Friday 3 April 2015

Don't worry... start mourning

I wonder how many times a day, a week, a month, you speak, or hear, the words, "don't worry"? Probably quite a few. Sometimes its use is entirely justified; we tend to spend a lot of time pointlessly worrying.

But sometimes those words can be thoughtless, inappropriate, or even unloving. Why do we tell people not to worry? Is it sometimes, perhaps, because we don't want to deal with the fact that they are going through something that there isn't an answer for? Something that actually requires us to stop and acknowledge that sometimes, a lot of the time, this life is full of sadness? Something that we can't "fix", and makes us feel sad too?

All too often we express the sentiment that when someone is struggling with something, it's a case of "mind over matter", that you "just have to get on". I know that when I get hung up on things that really don't matter and I'm blowing them out of proportion, these trite sayings can be applicable and relevant. But much of the time someone "getting on" isn't possible until those around them have stopped to acknowledge the reality of the pain and heartache they are going through and committed themselves to grieve it and endure it by their side.

It's not something a lot of us are comfortable doing. It requires us to stop pretending life's always ok, to drop the pretence that we're always fine, and ultimately it requires us to be sad too, at least for a time.

Matthew 5:4 reads,
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted".
What are we called to mourn here? We mourn our own sin and that of others. We mourn the devastation a sin-sick world suffers. We are called to grieve the terrible results of our own selfish hearts and the suffering that shows itself in every facet of the world around us.

This means that when my friend tells me her child has been diagnosed with a serious illness, the sentences I utter in response shouldn't start with the words "At least..." "Try not to worry" or "She's in the best hands". It means that if we know someone who is going through a divorce we don't just tell them it's all in God's plan. It means that if you have a relative who is going through the pain of infertility you don't just read out the verse that says it's for their good. We don't try and "fix" it first and foremost, because we can't.

No, we are called to mourn, and to mourn with them. To mourn the bodies that are mortal and frail, to mourn the torture of a broken family, to mourn the heartache of a barren womb. We must give validation to the legitimacy of people's pain in the midst of a fallen world.

What we mustn't do is tell them not to worry.

Worrying isn't the question in situations like this; mourning is. Feeling the devastation of utter grief is not the same as worrying. Difficult emotions are not in themselves a sign that someone isn't trusting God and don't warrant a call to "let go and let God". They are a sign that someone is being called through the refiner's fire, and that we must walk with them as much as we can.

It's hard, because it means shattering our comfortable, British illusion that life is good, that we can make it good and keep it good. That as long as we have the right house, the right money and the right family, we'll be ok. It means facing the reality that we have little control over events that can turn our world upside. It means accepting that any day, any week, any month, we could receive that diagnosis or lose that child.

It also means feeling, by proxy, a shadow of the feelings those close to us go through when they suffer. And that's not comfortable.

Today is "Good Friday", a day when we particularly remember Jesus Christ dying on the cross. All the sin of his people was heaped on him, his perfect body and soul turned rotten by our depravity.

If there was ever an occasion to mourn, it was that day at Calvary, watching an innocent man, the Son of God, being killed by the Romans having been betrayed by his own people. If there was ever a time to feel the pain, the grief, of a fallen world it was that dark afternoon when the source of life itself became death.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted".
But they will be comforted. Why? Because death wasn't the end for Jesus Christ. He came back to life, bringing the sure hope of new life forever for those who believe in Him.

We mourn now, but we will be comforted. The Cross gives us comfort even now as we know that despite the trials we go through, we have been saved from the very sin that is the root of those trials. But how much more we will be comforted in Heaven, when the cause of all our mourning is no more and the reason for our comfort is eternally present with us.

It would have been ridiculous to say to Jesus' followers (or even Jesus himself) at Golgotha, "Don't worry! He's coming back in a couple of days". The fact of his impending resurrection did not negate or cancel the seriousness of the sadness of Good Friday.

But thank God, "they will be comforted". Everyone has cause to mourn at one time or another. Life is hard. The Good News, and the reason it's called Good Friday, is that if we trust in Jesus, there's comfort to follow.