Reading: Luke 8
God came to my home last night.
She had no where else to go, no where safe to sleep, so She honoured us by allowing us to share our home with her.
We ate, laughed and joked, tried to put two crazy kids to bed, and had tea together. And as the night wore on the Divine shared with us Her grief, stories of the suffering she endured, the pain she bore witness to, the scars she wore.
There is something sacred, and holy, about sharing space with the Divine as she grieves. To sit with Her as She cries, to allow Her sobs to fill the silence, relinquishing our instinct to Do, accepting that in the face of the Divines own sorrow, all that is left to us is to Be.
In the face of such Divine heartache, there is very little that you and I can do. Words are empty, actions are to late, but in the moment of grief, presence is healing.
The Divine does not ask that we fix what cannot be undone, she simply asks that we sit with Her. That we resist pushing past Her grief, that we refrain from distracting from Her sorrow. And instead, that we give Her the gift of our presence, that we stay with Her in the midst of it all, that we listen, choosing to bear witness to what has been and what is.
This is not an easy task.
As I read today’s passage I was reminded of how often Jesus moves towards those who suffer, placing Himself in proximity to those who share in the Divines grief. To be with the Divine in Her sorrow, took time, it meant allowing His days to be disrupted, and His plans to fall apart.
Being available, and open, to grieving with the Divine comes at a cost, but when we accept the invitation, when we share space with One Who Suffers, we are given a gift too sacred to turn away.
The gift of the Divine’s presence.
And who would spurn such a prize.