Redemption

Lent is a loaded time for Christians. Our inherent sinfulness is thrust up and center, which would be depressing if it were not for Easter Sunday. Thanks to social media, I "see" people in sacrificial mode, trying to feel a closer connection to God by stripping themselves of something that normally keeps them more tied to this life. (I'm not good at rules, so we decided to make a donation to a cancer research organization each time we eat out. I figured that would help humanity more than giving up chocolate.)

This weekend marks the time last year when my earthly father entered the hospital for what would turn out to be one of two long stays. As an English major and teacher, the symbolism was not lost on me. In fact, that symbolism was a large reason why I believe I was able to stay strong through the most trying time of my life. I looked forward to my daily email from the Lutheran Hour Daily Devotion. I never felt that even though my father's health was deteriorating, God was abandoning us or him. I knew that God made it clear that we wouldn't live on this Earth forever, and my Dad entering the kingdom of heaven was not a broken promise. Still, there were things to be disappointed and heartbroken about, as you can imagine.

My Dad was one of my few "safe" people. I knew I could always call him, tell him something that hurt me or was bothering me, and he would proceed to reassure me and "keep that beautiful smile on your face!" He knew my worth and created a space for me to refocus when the world got me down. He also taught me about the futility of revenge and stewing in one's own negativity. We all need at least one of those people in our lives, and he was already becoming that person for my own sons. Dang, it's a hard, hard blow when that person leaves you. (I am thankful that my husband is one of those people for me.)

Much the same, I imagine, as when Jesus' time on Earth was getting close to ending. I am no theologian, but I believe it's clear that Jesus didn't necessarily want to leave. God knew we could never be reconciled to him by our own doing, and Jesus knew what his mission was, but he also knew there were some sweet things on earth. His family, his friends. Certainly there were things he learned from them, as well. Our reading today from Hebrews confirms that "although [Jesus] was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered" (Hebrews 5:8).

One of my cousins visit my Dad from Maryland when he first went into the hospital, and when he asked my Dad what he should pray for, my Dad said God's will. How powerful that was for all of us. Not for the miracle of complete healing, which would be a normal and understandable desire. God's will. I believe that shows the learned obedience that Hebrews speaks of.

Even Jesus suffered. But as Hebrews says, because of Jesus' reverent submission, his cries and tears were heard. That was in the days of his flesh. Of his flesh. Which means there is much more.

While it's difficult to forget someone's suffering, obviously I have more to remember by my Dad's reverent submission. His example embodies the spirit of Lent for me, now. It's not just about humanity being broken and undependable. When we show that learned obedience, reverent submission, we are the closest to our Savior.