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Jesse Breite
Sunday, June 28
Vital Present
“Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live.”- John 11:25
Now that I’ve been spending more time at my house than I ever have in the past eight years, I have turned to the poet Emily Dickinson. Though many rumors about Dickinson’s private life abound, she is, without a doubt, the American poet of domesticity. I don’t personally believe this was because her father locked her in her room or because she was forced to write on the topic. I simply think she loved being at home.
Though it isn’t often acknowledged, Dickinson’s most active writing years were the years of the Civil War (1861-1864). During those years, she wrote almost a thousand poems. If you read some of her titles in this context-- “It was not Death, for I stood up”, “It feels a shame to be alive”, “I measure every grief I meet”--it is clear that she felt the magnitude of war and all the guilt and grief that comes with it.
And here we are, stuck at home in a country that feels like it's at war. Not that I know war like a soldier, but in our battle with the virus, we stay home. Our friends and relatives tell us of friends and relatives who have died. Everyone’s waiting for the next spike in hospitalization. While Dickinson was not published often in her lifetime, she shared her poems most often with those family friends who were grieving. She offered her words as elegies.
For Dickinson’s sake, I often send her poems as condolence to comfort those in mourning. Here is one I love (1108) from Wikisource:
The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth, —
The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity.
When Jesus confronted the fresh grief of death, he never offered elegies--which I often feel is the best I can do. Though relatives and even friends questioned his timeliness, Jesus was always on time. To Jairus’s daughter he says, “Little girl, I say to you, get up” (Mark 5:41 NIV). To Lazarus, he says, “Lazarus, come out!” (John 11:43 NIV) Jesus’s words and actions suggest an empowered immediacy. He does not provide a distant hope. He is the resurrection and the life, right now.
Every day, healthcare workers intubate the sick to keep them alive. Many come back to their pre-virus lives. And a smaller percentage does not. Following Jesus, I pray that we can respond to the present needs of this moment whether it is providing healthcare workers with what they require or supporting those lost in grief who need spiritual companionship. But I also know that Jesus provides for the weak, the sick, the despairing, right now. May our voices and our actions resound with the Resurrection and the Life.
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