Supper With Saddness, Joy, Anger, and Beauty

The Communion of Them All.

I am alive. My friend died by suicide. My marriage is good. There is a family of birds nesting in our awning. My youngest daughter is struggling. My son is thriving. My friend was murdered. My job is fulfilling. My husband is dear. I am in pain. I have a friend who is pure love. The trees are green again. My oldest daughter is finally coping. I have lost relationships. There is peace where I live. There is sorrow among the foreigners in my community. I see idolatry in a way I never imagined. My rose bushes are blooming. I am sad. I am joyful. I am angry. I see beauty. The Lord is near.

One narrative that persists within the Christian community is the emphasis on beauty. No more angry Christians—beauty instead of anger, choose joy instead of focusing on sorrow and striving, striving, striving, always striving for the better. When we strive without rest, we grow weary, even with good things. Jesus says to come to him and He will give us rest. He asks us to trade our heavy loads for his light one. The burden is still a burden, but it is easier to bear when we abide in Him.¹ He is our equalizer.

Daily, I have supper with sadness, joy, anger, and beauty. The rhythm of the dining table settles in as the clink and clank of our silverware taps the glass plates. One reaches for the bread, one asks to pass the vegetables, one dabs their mouth with a napkin, and one chit-chats with me, and I laugh at what they said. We commune together, some dinners are better than others, but they are all there as they should be. It is an ebb and flow, or as my friend describes it, the “parallels and repetitions” of life.

Once, I was angry at God because my son was born a quadriplegic. I had to work through the anger to find the sadness so I could finally weep. Once I wept, I found joy in watching him get his first wheelchair, and joy flowed into realizing the beauty of his life. I want his beautiful life to continue, so when it’s threatened by government policy, I make my anger known. Then sadness settles when he whispers to me, “I want to run,” and joy enters again when he tells me, “I love my life.” On and on—a never-ending supper of emotions.

Another supper comes to mind with all these things in play. The beauty of a foot wash, the joy of dining with Jesus, the sorrow when he told the disciples it was their last meal together, Peter’s anger over being told he would betray Jesus. These things were felt and experienced around the table as they dined together, with John resting his head on Christ’s shoulder, and perhaps some laughter that rippled around the room from an inside joke. Assuredly, there was confusion, and Jesus was in the mix of all of it. The disciples listened with rapt attention to every word he spoke. He said to them, “Abide in me, and I will abide in you.”²

To abide in Jesus is to know him and be known by him—a mutual belonging. Isaiah says that Jesus was a man of sorrows acquainted with grief.³ To be known by him means that he understands our sorrows and our anger. He knows they exist and gives us permission to feel them and consider them,⁴ not push them away. He asks us to weep with those who weep;⁵ and Paul said, “be angry but do not sin.”⁶ God helps me understand that there is room at the table for these things. It’s okay to express righteous anger, and our grief is welcomed in Jesus’s presence—he is the balm in Gilead.⁷ Do not forget the joy and beauty because we need them, and God, in his graciousness, has provided them in abundance for us.

Extra Sauce

I’m back. Thank you to those who prayed for me. I am a week into recovery, and I’m feeling…slow. Still in pain, but no complications. God is good.

1. Matthew 11:30

2. John 15:4-11

3. Is. 53:3

4. I give credit to the thought about considering the painful things of life to Lore Wilburt and her book “The Understory.”

5. Rom. 12:15

6. Psalm 4:4

7. Jer. 8:22