Grief in the Garden

        

            As a deterrent for crime and rebellion, ancient Romans placed crucifixion crosses near main highways to remind their subjects of Rome’s power. Masses of residents and travelers passed by as Jesus hung in agony. A rocky skull watched His crucifixion.

            Etched into the towering rock, the skull’s black eyes peered at the people, cars, and busses of modern Jerusalem too. Just as in Jesus’ day, travelers and residents swarmed the city. The clamor of voices, horns, and engines marred my serenity.

            While meditating, I contrasted the uproar outside the walls with the peace inside the area of the Garden Tomb. I looked up and saw the skull staring my way.

            Paths wound through trees and flowers. Hidden benches invited visitors to pause and contemplate. A pocket of serenity in the turbulent city touched my grieving heart.

            On each pilgrimage to Israel, Alan and I relished our visits to the garden. It was a time to sing, pray, remember, and partake of communion with our group.

            Stone steps led down to the tomb. The low opening beckoned me to bend down and step inside. Carved into the rock were two small rooms. I stared at the bare, stone ledge. In my mind I saw His battered, bloody body. Lifeless. Cold.

            In the dimness of dawn, Jesus’s followers peered into the empty cave too. The women, Peter, and John searched for His body in the vacant cave where I stood.

         Just as they did so long ago, I also experienced puzzlement, uncertainty, and astonishment followed by joy.

            I longed to linger in the tomb. Remember His sacrifice. But lines of pilgrims waited. They traveled from around the world to see the tomb. Everyone looked inside. He wasn’t there.

            The garden offered peace from the chaos of the world. Its stillness enveloped me in my grief like it did years ago on a previous trip.

             When I learned of my aunt’s unexpected death during our trip, I went to the garden. While sitting on a secluded bench, I grieved her loss. I felt God’s presence in the tranquility. Nestled in areas of the garden, groups from around the world worshiped. Familiar music in many languages comforted me.

            On my latest trip, I grieved again for Alan and my parents. Though I hoped staying there would ensure my peace, I knew Jesus didn’t remain in the dark tomb or in the calmness of the garden. Neither would I.

            He rejoined His followers outside the garden. He empowered them with the Holy Spirit, gave them directions, and returned to His Father.

            Before our group got on the bus, my friend, Susie, joined me. Along with a few tears, I scattered part of Alan among the flowers in one of his favorite spots. A part of my grief was left in the garden with his ashes. The Holy Spirit was enabling me to move on too.

Again Jesus said, “Peace be with you: As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.”

And with that he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”

John 20: 21-23 NIV

Father, thank you for being with me in the tomb, in the garden, and in the struggles of my life. Amen

Time at the Garden of Gethsemane

They went to a place called Gethsemane, and Jesus said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” He took Peter, James, and John along with him, and he began to be deeply distressed and troubled. “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,” he said to them. “Stay here and keep watch.”

Going a little farther, he fell to the ground and prayed that if possible the hour might pass from him. “Abba, Father,” he said, “everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.”Mark 14: 32-36 NIV

            After the treacherous descent from the top of the hill, our tour group filed into the Garden of Gethsemane. We followed the sidewalk outside the fence which enclosed gnarled, two thousand year old olive trees. Their ancient limbs could have sheltered Jesus and His disciples during their times in the Garden.

            My grief journey took me to the place where Jesus felt sorrow and anguish the night He was betrayed. I volunteered to read the Scripture to our group about that night. It seemed appropriate for me to read about His sorrow and remember His suffering.

            Inside the dim church, I knelt near the rock where tradition says Jesus prayed. Iron thorns formed a crown around the dark rock. My hands clutched the thorns as I prayed. Tears flowed.

            I felt Jesus’ pain mingled with my own. Mine, though intense, didn’ t compare with His agony.

            In that silent, sorrowful place, the Holy Spirit comforted and strengthened me. My grief didn’t disappear but lessened. Jesus’ acceptance of His Father’s will helped me accept the losses of Alan, mother, and dad.

            Jesus faced His cup of sorrow. I had to face mine and accept a different life without those I loved. Suffering wasn’t removed but God remained with me.

Loving Father, thank you for walking with me and sharing in my grief. Amen  

The Walk Down the Mt. of Olives

            Clouds hovered. Light rain sprinkled our tour group as we retraced the steps of Jesus as He rode the donkey on Palm Sunday.

