On Holy Saturday

Post by Joe on FB 3/30/2013

Earlier today I shared a link to a column from Fr. Jim Martin, SJ, (http://americamagazine.org/node/128394) in which the author talked about our lives essentially being a series of Holy Saturdays. In short, few of our days have the agony of Good Friday, and few of our days have the joy of the risen Christ of Easter Sunday. So most of our days are spent in the middle, wondering, and waiting. It's a theme my parish priest has shared with us for years, but one that didn't make sense to me until this date in 2011. I didn't even realize until late this evening that Fr. Martin's message is so incredibly relevant to me on this date.

Two years ago tonight - really, at exactly the hour I am writing this, 10 p.m. - I was in the ER at Wood County Hospital, joking around with nurses after I'd had the first abdominal scan of my life. They were looking for what the doctor thought might be a burst appendix. I knew better. I knew there was nothing wrong with me.

And then, just before 11 p.m., the ER doc came in with the gravest face I'd ever seen to that point. Cutting straight to the chase, she told me that I had a very large tumor growing out of the kidney, and into the inferior vena cava; that it in all likelihood was cancerous, and that that evening, I would be admitted to a hospital for the first time in my life. That night, and the following three or four days, were the most definite Good Friday I have experienced in my life. Doubt, anguish, pain (both real and imagined), and fear, fear, and fear were at the forefront throughout the period before surgery, during surgery, in the recovery from surgery, and then in the close call with death with the DVT on May 1; and the first notation of the nodules on the lungs just before Memorial Day.

The funny thing is, Fr Mark was right again, from the very beginning of 31 March 11 when he came up to visit me at the hospital; we have to go through Good Fridays to get to our Easter Sundays. In those first few days after diagnosis, my faith (if not always my religiousity) was guided to new places. In almost every way, my experience was the cliche experience of the person who finds God 'for real' in the tough times; when they diagnose you with something that has an 80 percent chance of ending your life, I think that's pretty much de rigueur. But I don't think that's the way it went down. I think, in almost every way, God found me. Not that he ever lost me, or loses any of us, of course. But He's always there, and He's always ready to give us a hug when we need it, and a Band-Aid when we're hurt, and stroke our hair when we're crying. We get hung up on the role of God the Rule-Maker, God the Disciplinarian, God the Head of the Holy Roman Church. But what's the prayer we say all the time? What's the only role Jesus sought to emphasize? Well, we don't pray the "Our Disciplinarian"...

The image of God the Father I have found particularly interesting in these past two years. Those who are parents will know exactly what I am talking about; that no matter how much they drive you crazy, there is absolutely nothing as powerful in your life as the love you have for your children. And every time they break a rule, every time they drive you crazy by kicking each other in the nuts, at the end of the day, your love is unconditional. You want to be in dialogue with them, you cherish their successes, you take too many pictures because you're fascinated with them, you call them to hear their voices, you do what you can to make them better people, and you're there for them when they fail at that... in our best moments in the role of parent, of father, there is no self.

So at my worst moments, when I wonder 'why me?' - the moments when His only son pleaded that this cup be taken away; the moments when His only son asked why He had forsaken him - I try to remember that NO dad wants ill to befall his children. I certainly didn't want Mark to fall yesterday; I didn't want Ellie to break her arm. But just as I will do whatever I can to be there for my kids when they're hurt, so God is there for all of us. From that, comes the harder part. How many of us, as parents, have had the crying, screaming kid, writhing in agony? And how many times do we say "Calm down! Calm down! Stop crying! Listen to me! Listen! Shhhhh!" I'm pretty sure God is telling us the same thing in ALL of our Good Fridays. 

Ultimately, we're all heading for the ultimate Easter Sunday, eternal life in God, and with any luck, in the hearts of those we touched along the way. But along the way, there are tons of other Easter Sundays; unexpected or renewed friendships, finding a deep sense of community, finding a purpose in one's work, and as Katie and I found this week, the gobsmacking power of surprise from all of those places! And, by the way, as soon as we find out who all of you are, we WILL be getting in touch with you!!!!

So that's the Good Fridays and Easter Sundays. What are we supposed to do on our numerous Holy Saturdays? Fr. Jim Martin says we're supposed to wait in a sense of hope; to look "carefully for the signs of new life that are always right around the corner." This week - which I didn't even realize until late tonight was the anniversary of my first great big Good Friday - I hope I spent more than less of my past two years doing that; enjoying moments of God that I think I used to overlook. Watching the lobsters fight at Kroger. Riding bikes in an empty parking lot on a sunny day. Getting extra sprinkles on my ice cream cone. Choosing love over fear. Chasing the kids around the park. Getting good-naturedly frustrated about basketball with friends. Having a nice, long walk. And waiting hopefully.