Before the Dawn

"An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him." Luke 22:43

"It's always darkest before the dawn." "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." "This too shall pass." Platitudes. They seem to fill the charged-static of the air when tragedy strikes. We mean well but are uncomfortable with suffering and with silence.

The modern American has not been equipped to face personal adversity or the adversity of others, even when it is embedded into the bedrock of our nation. There is no lack of tragedy in our world. Everyday: fighting, crime, violence, disaster.

Is there an opportunity to offer more than empty words, platitudes, mindless promises? "It's God's will." "It's all for the best." "It isn't as bad as it seems." Shards of glass to the hurting soul, how can this be for the best? Betrayal and deceit, how can my suffering be God's will? Humanity blinded by hopelessness, anger, torment, seems pretty bad.

Here’s an idea… What if we just embraced the yuck? What if we sit in the hurt with the hurting? Just sit in it, like sitting in a puddle, in the middle of a rainstorm. Not running for cover. Not trying to protect ourselves from the elements. Letting the hurt, the yuck, the injustice, the pain seep into our bones, permeate our marrow. What if, like a stain, hurt became part of our very fabric? What if we kept our mouth shut and opened our heart? It would mean subjecting ourselves to the grief of another human's existence, as if our own existence isn't brutal enough. Hard. Uncomfortable. Foreign.

But what if maybe, just maybe, our silence, our support, our open heart was the lifeline the suffering heart needs? A camaraderie. A hope of community in suffering. Hope springs eternally in the human condition. It's what causes us to "pick ourselves up by the bootstraps", "dust ourselves off and start all over again." Put our heads down and diligently do the work set before us until the natural rhythm of life returns.

At the Mount of Olives, Jesus of Nazareth asked his most trusted friends to pray for him. Simple. A request for prayer. Jesus was at a crossroads and knew unequivocally what would happen in the days to come.

He was so anguished that this is when he sweat drops like blood. An angel was sent from Heaven to bolster his spirit. He was in the depths of grief. Just like many are today. Jesus--fully man, fully God--desired support from those he loved, not platitudes, not good intentions. Just a willing spirit. A prayer.

Unfortunately, his followers were not up to the task. In his greatest need, they slept… as he was ministered to by angels.

We know the end of the story, but how could it have been different if the disciples had ministered to Jesus in the way he asked? How would he have been blessed by it? How would they?

This was not an exemption from the pain that would come at Calvary. The disciples wept after the crucifixion of the Promised One. Their hopes were utterly smashed, demolished, bled-dry on a Roman Cross. Their teacher, the one whom they expected to deliver them from their suffering was taken from them brutally. The tables turned. They became the ones in need. Comfort. Compassion.

What an indescribable event it must have been when their weeping was turned to joy and their ashes were made beautiful. They endured the grief and loss of their Rabboni, but unlike when he asked for their support, he gave them his when he stepped out of the grave to comfort them in their greatest time of need.