget I was made for labor.
Let me weep, with feeble hands reverse
The mundane disorder I can control.
Milk is here and you are not.
We touch each other to quell the grief.
I hold your brothers in my arms,
Your father wraps around me.
There’s nothing to do but wait
For the milk of the Promised Land.
I will see your face. I will hold your face.
On Your knees, sweating blood,
Wrestling over life to be lost and won.
I watch the blood flow, the scar site burns;
My son is lost to me.
Your Son was lost to You.
You know. You know.
And I am on my knees.
I am on my knees.
How beautiful is that poem? Doesn't it sum it all up? What tender and powerful images!
As I told Rochelle about John, she held my hand and nodded as if she too had known this kind of loss. She did not try to make it better or say something about the bright side. She just shook her head and cried. The silence and tears from this stranger were so comforting. Friends, if you find yourself face to face with someone who is hurting and you don't know what to say, say just that, or nothing at all. I am just as guilty as everyone else about wanting to say the one thing that will make it all better. Our intentions are from a loving place. Our hearts ache for our loved ones who are grieving and we want to do and say everything we can to alleviate the pain. I know that "I love you" and "I'm thinking of you" and "I don't know what to say" do not sound like enough but they are. As the blogger wrote about her friend, "Let's let her speak when she is ready....We'll be quiet and mourn with her. No words. Just tears."
I hope each of you had a blessed Easter weekend. Thank you for your continued prayers for my family.
Love, Krystle
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