Through Chaos To The Still Point

Matthew 4: 12-23 Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the lake, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled ‘Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles—the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.’ From that time Jesus began to proclaim, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.’

Someone I know is grieving deeply right now, grieving for the loss of a young man in his family, the second such loss within the short space of 6 months. In the middle of fresh grief such as this, there is very little one can say that will bring real comfort. Sudden and tragic death can never ‘make sense’ and even time cannot completely heal the wound; it will always be a wound that opens easily, often when least expected, bleeding out the bitter knowledge that the deep desire to behold the beloved alive and well again is one that will never be met on this side. Death has said, “No.”

Grief can come from so many situations other than physical death. The death of a marriage can be an awful grief. The loss of the ability to live independently is a huge grief. Deep, tearing, large and small grief can overwhelm us at every corner of life and, as Christians, we reach insistently to find a way to cope that brings us more clarity about who God is, who we are and where our hope lies. We don’t always realize it but what we desire is a way to make grief itself a holy place. Otherwise, there is no point.    

In this week’s Gospel, John had not yet been put to death but hearing the news of John’s arrest must have been a time of terrible grief for Jesus. Herod was not known to be a merciful man. He was a proud, cruel man and John had shamed him publicly. Jesus probably knew that John’s death was a certainty. Death had not yet arrived but a harsh death was certainly coming.

Jesus withdrew to Galilee. The Gospels make it sound like Jesus was a chess piece being physically moved into a certain area in order to fulfill Isaiah’s prophecies about the regions of Zebulun, Naphtali, the Jordan and Galilee. However, the parts that we really need to pay attention to are “Jesus withdrew” and “the people in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death, light has dawned.”

Jesus withdrew. He didn’t only head off into other physical lands; he withdrew into the land of grief, the region filled with the shadows of death. Jesus experienced grief so profound that he went off on his own to a place where only those who have experienced deep grief have ever gone. He went into the canyons of crying out for the loss of one who was too young for the finality of death. He ached until his bones felt crushed for John who was alone, uncertain and frightened. He was stunned by the finality and cruelty of a brutal death. And, like all who have ever grieved for someone who has died or is facing death, he encountered the stark reality of his own death and had to grapple with his own faith that the promise he received was real, the promise that he would indeed rise again after his own death and this rising again would become John’s salvation and would bring John into the arms of the Father. Being comforted by the belief that someone we love is in the arms of a loving Father only brings full comfort if we truly believe that we too will encounter those same arms when we die. Everyone’s death is in some way our own. 

John’s arrest and finally his death was Jesus’ as well. This was not a Lazarus event. This was Jesus pushing into the human condition and confronting it in all its pain, reality and apparent futility. This was Jesus forging through to the crushing center and pushing all the pain, grief and sorrow through the portals of heaven to the place where nothing is lost and all becomes life of the deepest kind. He went where we all must go at least once in our lifetime. Long before he went to the cross, he entered into our private hells of human sorrow and in doing so, created a place that was no longer the end. He made it the beginning of new life.

“From that time Jesus began to proclaim, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”
He proclaimed these words with an authority that can only come from one who has suffered through to a point beyond what we can humanly perceive yet are invited to experience through our own grief. It is a place where we lose all that we thought we were and all that we thought was central to a happy life. It’s a place where death is not a final wall we crash against but a door to the whole kingdom. It’s where we find that Joy can be serious and Dignity wears simple and often ragged robes. It’s a place where we lose our baggage and become increasingly able to travel light. It’s a place where we begin to understand that in the kingdom, authority flows from having nothing. It’s a place of immense simplicity.

One who has known grief and has struggled through to the still point of knowing nothing matters except being naked before the power of the Giver of all life, is one who can say with moving authority “The Kingdom of heaven has come near. I know this because I have gone there and I now carry it within me. It is the only thing worth carrying, the only ‘baggage’ you will ever need. Repent. Turn around and enter in with your grief, your pain and your wounds.”

The world has a phrase that has done untold damage to our psyches: “Get over it.” Just get over your pain and struggles and get on with life. Jesus never says that. Never! He says, “I have been there and I know what you are going through. I made a path through it but you still need to go through it to get to the place I have prepared for you, a place of great sanctity, a place of strong light for your darkness – a still point. You will find me there and you will find your true self there.”

When we feel like we have to ‘get over it’, feelings and emotions are denied and trampled. Jesus holds our emotions and pain with great respect and love. They are not feelings to get over but to go through. They are the very material that God uses to create new and deeper life within us. The Spirit hovers over our chaos and prepares it for the creative Word. We must not deny our own chaos but move through it in its totality as Christ did, respect it as much as Christ does and love ourselves through it in the same way Christ does.

There is a door on the other side. It’s open and the light of dawn is visible. It has been opened  –  for you.