Pr. Michelle Sevig + Fifth Sunday in Lent + March 26, 2023
Do you have a favorite color? I do; it’s purple. Ever since I was a little girl picking flowers from my neighbors flower bed (with permission of course) the purple ones were always my favorite. I like all shades of purple–lavender, violet, amethyst and usually you can see me wearing purple in some way–on my painted nails, my earrings or my clothing. So you can imagine, maybe, how much I love the season of Lent.
For the past five weeks, Grace Place and HTLoop have been discussing the Colors of Lent through a series centered on the art of Henri Matissee. I’ll admit I was skeptical at first. I’m not an “art person” and only go to the art museum, somewhat reluctantly, on my beloved’s birthday. I wondered how the art of Henri Matisse’s and the scriptures of lent could be connected. And I really wondered if this non-art person could lead such a discussion.
To my surprise and delight it has been a wonderful opportunity to connect with others over a simple meal and a shared art experience. Together we discover new insights into the scriptures looking specifically at what emotions are stirred by specific colors. This week’s color is…purple: the purple of crocuses, of grapes, of penitence, twilight and the sorrows of loss.
The bible study leader this week will ask, “Where are the shades of purple in your life these days?” For me the shades of purple are felt deeply in the experience of loss and grief. I’ve been acutely aware that at this time, three years past the onset of COVID and the shutdown of public life, I am experiencing a lot of grief. Why now? It’s been three years after all. We’re not on lock-down anymore and life is pretty much back to normal. Kids are going to school again, stores, movie theaters and churches are open again. The numbers of Covid deaths and hospitalizations continue to decline. And yet, I’m grieving.
Though much of our common life is back to normal, it’s also not like it used to be and that is a loss. I miss seeing the church overflowing with people during worship. I miss the sounds of children fidgeting in their pews, the robust singing and high energy of the people gathered, and the busyness of Sunday mornings. No one is to blame, I’m not pointing fingers, but I have this week realized that there is grief whenever there is change. Grief due to loss. Grief due to unmet expectations.
In the gospel story today Mary and Martha are deep in the wilderness of grief. Just the other day their brother Lazarus, was right there with them, physically present, alive and well; and now he’s gone. They’re heartbroken and lonely, and when Jesus finally arrives, both MArtha and Mary confront Jesus with a version of that ancient question, “Where is God in times of suffering and death?” Their words, “Lord if you had been here…” cuts to the heart of their grief and wondering where God is in the midst of their sorrow and loss.
We’ve likely asked similar questions in the midst of our own grief and loss. Why didn't the fertility treatments work? What will I do now that I’ve lost my job? How could this happen to me, I don’t deserve this health diagnosis? Why did my loved one die? Where is God in the midst of all this suffering?
I share the same feelings as Debi Thomas, who wrote, “There is a lot I don't understand about this scripture passage. It's a hard one for me. I don’t understand why Jesus waits for two days after hearing of Lazuresus’ illness. Or why he tells his disciples that Lazarus is asleep when he’e really dead. Or why he raises one man and leaves countless others in their graves. The story is shrouded in mystery.
But one thing I do understand is “Jesus, wept.” Thank God Jesus wept! Jesus grieved. The one who is divine and human, knows our suffering and questioning in the most profound way. He stands at the grave of his friend and cries. When Jesus weeps he legitimizes human grief . When Jesus cries, he assures Mary and Martha, not only that their beloved brother is worth crying for, but also that they are worth crying with. With his tears Jesus calls all of us into the holy vocation of empathy, co-suffering and lamentation.”
Jesus doesn’t remain at a distance, unmoved, but draws near to all those weeping at the death of Lazarus. In the presence of that overwhelming grief, Jesus is deeply moved and weeps alongside all who mourn.
Brene’ Brown, in her book Atlas of the Heart, writes about emotions and how they are the language of human experience. She doesn’t say that grief is purple, but she does explore the different ways we experience grief. For too long we have thought of grief as something that is experienced in stages; complete stage one then move to the next. But grief ebbs and flows. It shocks us and shows up in surprising ways. And grief is not always related to death but is experienced in a variety of circumstances.
In the midst of our grief, no matter how it is manifested, what we need is an opportunity to express our grief, sometimes through weeping, sometimes in anger, sometimes in questioning why. Dr. Brown writes in her book, “I’ll never forget what David Kessler, a grief expert, said during my podcast Unlocking Us, ‘each person's grief is as unique as their fingerprint. But what everyone has in common is that no matter how they grieve, they share a need for their grief to be witnessed. That doesn’t mean needing someone to try to lessen it or reframe it for them. The need is for someone to be fully present to the magnitude of their loss without trying to point out the silver lining.”
Jesus is at the heart of suffering with tears on his own cheeks. Sometimes there is nothing to be said in the face of loss. Sometimes tears are our best and most honorable language. We often rush to words, feeling an urgent need to wrap other people's pain in platitudes, bible verses, condolences and promises. Yet through Jesus’ wordless tears he shows us that silence is faithful too. Sometimes silence is love.
Jesus shows up in all our graves of grief and fear, shame and regret, calling us to an abundant, unbound life. The grave is not our home. Dry bones and withered spirits are not our future. God will bring back to life all that is dead and buried, forgotten and festering within us: old wounds, hardened hearts, stubborn addictions, fierce fears. God is always and everywhere making us more fully and abundantly alive–alive to love, alive to hope, alive to each other and alive to creation.
During these last weeks of lent, as we prepare for Jesus’ own death and resurrection, I hope that Jesus’ tears can keep us tender, open, humble and generous. I hope that his honest expression of sorrow will give us permission to not only do the work of grief and healing, but to move with powerful compassion into a world that needs our empathy and our love.
We serve a God who calls us to live an abundant, unbound life. Our journey is not to the grave, but through it. The Lord who weeps is also the One who resurrects. So we grieve in hope; opening ourselves to all the colors of a resurrected life.