Luke 24:13-35
Third Sunday of Easter
In Paris, a week ago Thursday, a man got out of a car, and shot directly at a police officer. ISIS claimed responsibility for the attack that also wounded two others. On Tuesday, there was a national ceremony to honor the slain officer. In the silent courtyard, the officer’s husband, Etienne, spoke to his partner, Xavier. ” Xavier, on Thursday morning, as always, I left for work, and you were still sleeping. Over the course of the day, we talked about our plans to go on holiday to a country far away. You told me that you were excited, and that you had never been so far away. I returned home that evening without you, with an extreme and profound pain that maybe one day will weaken. I don’t know. When the first messages appeared that warned Parisians that a serious event was ongoing on the Champs Élysée and that a police officer had lost his life, a little voice told me it was you…. I want to tell you that you will stay in my heart forever. I love you….”[1]
Now on that same day, we are told. It was the same day that Mary Magdalene and several others had gone to Jesus’ tomb with spices and ointments to anoint Jesus’ lifeless body, but the body was not there. Cleopas and another person were headed from Jerusalem to Emmaus. A stranger joined the two disciples as they were walking, and asked them what they were talking about. They told him about all the recent events–Pilate wanting to release Jesus, and the people shouting “Crucify him!” They spoke of Jesus on the cross, with a criminal hanging to his left and another on his right, how at noon the sun’s light failed, and Jesus took his last breath. But we had hoped, they said.
They spoke their grief. We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. We had hoped to go on holiday to a country far away. We had hoped to get pregnant. We had hoped our marriage would last all of our days. We had hoped the tests would come back negative. But we had hoped she would stop drinking. But we had hoped. It is a statement of loss. But we had hoped speaks of shattered dreams, and a future that will never be.
What have you lost? How have you mourned that loss? Loss comes in all shapes, and colors, and sizes. While we all will experience loss, we are not always ready to experience grief, either our own or someone else’s. Our culture is much better at hiding our emotions than revealing our vulnerability.
We don’t know what to expect and how to respond. “I know what you are going through” is a false statement; no one person grieves like another person does. There are people who cry uncontrollably and others who don’t cry at all. Some people stay in shock for a while, unable to process what has happened. Although we all cope in our own way, you can expect someone suffering from a loss to be forgetful, and not as adept to handle stress. Many people find comfort in talking about their memories of the one who died.
Contrary to a popular theory, grieving is not a linear process, passing through one stage on to another. There is no standard time-table for grieving. There is no moving on, no getting over a significant loss as if it never happened, as if a door is shut and there will be closure. There is only moving forward, incorporating your loss into your present reality. Death is a loss that can leave a hole in our heart for the rest of our lives.
Sheryl Sandberg, who is ranked by Fortune Magazine as one of the 50 “Most Powerful Women in Business,” was on vacation with her husband in Mexico when he suffered a heart event that caused him to fall and hit his head. He died at age 47 years, leaving behind his wife and two young children. A few months after his death, Sheryl wrote about her experience:
I have learned that I never really knew what to say to others in need. I think I got this all wrong before; I tried to assure people that it would be okay, thinking that hope was the most comforting thing I could offer. A friend of mine with late-stage cancer told me that the worst thing people could say to him was “It is going to be okay.” That voice in his head would scream, How do you know it is going to be okay? Do you not understand that I might die? I learned this past month what he was trying to teach me. Real empathy is sometimes not insisting that it will be okay but acknowledging that it is not. When people say to me, “You and your children will find happiness again,” my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, “You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good” comfort me more because they know and speak the truth. Even a simple “How are you?”—almost always asked with the best of intentions—is better replaced with “How are you today?” When I am asked “How are you?” I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear “How are you today?” I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.[2]
While they were talking about all that had happened, and still looking sad, Jesus drew near. They did not know it was Jesus walking with them in their grief. And Jesus remembered the tears he wept when his friend Lazarus died. He thought about the pain in his mother’s eyes as she watched his life drain out of him on the cross. But we had hoped, the two travelers confessed to this stranger. The crucified Jesus, the resurrected Jesus, stayed with them.
At the table, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. This is my body given for you. Their eyes were opened, and they knew. They knew God’s love for them. Their eyes were opened and they saw that, joined to Christ in the waters of baptism, they were, we are, clothed in God’s mercy and forgiveness. They knew that nothing would ever separate them from God’s love, not death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation.[3]
But we had hoped, the disciples said, not realizing that God had done something better than they could ever hope for. We are Easter people! He is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!
[1] http://digg.com/2017/paris-policeman-eulogy, accessed April 19, 2017.
[2] http://www.businessinsider.com/sheryl-sandbergs-essay-on-dave-goldbergs-death-and-grief-2015-6 accessed April 17, 2017.
[3] Romans 8:38-39