Companionship in Suffering...

Several weeks ago, our Lead Pastor asked if I would like to preach at the Maundy Thursday Service.  While I was excited to have the opportunity to preach, I knew from the start it would be a challenge for me.  The thought of focusing on one of Jesus' most difficult nights in his journey didn't necessarily thrill me, and preaching on The Garden of Gethsemane had suffering written all over it.  I've never really loved suffering...but then again, who does?  I guess it's because when I allow my eyes to see it, something breaks inside of my soul in a way that I'm not really sure what to do at times.

It happened the first time I stepped foot in a government run girls orphanage in Honduras, one that housed teenagers who had been abused, neglected and abandoned.

It happened when I stood in the middle of a city dump in the Dominican Republic and watched human beings not only rummage through our garbage, but then attempt to live in it.

It happened when I sat at the bedside of a teenager who had been placed in an institution because she had been bullied, broken down and was now struggling to see her life as valuable.

It happened today.

Nate and I had decided to take our two nieces and Biruk into Boston for the day.  We packed up our bag with snacks, grabbed the stroller, and began our walk to the Subway Station.  When we got there, I grabbed the three kids who road the escalator and giggled their way to the top, while Nate took the stroller up the stairs.  At the top, what I saw took my breath away.

There was a young woman, about 25 years of age on the train tracks in complete distress.   She had clearly decided that life was not worth living and this would be the end for her.  I panicked.  By then, Nate had reached the top and I said, "There's a woman on the train tracks!"  He said, "What???"  I quickly moved toward her and realized the three littles were anxiously watching.  By the divine grace of God, two teens from my youth group happened to also be riding the T and had just approached the platform.  I quickly said, "I need you to watch the kids!"

Within moments, I stood at the edge of the platform sobbing and begging this young woman to come up and talk to me, while Nate ran to get help.  I pleaded with her saying, "Please don't do this.  Please know your life has value.  You are valuable."  I tried to ask if something had happened or if she wanted someone to talk to, but honestly, I felt so totally inadequate.  The hopelessness in her eyes broke me.

Nate had managed to get the man on duty at the subway up to the platform.  He happened to be an older gentleman, and I watched as he jumped onto the train tracks with her and rather than reprimanding what seemed to be the worst decision of the day, he spoke gently to her.  He looked her in the eyes.  He asked her name and offered to light the cigarette that had been resting in her mouth.  He asked her her story.

For a brief moment, her body language seemed to relax, and then she just began to fight.  She attempted to jump the fence onto the tracks of the commuter rail, and thankfully, he was able to keep her still until the police and medics arrived.  That man will go down as a hero in my books today.  Not for just saving a person's life, but for being a companion in the suffering that was so deeply ingrained in her.

An older gentleman turned to me and asked, "What's wrong with her?"  In between sobs, all I could get out was, "She's sad.  She's just really sad."

All day, I haven't been able to get the image of that young woman out of my head, sitting there helplessly on those tracks.  Part of me wishes I could close my eyes and forget her, because the reality of her pain hurts my heart in a way that is suffocating.

The other part of me is praying I won't.

Strange this was the start to our Good Friday...or maybe it isn't.  If I am honest, I sometimes wish we could skip all the hard parts of Holy Week and just jump to the celebration of hope.  But the reality is, the journey to the cross is messy  Jesus could have walked away from the suffering and decided that it was just too much or maybe not even worth it.  But he didn't.  He didn't, because he has this unbelievable love for us.  It's a love that's willing to hold our hands in the most difficult parts of our journey...even in the parts that leave us feeling as though we are suffocating.

That's the kind of love he asks us to have for humanity.  When it's messy, when we'd rather walk away, when we struggle to find words, he asks us to keep our eyes open and be companions for the journey.

Good Friday is "Good" because we know the rest of the story.  It changes everything for us.  I guess what hit me the hardest today was that the young women didn't.  As we walked through Boston the rest of the day and I looked at the faces of many who probably shared similar stories, I couldn't help but wonder, how many don't know the end of the story?

Jesus doesn't ask us to fix the world.  But he does call us to is to be compassionate companions.  He asks us to get face to face with suffering, even when it's suffocating.  He asks us to get facedown and pray on behalf of those who don't know the rest of the story.  He asks us to keep our eyes open and never forget.

I'm praying I won't forget.  His journey.  Her face.  My call.