After six weeks, Lent came to an end yesterday. It was a long and hard season for me. I started out in the U.S., waiting for visa paperwork to come through so I could return to China. It took longer than I was hoping. While I was delayed, my cousin died suddenly and unexpectedly. It was a grace that I was in the U.S. to be physically present for my family, to hug and cry together. The day after the memorial service, I first heard the song “Always Good” by Andrew Peterson. These are some of the lyrics that gave words to the feelings of my heart:
“Do You remember how Mary was grieving? How You wept and she fell at Your feet? If it’s true that You know what I’m feeling Could it be that You’re weeping with me?
Arise, O Lord, and save me There’s nowhere else to go
You’re always good, always good Somehow this sorrow is shaping my heart like it should And You’re always good, always good”.
My visa paperwork finally came through, and I headed back to China, two weeks into the semester. Less than 48 hours after I arrived in China, I received word that my aunt passed away. She was in hospice care with cancer, and I really thought if I was going to be attending a funeral while I was in the U.S., it would be hers. And yet, in the span of two weeks, the first family member of my generation and my parent’s generation are gone. The same week, my dad’s uncle passed away. A former professor and several family members of friends also passed away. Meanwhile, I was trying to get up to speed on my classes and teaching.
It has been a stressful season full of grief and transition. A long Lent. My heart had no room to look ahead to Easter joy. I needed to walk through all those days of Lent, through the love and grief of Maundy Thursday, through the pain of Good Friday, and through the silence of Holy Saturday. Even when I woke up Easter morning, I did not have a euphoric feeling of joy.
In the sermon yesterday, the pastor stated that one of the effects of the resurrection is that death doesn’t have the last word. This isn’t new information to me. I’ve probably said the same thing myself, but it sounded different this year. When Lent was full of grief, I needed the reminder that death is not the end of the story. Death doesn’t have the last word.
Death still stings. I still miss my loved ones, and I’m still in the middle of a hard transition. I wasn’t ready to feel this promise until Easter morning. But in the next six weeks of Easter season, I hope that I can live into this truth in new ways. Death doesn’t have the last word, because Christ has died, Christ has risen, and Christ will come again.
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