For a large portion of my childhood, we didn’t have a television in the house. That is altogether quite rare. I really do appreciate it as I look back on it. Lots of make-believe, hours of play with friends, flying kites, swimming and games, and READING. Books were a big part of my life–either reading on my own or listening to my father read. I have strong memories of visiting the Neilson Hays Library in Bangkok, and loving the special story times and dramatic productions they would host.
We read so many books together as I grew up. One book I loved was Richard Scarry’s Great Steamboat Mystery. I am sure my parents grew to hate it as I begged for that to be read over and over again. As I got older, I collected my own books. I remember that my brother and I worked hard to save our Baht so we could buy Tintin comics. We’d still listen to Dad read to us, even as we got older, but the books got more difficult and more interesting. I did love Dorothy Sayers, and as a young child I was fascinated by the “gore” on the front cover of Have His Carcase (see that little bit of blood on his glove? Gasp!). Another book set we’d listen to Dad read over and over again were The Chronicles of Narnia.
I was thinking as Good Friday dawned about the particular chapter when Aslan is alone in the garden and has made a deal with the White Witch to give his life for Edmund. He is going through the night with great sorrow and Lucy and Susan wake up and sense his distress. He allows them to spend some time with him in the darkness, but when the Witch and her gang arrive, Aslan tells them to go back to camp. He has to endure this alone.
They do leave but instead of returning to camp, they hide and watch the terrible event of his humiliation and execution. Their hearts hurt so much, and they can’t understand why Aslan is doing this. If they had the power to stop it, they most certainly would, for they love him. They are powerless to intervene, and they see evil apparently conquer him.
I am thinking, more intentionally today, of the people who loved Jesus and walked beside Him for His three years of ministry. They loved Him deeply because they gave everything up to learn from Him and share life with Him. They didn’t have the hindsight I have, of knowing what happened on the third day. He told them, but they didn’t understand–they couldn’t understand.
I can feel it a bit–that incomprehension of that dark night. When someone we love unexpectedly loses their life, and we just can’t understand it. When someone fights a terrible and incurable disease, enduring intense suffering and when awful events transpire in the world that make little sense. It’s dark and terrible and there is no answer in these situations. There is not necessarily a “deeper purpose” or a meaning. It just can’t be understood. It is really difficult to live with that. While Jesus rose again on that third day, some people I love deeply are still stuck in that darkness of night where there are no answers. All I can hold on to and know is that it will not last forever. There is a hope and glory that we can’t see at this moment. One day, yes, one day, it will all be made right.
sharonbernhardt 