I love the idea that death doesn’t have the final say.  That sometimes our biggest losses end up part of some tremendous gain.  I’m no militant optimist, and I won’t try to smooth over pain by saying it’s all for some greater good, all part of a bigger plan—for us or anyone else.  Sometimes pain is just pain, I think.  But I can speak to my experience.

I can talk about the darkest, darkest night that was my early twenties.  About wanting to be dead. 

About having no more tears to cry, and then crying more.  No sense of self, and then watching more unravel.

I can talk about a longing that goes so deep there isn’t any bottom to it.  Fear of every kind.

Death.  That’s what my winter felt like.  Or maybe worse than death, because death seems a lot more kind. 

I’m not in winter now, though.  Seasons changed, and the death in my life is being undone.  And I almost hate saying it because I wouldn’t wish death on a single soul, but I swear the joy I feel in this season has a lot to do with the depth of my suffering in the last.  Andrea posted a Gibran quote the other day that says this so eloquently:

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven? And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives? When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Sorrow is the greater." But I say unto you, they are inseparable. Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your head board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed. So you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy. Only when you are empty are you at a standstill and balanced."

I don’t know whether Jesus rose from the dead.  What I do know is the story’s true.  The meaning of it.  Death and awfulness are real to the very core.  Past that, even, beyond what anyone anywhere should ever have to endure.  And resurrection happens.  Hope won’t stay dead.  Sometimes it’s broader than a single life, but I think it’s deeply true. 

I think it’s true that those who suffer have a great, great capacity for joy.

This entry was posted on Monday, April 17th, 2006 at 10:00 am and is filed under Healing, Psychology, Religion/Spirituality. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.