A Virtual Church

We need a little Easter

April 17, 2025

My Lenten discipline this year is one I would not have chosen. Processing the death of a grandson is harder than fasting from chocolate. Hart died February 18. He was 30 years old.

Our family is not the only family to process grief. There is grief for all the children killed in useless wars. There is grief in unexplained job loss. Grief among the immigrants’ families as they cope with loved ones who have been taken away. Grief comes with unexpected diagnoses. We grieve the loss of our pets. I expect grief is something people feel when their integrity is co-opted and they lose who they are.

Grief and loss are the part of living we dread. A good theology teaches us that bad things happen to good people. And death comes to each of us. We learn that grief and loss are beyond our understanding, part of the mystery that is life. Grief is the price of love.

For all the years I spent in ministry with the dying, I thought I understood grief. It’s a lot different being on the pulpit side of dying than on the people side. I feel like I am learning something every day.

One thing I have learned is the power of presence. Most people have trouble with words to offer. Some words are not helpful – like the “God needed another angel” stuff. We think God could have waited fifty or more years to get an angel like Hart.

It’s the people who come alongside in quiet presence that help. It’s the cards and the prayers that help. We are blessed to have had all the support of family, neighbors and friends in this time.

We are striving to live a “good grief.” Grief that honors God and remembers all the goodness Hart was in his brief life. We are hoping not to be “fragile.”

 Part of Lent has been reading a book, All Shall Be Well,” by Emma Pennington reflecting on the Divine Revelations of Julien of Norwich. Two of the chapters spoke to me. One chapter, The Wound of Christ speaks to “entering the woundedness of Jesus.” In his humanity, Jesus suffered like we all do at some point. The gift of invitation into the wound causes me to remember not only the woundedness of Jesus and the woundedness of Hart, but the woundedness of a broken world. Where is refuge for the children of war? The people living with fear? How do we come alongside hurting people and give them shelter?

Another chapter reflects on His dearest Mother, recounting the scene at the cross when Jesus tells his mother, “Behold your Son.” Jesus was the oldest child of Mary. “As such he would have had particular responsibilities, just like it does today.” It is Mary’s anguish in watching Jesus die that strikes so deeply this year. I saw my daughter’s anguish as she watched her son die. It was like we were right there at the foot of the cross.

I have a small figurine of the Pieta. The real statue sits in the Vatican in Rome. It was on display at the New York World’s Fair in 1964. I always found it moving; it moves me even more today. 

My faith and my experience continue to teach me that death is not the end. Life beyond death is ours because of the Resurrection of Jesus. 

The grief washes over us sometimes, we don’t even know what stirs it. We live the crying too. Unashamed. Unembarrassed. It is part of us and will always remain part of us. The work of grief is to grow bigger and deeper around it. While grief is personal, it is universal among us.

Easter is an opportunity to celebrate life and all that is good. Hart was a precious gift to us. He was a very precious gift to Kiley. He will always hold a safe place in our hearts.

The Easter Season is a time of assurance that All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. St. Julien found this assurance in her faith. May you find a glimpse of assurance in your Easter Season. We all need a little Easter.  

Lib Campbell is a retired Methodist pastor, retreat leader, columnist and host of the blogsite www.avirtualchurch.com. She can be contacted at libcam05@gmail.com 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

---