The Tenderness of Jesus in Grief
A Essay from Audrey Bruce
Over and over I saw an image in my head: I was dancing with Him in a garden, so close together, so much trust and peace. He looked right into my eyes, and I looked into His. From behind me, a sly hand sneaks through the bushes and a dagger flies through my back into my heart. Shocked, my eyes meet His again. His eyes are full of tears, so are mine. He braces, and I feel it. Betrayal. He could see. HE COULD SEE! From right behind me, all this time, He could see! We fall together to the floor, me in His arms, tears fall from His eyes, no words. I am so angry, and so sad. Why didn’t He protect me? Despite it all, I opened the conversation. “Whenever you have something to say, no matter how long it takes, I will listen.” I avoided statements that would have tempted my immaturity so easily before, like, “If you don’t say something in the next 5 minutes I’ll know you’re not real.” I sidestepped the deep desire to be angry forever as a memorial, and I meant what I said, that I would listen. Weeks passed, and to be very honest I did not seek an answer. I went on with my days, some angry, some sad, some okay. June 25th, I am standing for worship in Upper Room and they open with a song that joins with heaven, “Holy holy holy, Lord God Almighty.” This song does not make me squirm how some of the others do. I agree with this one; despite all my feelings, He is Holy at the very end. Communion is prompted to us all, and I hold the small plastic cup in my hand. I’ve always desired to understand the power of communion and Jesus’ sacrifice for me, so much depth to be discovered and love and power to be felt
It’s quite inevitable, in grief, to look for a reason. To search for someone to blame. Human nature claws for survival, for purpose, for reason. In March, I was confronted with the terrible question of, “Why?” It gnashed within me. Disbelief and reality arm- wrestled. And as much as I wondered why this terrible thing had happened to me, I wondered more how God could have possibly had a reason to allow such a terrible dagger to find its way into my heart. Something so unforeseeable to me, He surely knew this from the beginning? The moment I was born, some heavenly clock counted down from 23 years to 0 seconds on earth with a father. That is my life story now. This has happened to me. This has happened to me, and it always will have happened to me. There is no saving from this, no relief from the pain, no undoing and retyping, no waking up. Anger sizzled deep in my heart; had been sizzling. An inevitability. In Florida I said to Jesus, “I want to be your friend. I do not want to live a life without you, and although I am angry and do not understand, I want you to know I will listen for you.” I felt as though I needed to open a conversation, to state that my heart was open to reason, to friendship, even though I felt it might take a very long time to build trust again. My heart was so sour, so many bitter thoughts swirled through me as to the nature of my friend Jesus, and His great elaborate trick. I felt through my trusting Him for so long I had been set up as the punchline of His joke.
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