Prisoner of Hope: Covid-19 Part II

Part II: While in Winter
It’s important to note that grieving isn’t blaming.

There’s a remarkable story of a blind man being healed in the 9th chapter of the book of John. It’s notable for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is how a powerless, blind man is open to grace while the powerful, seeing elite are closed to grace. Maybe the blind man knew how to grieve?

Early in the story, the disciples ask a question we have all asked: “Who’s to blame?” Jesus says, my paraphrase, “It’s not a cause and effect kind of thing. It’s not his fault or his parent’s fault.” And then he takes the discussion to a different place as he heals the man. Maybe the real question isn’t who’s at fault, but how can we help?

We’ve all seen Christian leaders assign blame when bad things happen. I watched it happen after the 1989 earthquake in San Francisco, after Hurricane Katrina in 2005, and certainly after 9/11 in 2001. Covid-19 is no different. It’s the same story, different chapter: the reason for the disaster is because God is angry at our sin. Well, to be clear, it’s usually the sin of the “other person.” It’s rare to hear a preacher stand up and say, “It’s my sin.” No, it’s usually the sin of someone else.

This kind of reaction is true of the non-Christians as well. There’s plenty of blame to go around.

Blame the bats.
Blame the Chinese.
Blame the liberals for stirring up trouble too soon.
Blame the president for not acting soon enough.

But blame is what the spirit of the satan does. The Hebrew name is ha-satan. It means accuser. And wherever accusation lives, so the spirit of the satan lives. Even in the church. Yes, definitely in the church.

Followers of Jesus are called to co-suffering Love, not accusation. We say we follow the most gracious person who’s ever lived, but what do our actions demonstrate? We are all going to get an opportunity to show whether we’re interested in co-suffering or blaming in the days ahead because it’s very possible this “storm” may be worse than anything we’ve experienced.

In keeping with the point of the story in John 9, Jesus wastes zero time blaming. He spends all his time alleviating suffering.

So grieving isn’t blaming. But it is naming. It’s willingly saying things like, “This hurts,” “I don’t know what to do,” or “I’m really feeling bad about this loss.”

Try it right now.
Pause and think about what hurts.
About how you’re uncertain of the next step.
About what you have lost.

One of the more important things we can do is to give ourselves space and grace to name these things. And when we practice giving it to ourselves, it opens up room to give others space and grace as well.

As I look back over my own life full now with grief and naming, I notice a pattern emerge: I have put too much emphasis on particular pursuits to make me happy. It’s embarrassing, but the truth is, sometimes I go after things with everything I have not because the thing itself is all that important, but because I’m just trying to make something of myself. I seem to fall prey to an idolatry of achieving, as if a particular thing will cause me to be fulfilled.

One of the byproducts of authentic grieving is recognizing that in far too many instances we give our power away too quickly. We’re all a bit like Esau, selling our birthrights of autonomy and agency for what’s right in front of us.

I have come to believe that nothing really completes us, not even God, at least not in the sense that we use that phrase. If that were true, we would constantly view him as another product, the ultimate product, to bring us happiness and contentment. We would all marry God “for his money.”

Wait, maybe that’s what we have done.

Thank God most of our plans fall apart. It allows us to see the error of our ways. It allows us to see that God doesn’t “work” that way. God cannot fill us up or make us happy or complete us because God is well… incomplete.

That’s right, God is Love and Love is broken. Love is wounded. To be with Christ is to be with the One who has experienced being forsaken. To be with Christ is to be with the One who is constantly pouring out. To try and fill yourself up with something that’s constantly pouring itself out is impossible. The salvation Jesus offers isn’t a “get me inside of you so I can fix you” salvation. It’s the salvation from needing to be fixed.

God joins with us, showing us the incompleteness of Love. The movement is less about getting Love inside the smallness of who we are, and more about us opening ourselves up to the largeness of who Love is.

And now, finally, Winter is fading and we’re getting to hope.