Luke 23:1-49
A speaker at a lecture I recently attended pointed out that there are two emotions that we are meant to cultivate, two emotions that come up again and again in Jesus’s life and in his preaching. Joy, and grief. Blessed are those who mourn. Rejoice and be glad. Blessed are you who weep now for you will laugh. Rejoice and leap for joy. Mourning, weeping, laughter, gladness. Grief and joy — these are the emotions privileged and blessed in the Beatitudes. These are the emotions we see most vividly in Jesus from the beginning of his ministry to the moment he breathes his last. Jesus rejoices with the newlyweds at Cana, laughs and plays with the children others tried to hush. Jesus weeps when confronted with the grief of his friends and grieves the misunderstanding of his disciples. Jesus grieves the suffering of his people and rejoices with them when they find healing in his presence. Jesus receives with gladness the anointing of his body by the unnamed woman and mourns the betrayal of his friends. Joy, and grief. These most human emotions, breaking forth from the heart of the Divine.
Experts in human psychology tell us that Joy and Grief are inextricably linked. You cannot have one without the other, you cannot prevent one without inhibiting the other. When we cut ourselves off from our grief- grief about the pains of the world, grief about our own losses, grief about the ways we fail one another- we cut ourselves off also from joy. When we forbode our joy- anxiously obsessing over every possible thing that could go wrong, rehearsing worst-case scenarios, coming up with every reason we might not deserve the good things- we become incapable of fully experiencing life at all. To be fully human, to be fully ourselves, we must grieve. We must rejoice. These are the emotions we must cultivate, the humanity we must embrace, if we desire to be anything like Jesus. We cannot follow him if we do not know how to mourn and rejoice.
The cycle of the church year, for many of us, is punctuated by the joyful occasions of Christmas and Easter. Those of us who are a bit more contemplative in nature might also observe Lent, and the very dedicated might be able to remember to light their Advent wreath every week in between gift shopping and baking and decorating. Collectively, we come together to rejoice at Christmas and Easter, at baptisms and weddings. We have clear and consistent opportunities to cultivate joy. But what about grief?
Aside from funerals, which often happen right at the height of mourning and shock after a loss, we do not have a lot of cultural opportunities to cultivate grief. In fact, our culture avoids it at all costs. Grieving, weeping, crying- these are activities best done in private, or at the very least covered with tissues and dark glasses and “I’m fine.” The hard stories, the sad hymns, the quiet liturgies are cause for complaint, if not skipped entirely. The news wears us down, our lives are full of burdens, we want to come to church on Sunday morning and be uplifted. We want the joy, Welcome Happy Morning, amen, repeat. But remember, we cannot experience joy if we spend all our time trying to avoid and prevent grief.
So the wisdom of centuries and generations has offered up Holy Week for our consideration. A 7 day stretch that is meant to be different from other weeks, the one week each year that Christians around the world set aside for the cultivation of grief. It is no accident that the Holy Week story begins with glory laud and honor. Our drama begins with rejoicing, a small rehearsal of the kind of exuberance with which we will greet the Easter proclamation. Jesus enters the city to the joyful praise of the whole multitude of his disciples, a moment so filled with joy that were the human voices to cease, the very stones would rejoice.
And then we turn the page, and the grief begins. Betrayal, threats of physical violence, wrongful arrest and imprisonment, beatings and mockery, interrogation, accusation, torment, execution, death. The daughters of Jerusalem weep, and the tenderhearted among us shed tears of our own. From now until Easter morning, we walk with Christ and the Church through grief. We walk with one another through the one emotion we would all rather avoid. We allow the tears to fall, salty reminders of the waters of baptism through which we are one Body with one another in Christ. We cultivate the grief so that we can recognize the joy when it comes. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will rejoice.
Mother A Writes 