Be The Giftনমুনা

Jesus died crying.

Jesus died of a broken heart. Those words were still warm on His cracked lips: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46). The movement of a life of faith is always toward answering that singular question.

I can see that question hanging over our farm table, up in the gable, from that framed canvas of a thousand little broken squares of color. In the semi-abstract painting, there’s no tidy pattern, just light and dark bleeding into this subtle suggestion of Jesus hanging on the cross. He’s hoarse with the begging, for Himself, for us: “God, why have You abandoned Me?” And He surfaces in the patches of color, the broken brushstrokes, the silhouette of Him visible in the chaos—Christ entering  all this chaos.

There is the truth: Blessed—lucky—are those who cry. Blessed are those who are sad, who mourn, who feel the loss of what they love—because they will be held by the One who loves them. There is a strange and aching happiness only the hurting know—for they shall be held.

I believed this then and believe it now and I’d say I know it to be true—but there is more than believing—there is living what you believe.

Do I really?