Where Sorrow and Joy Meet
The gospel today opens in the healing pool of Bethesda. Here lay the lame, the sick, the crippled, all hoping for healing by immersing themselves in the water. There is a lot that could be reflected on in this story, but where my mind settles in contemplation today is the place itself. Bethesda is a place of contradiction, even the name says as much. House of Mercy is the name of this gathering place for the torment. And into the midst of this human suffering enters Jesus, so very human in his questioning of the man ill and forsaken.
In all completeness, Christ took on the fullness of our condition, with all its joy and all its misery. This tears open the wounds of my heart, especially this lent, especially right now. At the very heart of the story the beauty of the contradiction of the human experience is found - how long has the suffering of this man been? 38 years ill. How many since he has had a friend to lower him into the brief reprieve of the waters? And yet, the Healing Water comes to him. Joy enters into the house of Grief.
The paradox is this then, joy and sorrow can be held in our hearts at once. New life enters the world through the pangs of child birth; laughter rings through the halls of a wake. These are lamentations, so deep a wailing but covered with hope. Hope not for now, but for the future, a hope that joy has not departed forever.
But why? This is the question that lingers with me. If made to be with God in joy, why is sorrow so intricately woven into our condition? If asked in my theology class, I would talk to the boys of sin and choice, how God is extratemporal, seeing all of time at once, and how knowing is not causing.
But one does not heal a wounded soldier by speaking about medical theory. I think most of us at the moment bear spiritual wounds too deep for the theoretical. What we need is immediate pressure to the wound. I want concrete answers to the most basic question. Why?
If you came here for the answer, I am afraid I cannot provide it. I cling only to the knowledge that indeed we suffer, sometimes terribly, but we have a God who became one of us who took on all of our joy and suffering, hope and despair; for Jesus wept for his friends, and he wept when faced with what he would have to endure. And as we near the Passion of Christ, I am reminded that at the height of humanity’s story, love is poured out as life and death. Suffering and joy, meet.
In all completeness, Christ took on the fullness of our condition, with all its joy and all its misery. This tears open the wounds of my heart, especially this lent, especially right now. At the very heart of the story the beauty of the contradiction of the human experience is found - how long has the suffering of this man been? 38 years ill. How many since he has had a friend to lower him into the brief reprieve of the waters? And yet, the Healing Water comes to him. Joy enters into the house of Grief.
The paradox is this then, joy and sorrow can be held in our hearts at once. New life enters the world through the pangs of child birth; laughter rings through the halls of a wake. These are lamentations, so deep a wailing but covered with hope. Hope not for now, but for the future, a hope that joy has not departed forever.
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| Fr. C.A. Leininger, SJ Faculty Banquet 2017 |
But why? This is the question that lingers with me. If made to be with God in joy, why is sorrow so intricately woven into our condition? If asked in my theology class, I would talk to the boys of sin and choice, how God is extratemporal, seeing all of time at once, and how knowing is not causing.
But one does not heal a wounded soldier by speaking about medical theory. I think most of us at the moment bear spiritual wounds too deep for the theoretical. What we need is immediate pressure to the wound. I want concrete answers to the most basic question. Why?
If you came here for the answer, I am afraid I cannot provide it. I cling only to the knowledge that indeed we suffer, sometimes terribly, but we have a God who became one of us who took on all of our joy and suffering, hope and despair; for Jesus wept for his friends, and he wept when faced with what he would have to endure. And as we near the Passion of Christ, I am reminded that at the height of humanity’s story, love is poured out as life and death. Suffering and joy, meet.
Author: Gina Progar, Theology Department
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