Running Toward the Danger: Grief

Dear Readers, thank you for joining me as we continue “Running Toward the Danger.” We are looking at the ministry of Jesus through ficitonalized perspectives of those who were front and center, based on Scriptural accounts, and research. What began as a Lenten series has become an honest look at some of the powerful emotions, and their dangers, that most of us encounter during life’s journeys.

Each post includes its primary Scripture notation, a perspective, and questions for thought. My goal is to offer new insights into the ministry of Jesus as He chose to fulfill His Heavenly Father’s purpose for Him by running toward the danger for each of us . . . and to offer encouragment that He is with us as we confront dangers in our own lives.

Josheph of Arimathea’s Perspective

The Danger of Grief

Scripture Reference: John 19:38-40

Perspective

It wasn’t enough; none of it had ever been enough. Oh, sure, I’d gotten really good at the charade, at playing the game. Underneath, deep inside where it counts, my spirit was shrivelling up like a fig left on the ground.

I took pleasure . . . and pride, forgive me, Lord, from my work on the Jewish council in the Sanhedrin. Having the respect of peers and countrymen can be heady stuff. It was great for a while, great until a twinge of longing began. Wealth didn’t seem to satisfy it. Riches seemed to tarnish in my hands. A growing realization that a distant familial relationship had been neglected too long started to gnaw at me.

And then there He was. He was at the Temple, brave and strong and passionate. His name was on the lips of people in the markets, travellers to Jerusalem, and eventually. . . uttered with disdain among Jewish leaders: Jesus.

The void within me strained toward Jesus’s message of salvation and hope, a drowning spirit grasping at the rope of redemption. One day, I finally took a chance and slipped away to a nearby hillside to hear the words of Jesus for myself. He called Himself, “Living Water,” and I wanted to drink deeply. Suddenly, I was not alone; shadows of powerful Jewish leaders cloistered around me. Fear drug me from His presence. It threatened to destroy me.

Now I understand what I didn’t understand then. Jesus knew, He knew all along about my shrivelling spirit. He knew my longing and my pain. He knew I fled the hillside in fear of being seen by colleagues who hated Him. Jesus sought me until He found me in the marketplace. Among tapestries and fruits, fragrant oils and chickens, amid sounds of bartering, neighborly gossip, and laughter, Jesus found me.

A handful of grain and fistful of coins splashed to the ground at the unexpected hand on the sleeve of my priestly robe. Here He was, right beside me, offering all my heart desired with only His touch and eyes of compassion. Inwardly, everything changed. . . outwardly, not so much. Fear threatened to trample my newborn faith.

In the days ahead, Jesus ran headlong into the dangers of political intrigue coupled with religious jealousy. Again and again, he breached the steps of the Temple, then shredded false piety with the resurrection of Lazarus. Before I could catch my breath or collect my thoughts, Jesus was seized, tried and crucified while I remained hunkered down with my fears.

Grief consumed me in the agonizing hours He hung on the cross. A hiss in my ear taunted, “Too late. You had your chance to follow him, but now it’s too late. There’s nothing you can do now. It’s over, for him and for you.”

The danger of grief is that it’s like a wound to the belly. You can lie there and suffer a long, slow death, or you can do something about it. In that moment, the cauterizing hand of God reached out to the infant faith within me. A knowing beyond reason began to grow.

Everything in me clicked; it all made sense. . . and I knew what I had to do. Nothing was over without the Lord’s benediction.

The prestige and possessions, even the distant family connection, now came suddenly into play. God had a plan all along, and Jesus had been privy to it. They gave me the terrible, tender work of claiming and preparing my Savior’s body from the cross where He chose to bear my sins.

If I had to describe God in one word it would be mercy. It was His overwhelming mercy that drew me from the danger of grief, of the anguishing death to my spirit. It was mercy that gave me purpose, and the means to complete it for His glory.

Question(s) for Thought

Grief has many facets, many of them razor sharp, cutting to the quick. Describe a time of past grief in your life, and how you got through it.