Day 96- The Loneliest Mile

“But Mary Magdalene and the other Mary remained sitting there, facing the tomb.” Matthew 27:61

“One of the first signs of the beginning of understanding is the wish to die. This life appears unbearable, another unattainable. One is no longer ashamed of wanting to die; one asks to be moved from the old cell, which one hates, to a new one, which one will only in time come to hate. In this there is also a residue of belief that during the move the master will chance to come along the corridor, look at the prisoner and say: “This man is not to be locked up again, He is to come with me.”
― Franz Kafka, Blue Octavo Notebook

(Listen to “On the Nature of Daylight” while you read today’s piece)

A tomb is a place where the dead go to die. Where the soul leaves the body. Where breath is not present. Where life is no more.

Inside the tomb, there is hollow and darkness. No love, just pain. The hope of light is lost and the dawn of daylight is far away. We ache at the thought of our loved one being lost to the night forever, and grieve at the passage of time, the regret of loss, and the emotions which consume us. There is no cure for broken heartedness. There is only the passage of time.

While some of us flee and fail to grieve, move on with our daily lives to forget, others stay beside the grave, beside the tomb. We feel every bit of our grief, allow time to stop.

We allow our emotions to consume us, guard the headstone, and lay at the feet of the one we love. We mourn at loss, make peace with the sky, but cannot see its face. We miss the smell of life, the joy of closeness and the flesh that He once wore.

We are alone.

Sitting next to the tomb is unfulfilling and hollow, but we cannot move- He still beckons us. While others have gone astray, we remain embracing, steadfast and tears. It does not matter that there is just us. We guard Him now as we guarded Him then. The love still in our hearts. The wounds still in our hands. The eternity we still carry. The blood that sustains us, running through our veins.

We stay because He is our Master. We stay because He is our friend. We stay because never before have our hearts been touched in such a way as this.

We stay because it is alright to grieve.

Who else will guard His tomb? They have all went away- every one of them. We remain. The weak things of this world. The vision of two lowly women in the world’s eyes guarding the King of the Universe.

And even though a stone is in our way, the compulsion for it to move is greater. It is greater than us, of our souls and of our being. It is our fiat.

I will not leave Him because I love Him. Because He trusts me. Because He knows that I will stay.

Let the night bring His death but the day His resurrection. May I see what I cannot see now. The morning of hope. The fruit of loss. And the remembrance of everything that I have gained.

No, tomorrow is not promised but He is. I AM. Not I was. He is present, alive, here- yes, even in death.

In His finality I am sorrowful, but hopeful of his triumphant return. The strings of the violin, my tears, His pain, and the wood that bore His body. That is all gone now. So I will sit and wait for my heart to return to me. The lover of my soul. The one that knows every breath of me.

My love, you are the eternity in my heart. The song in my tears. You are everything. And I will wait until you rise again in your triumphant procession. The Easter that you created. The rising you predicted. I will use my tears to water the soil surrounding your grave.

Lord, you are and always will be the reason I exist, the cry of my heart, the depth of my soul. Your song is joy. The cross is my joy. Rest now my love while I sit by and let you sleep while I keep watch- as you do for me every moment of my life. I look forward to your coming, your awakening and mine, when we will see each other again face to face. When I will touch your lips and your hands.

You transcend time. 

My risen Savior, the tomb is just the beginning of your emergence. Your song. The silent way you tell us that everything will be o.k. I know that you have not forsaken me.

So I will remain sitting here, facing the tomb.

 

 

Let the Land Rest

but the seventh year you shall let it rest and lie still, the Lord

Exodus 23:11 (a)

It is hard to lie still, to wait for your dreams to come to fruition. As I lie still, I shake in anticipation of what is to come. But I have always seen the waiting time as something to dread, not something to behold or cherish…that was until this Lent. It is only Day fourteen and God is showing me the fruit of the desert.

In letting land lie, we trust in God’s ultimate providence, seeing that our labor of love for Him can be just as fruitful in rest. In listening to that still small voice, I hear God calling me to put down the tiller, drop it in fact. Rest my child, He says, the harvest is coming soon.

I cry out to God in wonder. I cannot see the fruit of my labor, or His, but He does. I do not see trees or plants or corn stalks. I do not see anything at all. But He tells me it is there and I believe Him, because He is God and I am not.

I stare into the wide open empty field, it looks abandoned, but it radiates with divine light. I have prayed over this field many times without realizing it. I have prayed and leaned into trusting God’s will- the great- big- open -empty field. I saw it as abandoned, he saw the fruit. I can now see the underground, the roots, the soil, all of it. Grace is the water, the new growth. But God’s hand is no mystery. God’s hand created that field and I am only a tenant of His Will (great credit to Matthew Poole’s commentary).

“Thou shall let it rest and lie still. By this kind of quit-rent they might be admonished that God alone was the Lord and Proprietary of the land, and they were only tenants of his will.” Matthew Poole’s Bible Commentary

And if I see myself as a tenant and not as the owner, I am free to trust in the work of His hands, in His great providence, in the great I AM. I am free to float on the earth, above the earth. I am simply…free.

And I feel myself floating above and looking down on this abandoned, empty field- and I am flying. There are souls buried deep within the land that do not know it. But I am praying for them alongside the Blessed Mother- Mary who cries next to me from the skies imploring me to pray her precious rosary. There are people’s souls at stake, we are at war.

It is Lent, a time to attend to Holy rest, a time to let the land sit and lie still. But we are in active rest- contemplation. We are engaged in a war against the devil for souls. Jesus in fact went into the desert led by the Holy Spirit to be tempted by the devil. There was great purpose in his preparation. This is the beginning of the ministry of Jesus Christ. Prepare me Lord, for I am weak. 

And as I hunger in each growing day of Lent, I see flowers in places where they shouldn’t be. They are not an imaginary oasis, they are faith buds that will bloom on the 41st day. God is preparing me for what is to come…

And so the land is not dormant, it is spiritually active. To the naked eye it is nothing, but to the one who sees with the divine eye it is an earthquake of activity. Can you see the dirt that has been cultivated beyond the surface?

Is that field the harvest of your soul?

In order to become great in God’s kingdom, you have to become a servant of the land. It is great divine work to cultivate that soil; denying self, forgiving those that don’t deserve it. Standing up for justice and righteousness; turning the other cheek. Shedding tears for the crown of thorns you sometimes must wear; knowing that blood must be shed for an undying. We rage for the unborn, for our marriages, for hungry children. We hate lawlessness. We are completely imperfect in our execution of it all. But this, this is our co-laboring in His majesty. This is our calling. This is His glory.

The land is untilled and fallow, but soon it will be rich and bountiful. The empty field is the face of God. The empty field is your destiny. The empty field is your down -on -your- knees -praying and feeling the soil.

Stay there and don’t move. The fruit will abound. Scream if you have to, but don’t move; and the angels will come to your side and minister to you. Child, this is just the beginning…