Lent as Trauma Care
I woke up this morning with the weight of the world on my chest. I have learned to listen with compassion to these weights, but this morning, the weight is mysterious. I can’t quite point to one cause.
Today’s weight of growing death counts in Türkiye and Syria and grocery prices.
Tomorrow’s weight of the ongoing war in Ukraine and climate change.
Yesterday’s weight of colonization and slavery and the grief of missing loved ones.
My meditation has not lifted the weight of the world, and I begin to wonder if it should.
As I reflect on the lectionary reading for today, I’m aware of the complexity of language Paul uses and the difficulty in translating his words in a way that would make sense to the children that pass my window on their way to the park.
What is Paul’s letter to today’s children?
I imagine the flannel board Paul might present to a Sunday School class would be more realistic than the ones we may have seen; the ones where our teachers avoided talking about suffering in the world at large in favour of focusing on a purely personal Jesus.
I wonder if Paul would be more honest in acknowledging that we live in a world that longs for God’s justice.
We can’t build bubbles large enough or opaque enough to shield our children from the world’s suffering, though we’ve tried. The weight of the world is on our chests nonetheless.
I feel it. I’m convinced children feel it. We feel it because it’s true.
Torn bodies, broken hearts, dimmed souls, and scattered minds cry out for the goodness of God. Oh, the flannel pieces Paul might display!
Even if we were able to ignore the world’s sufferings, as we look forward in our own lives, not one of us can escape suffering. Our friends and family will one day pass. Our bones and muscle and sinew will degrade, stooping our posture, slowing our movements. Our minds will begin to soften. Even babies know the grief of loss when their parents leave the room.
In Romans 8:26, Paul tells us the weight on our chests is a gift of God, the Spirit’s groanings that all is not yet right in creation.
After all, the season of lent is a season of remembering the trauma imparted on God’s own son, Jesus, and our own participation in suffering through the cross we are invited to carry when we follow him.
Lent helps me cope with the ongoing trauma in our world. It is a time we make space in our lives to remember God’s promises have already been fulfilled through Christ, and yet, the new Creation is not yet complete. It’s intended to help us deal with the suffering and capacity for evil in this world by allowing us to find comfort in the completed work of the cross.
Paul doesn’t shy away from naming the harms all around him. He reminds us that sin has been around since the dawn of time. But his recognition of reality is but a drop in comparison to the depth of God’s promises that fill his letter to the Romans.
Paul reminds us that through Christ, God’s good justice is made known.
When we fear God is barely holding his own against the powers of corruption in this world, Paul reminds us God has already gifted an abundance of grace that does more than merely battle injustice. God has already won in a hands-down victory.
If Paul were to conclude his Sunday School lesson, perhaps he would tell the children that justice is squarely on God’s shoulders, the good guy wins. Christ already completed the justice that governments promise but cannot fully deliver. Christ already finished the redemptive work that we start but cannot complete.
The weight on my chest is a prayer after Paul’s own heart: “In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. . . . that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:37–39).
Easter is coming and with it, a restored creation that sets all things right. There will be no corner of the cosmos that doesn’t know the perfect love of God. In this love, as Paul teaches God’s children in Romans 8:1, there is no condemnation. This love calls us from within the sufferings of this world to live out the love of God.
The weight lifts as I remember the death and resurrection of Jesus. It isn’t merely a Sunday School lesson; it is our lived reality. God’s love and trustworthiness are proven on the cross, transforming the weights from burdens into love for the world after Christ’s own heart.
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