Sitting with the Sacred

“Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid (John 14:28). I heard this verse again last weekend. That was before latest mass shooting. At an elementary school. Again. I can’t believe there has been more than one mass shooting at an elementary school. I can’t believe there have been so many mass shootings, period. Well, I can believe all of it, unfortunately. But I don’t want to.

Often, I struggle with what I’m going to post here, what verse I’m going to focus on, but this time, I knew immediately that I was going to focus on John 14:28. I was going to write about how it’s one of those verses that leaves me feeling like I can never measure up, one of those verses that feels inapplicable to life as I know it on many days. The verse makes me feel this way because I live with anxiety and OCD.

If I still thought I had to be untroubled to be a faithful Christian or to grow spiritually in any way, I’d give up trying, I think.

Yet I haven’t given up, thanks to the Gospels telling me about times when Jesus was troubled. There was the time he wept when it seemed he arrived too late to save his friend Lazarus from death. He wept even though he knew Abba loved him and his friends and could still be found in the midst of the suffering and loss. Obviously, I can’t know exactly what he was feeling when he wept, but I’ve often wondered if his grief rose out of the suffering that had occurred before the massive sign that God was about to offer through him. He accepted that sometimes pain couldn’t be avoided, but his acceptance didn’t mean that he didn’t dread pain at the same time.

The blood we’re told he sweated in the garden of Gethsemane is evidence of another troubled time, as is the moment on the cross when, feeling abandoned, even though on some level he must know he isn’t, (otherwise he’d have no one to implore) he cries out to God. I’d say “troubled” is a drastically inadequate word to describe how he’s feeling, yet I can also imagine him experiencing a kind of peace in this moment and the others because he knows what God is asking him to do, and that’s to respond as each situation calls him to respond. This peace doesn’t come from comfort but from discerning his purpose and acting upon it in unselfish love.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say my own acceptance of anxiety and my willingness to share it with God manage it well, but anxiety feels less inescapable than it used to. Because I accept that certain situations are going to make me anxious. And I don’t have to make the physical experience of anxiety — the muscle tension, or the churning stomach, or the faster heartbeat — go away. It’s okay just to do what I can, to go through the motions that each moment calls for. It’s okay to go about life this way because all my experiences of anxiety and discomfort are temporary.

But I get the grief doesn’t feel temporary. It feels crushing, insurmountable. I’ve heard it said that grief doesn’t go away. It just changes.

So weep. Focus on one mundane task and in the next. Turn over tables if you need to. (We’re told that Jesus did at least once.) Then help clean up the mess afterwards, and don’t resort to violence. Let’s channel our tears and our anger into positive change.

Yes, Jesus prayed. He also stood up to the suffering of others by doing what he could to relieve it. Think what good we can do if we participate in that work of Love.

Work cited

The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.