yet also the bloodiness of his sufferings...
Thus he is uniquely presented to us as the center of both glory and scorn,
of strength and weakness.
It is beauty before His Father, beauty equal as God,
yet also beauty in his humanity. It is likewise expressed in his miracles,
and yet also in his sufferings. It is expressive of his ascension into the heavens,
and yet also of his descent into hell..."
So wrote Jacques-Benigne Bossuet (1627-1704), Bishop of Paris, in a letter giving spiritual direction to a young woman that had asked him for guidance in 1662. My wonderful husband read this letter to me last Sunday morning, as we sat on the old couch right outside our chalet, preparing ourselves to gather with God's people in worship. It was a good thing, too.
Sometimes it can feel like my difficulties are being ignored by God. Can't he see how hard this circumstance is? Where are the rewards for all of my past obedience? Why hasn't God intervened to make things easier, when I know he could?
These have been the majority of my thoughts since landing in Switzerland. And then, a French Bishop from over 300 years ago draws a picture of Jesus as bloody and something changes in me. I begin to imagine God as very present in all struggle- and in my struggle. Instead of seeing God as ignoring my difficulties, or refusing to help (as it can sometime seem)- I start to realize he is already present there. I see again that our Father in heaven, our brother, Jesus- are revealed as Ones in the center of the crap of this world. Not distant from it.
When the airline ruins the possibility of your beloved pet accompanying you on your uber-stressful international move, when your stove doesn't work and you are required to feed 30 people in a few hours, when an idea you're excited about gets shot down painfully, when all your appliance instructions are in German and you don't yet have the internet for the hope of translating, when you remember (with an ache) that your Mom is 4,000 miles away and 6 hours behind you, when your bathtub won't spew out enough water for a few desperate moments of peace soaking in a bath, when the grocery clerk yells at you in French and you realize they're closing now and your basket only has about 1/3 of what you need, when your heart is whispering: "Where is He now?" ...it is then that you want to cry out loud-
"My God, why have you forsaken me?"
Thank you, Jesus.
"My God, why have you forsaken me?"
...
But thankfully, then the 300 year old French Bishop shouts across the ages, showing you (me) again that it was Jesus Himself that asked that question. He entered that black hole of abandonment, so that, as Von Balthasar would say-- "in the future all falling would be a falling into him..."
Thank you, Jesus.
