Lenten Reflections

What Do We Do Now?

I often feel a heaviness during Holy Week that is tied explicitly to this week, but not in the way you might think. I’m not pondering the suffering and death of Jesus, but instead I’m recalling the death of my sister Martha.

It was Easter week, 1971. We were making the annual drive to spend the week with my grandparents in Orange, Texas, when another vehicle tried to cross the highway in front of us. Martha suffered internal injuries that couldn’t be repaired. The rest of us had minor cuts and bruises, but our hearts were broken in a way we never anticipated.

Until then, life was great. I had a loving mother and father, a brother and sister, four doting grandparents. We had a nice house in a new neighborhood with good schools and plenty of playmates. It was all so perfect. And then all of that was shattered and the life we thought was going to stretch out before us was gone forever. There would be life, but it would be different: sad, empty and far less than perfect.

I believe what we felt at that time is not unlike what Jesus’ disciples and close followers felt when they saw him die on the cross. I imagine that as they huddled in a room together, the waves of sorrow and disbelief washed over them time and time again, much like it did that first night and the nights that followed Martha’s death. Not only was their relationship severed, but their vision of God’s glorious kingdom on earth was shattered. Nothing would be the way they thought it would be. How could they possibly go on? Why would they even try?

They did, and we did, because there’s a second half to this story that I’ll share on Saturday. But right now, like the disciples, we must wait in the dark for Easter.