Lent is for Lament
“O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting??
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” (ESV) I Corinthians 15:55-57
Note to reader: A revised version of this story was published by Calla Press in May 2023. It appears on my blog. Also note, that the story below was written before my mother died in 2022.
No one told me how hard it would be to sort through my mother’s gardening hats, her swimsuits, or her dresses. After easily recycling hundreds of free greeting cards, calendars, and notepads from the Humane Society or the Nature Conservancy, after quickly sorting out expired canned goods (trash) and non-expired ones, I hadn’t prepared myself for her bedroom closets.
I started with her purses. On the top shelf, in the far corner was the last purse she had used, tossed there in the hubbub of her post-stroke world or mine as I had navigated her way. For more than a year it had lived in her purse pile, unopened, unused, and going nowhere. Once her daily companion to the grocery store or church, and often the object of her “Lost and Found” searches (“Where did I put my purse?”), it now resided in the place of all the forgotten Velveteen Rabbits-in a dark corner covered with a thin layer of dust.
Inside were hairpins, lipsticks, pens, and a used peel-off car license tag. Tucked in her wallet was her AAA card and her library card signed in her gorgeous flowing signature. I remembered her sharp recall of the last book she read, The Boys in the Boat, the well-told Cinderella tale of the Washington State crew team, coming from behind to win Olympic gold in of all places, Hitler’s Germany in 1936.
But enough of this remorse-filled reminiscing. What would I do with her wallet or her almost-new, bright red leather loafers? I found skeins of yarn she purchased a month before her stroke. What should I do with these last things that she had touched, that she had used when she was independent? As much as I’m sentimental and direct her possessions to the niece, nephew, brother, or grandchild who would like them, it made no sense to hold on to all of this. I made hard decision after hard decision, much like ripping off a band-aid. Giveaway, throwaway, save, launder, and then give away, recycle, or take a photo and ask my so-talented seamstress niece if she could use some lace collars, beaded white gloves, or even a fur stole.
Today was Ash Wednesday. Soon I would go to church and receive the dark ashes on my forehead while hearing the stark words, “From dust, you came, and to dust, you shall return.” It may not seem comforting to some, but as I reflected on the truth that the contents of my mother’s home will all turn to dust, that she will go to dust and someday so will I, my heart settled a bit. While none of this is what God intended for his creation-- He planned for us to live forever, it is our reality as creatures who sin and live in a broken sin-filled world. Our bodies, our things, will in fact perish. Lent is the season of lament for our sins, for a sober and repentant attitude as we admit to ourselves and to our Savior our hopelessness apart from his great sacrifice on our behalf. Had not the Redeemer of our souls, Jesus Christ, come to end this cycle of life and death and dust, Lent would lead us nowhere. But Jesus did not stay dead. He was resurrected. Our sins are forgiven. And there will be a day when we will not be bound to our sin; there will be a day when death will no longer reign.
Every year during Lent we get to focus on our deep need for a Savior. We ponder and grieve our sin and our wayward selfish lives. In doing this, we long for Jesus Christ in deeper ways than we often do. Could it be that this task of passing on Mom’s things was preparing me to acknowledge an even greater truth? She won’t need these things, nor will she want them. Soon she will see Jesus face-to-face. She has been ready to be with him for a long, long time, albeit she was hoping Jesus’ second coming would happen before she died. And now she is ready and waiting at the end of her 91 years to hear him call her home.
This first day of the season of Lent, of preparation of ourselves for the undeserved gift we have received from the death of our Savior, was a day of preparation for me to soon say goodbye to my mother. I too will let go of these humble, yet joyful everyday things: her gardening gloves, her bird books, and her beach towels. They identified and marked this woman who planted trees in her 80s, could name each of the backyard birds, and loved her “cool dip” in the pool. Now they were heading to new owners who would write their stories in them.
My tears flowed knowing that she will not use these things that represented her so well. When I composed myself, I knew that there is a much better story surrounding all of my grief. For those of us who believe in Christ’s death on our behalf, we will not be dust forever. We will rise again in the presence of our Savior.
It will be a difficult parting for those of us who stand by her grave. We will be full of hard tears and a deep, unsettling loss. We were intended to enjoy our families and friends for unending generations. We were intended to witness the weddings of our great-great-great-grandchildren. We were intended to hold the newborns in the many generations after us. But death rips us away from attending the family reunions or the birthday parties that will happen when we are gone. We will miss their futures. They will miss our presence.
And yet, Lent reminds us of the truth that death is not the end of the story. We will rise again. In the end, death will have no sting. In the end, death will not win. It is this truth on which my tears will dry and my heart will be at peace.