            Instead of walking easily and observing the area, like I did on previous trips to Israel, I took baby steps to keep from falling on the slippery surfaces. Our guide constantly reminded us to hold the handrails.

            Even with small, careful steps, I slipped. Because my hand clutched the rail, I didn’t fall. At breaks in the railing, we held onto each other.

            “Car coming,” someone yelled. “Get to the side.”

            We leaned against the walls of the narrow roadways. There was hardly room for cars and us on the tight turns. Blind curves made the journey down the Mt. of Olives more challenging.

            A friend lost her footing and fell to the pavement. Hands helped her up. She continued her downward trek.

            Extremely slick marble slabs led us into the Garden of Gethsemane. What a relief to safely arrive at the garden and church.

            On the descent, I focused on reaching the bottom safely. It was a treacherous, stressful trip. I hardly had time to remember Jesus’ descent with the enthusiastic crowd praising Him as He moved toward the city.

            Then I thought of how distressing that trip must have been for Jesus. The jubilant

multitude threw down palm branches and sang praises. Joy filled the air. Only He knew they would soon turn on Him and the agony ahead.

            Despite the exuberant crowd, He wept as they approached the city.

            “Go to the village ahead of you, and as you enter it, you will find a colt tied there, which no once has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying the colt?’ tell him, ‘The Lord needs it.’”     

            Those who were sent went and found it just as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?”

            They replied, “The Lord needs it.”

            They brought it to Jesus, threw their cloaks on the colt and put Jesus on it. As he went along, people spread their cloaks on the road.

            When he came near the place where the road goes down the Mount of Olives, the whole crowd of disciples began joyfully to praise God in loud voices for all the miracles they had seen:

            “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”

            “Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!”

            Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus, “Teacher, rebuke your disciples!”

            “I tell you,” he replied, “if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.”

            As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace-but now it is hidden from your eyes.”  Luke 19:30-42

Lord, thank you for the difficult journey and pain you endured for us. Our trials are nothing compared to yours. Amen

Spring Emerges

Let the morning bring my word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life. Psalm 143:8 NIV

            For a few minutes, a glowing pink and blue sky captivated me. Its vibrant colors reflected on the dark lake. 

            An annoying holler marred my peace. With feathers spread like a perfect Thanksgiving picture, the tom turkey’s boisterous yells proclaimed his presence.

            We stared at each other through the screen. Then he paraded from my house to my neighbor’s and back. Two females ignored his signals as they lowered their heads to eat from the ground.

            A flurry of tiny birds swept to the bare cypress trees along the shore. Their bodies formed silhouettes against the awakening sky.

            A fiery ball peeked through the trees and illuminated the yellow, pink, and purple flowers that had survived the winter. Buds of orchids and Easter lilies prepared to open. Teeny wisps of green clothed naked boughs.

            Touches of spring brought hope and encouragement. A reprieve from winter’s darkness and despair.

            The spring of grief brings glimmers of hope and encouragement too. A time of adjusting to a new life. Less intense sadness and optimism for the future. Not forgetting the past but moving on to opportunities to grow. Live again. See what God has planned.

            Grief, like spring, includes days that seem like winter. Gloom and sadness return but don’t linger.

Loving Father, thank you for carrying me through the pain of winter. Lead me into the season of spring. Amen

A Glorious New Day

For you will go out in joy, be led home in peace. And as you go the land itself will break out in cheer. The mountains and the hills will erupt in song, and the trees of the field will clap their hands. Isaiah 55:12 The Voice

An Artist’s canvas of pink and blue stretched above the lake. God’s artistry transformed the darkness into a magnificent masterpiece. Dawn wiped away yesterday’s sadness and tears and revealed a bright, new day.

After a week of special times with friends, the loneliness seemed more intense when everyone left. Silence replaced laughter and conversations Tears flowed. Grief overtook me. 

At the clubhouse, singing practice and line dancing class stifled the grief for a while. Talking with new friends helped. But back at home, tears returned.

Later in the evening my phone rang. “I was thinking of you and wondering how you were doing,” a friend said.

Tears choked me. I explained my recent sadness. Her kind words comforted me. Just like my beautiful sunrise, God provided a phone call when I really needed it.

She listened to the Holy Spirit’s nudge to call me. Since our friendship has mostly consisted of emails, the call more special and unusual. 

After a good night’s rest, comforting emails, phone calls, and time with my granddaughters, intense grief retreated for a time.

Heavenly Father, thank you for constantly providing for me through your children. Amen