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I often find the aesthetics of Lent to be the most moving of the church calendar. This might be because I was raised Lutheran with a healthy awareness of my own and humanity’s sinfulness. I also think that the expression of brokenness and sorrow is hopeful in that it can be shared. It has a particular evangelical beauty toward those feeling the pangs of suffering and sorrow. It is less exclusive and more considerate than broad expressions of joy. I have always considered the call, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28 NIV), was where church should begin and end.
Last year during Lent, we had two unexpected deaths in the family—my mother-in-law and my younger sister. I gave the eulogies for both services, and I think it is fair to say that my wife, Emily, and I were made aware of our brokenness and limitation. We both experienced days when we put our bodies through the motions of life. I begged my colleagues not to ask about my family or my emotions in public places because I was not sure if I was able to hold it together. Emily struggled every time she had the impulse to call her mother. While we suffered in unique ways, we were also able to minister to each other. We helped each other work through our individual grief and its unique steps following the death of a loved one. We also could be present and still give each other time with our respective families. We still miss those we have lost, but through the experience, we have found new ways to love and appreciate each other.
After losing my younger sister, I have been so grateful to recall my childhood as I watch my son and daughter. Like my son, I was an older brother to a younger sister, though we were a little farther apart in age than my kids. My children’s particular existence has always been a great blessing in my life, but I consider it a providential gift to be able to see my kids and recall my childhood with my sister. It does not redeem the loss, but I am reminded that a longer narrative is at play—one that includes both sorrow and unexpected grace.
I don’t know what 2023 will bring. As we get older, we only become more aware of our mortality. But I pray that we also become more aware of God’s unique love for the “weary and burdened” and that we take opportunities to find and rest in God’s love.
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