The Show Doesn’t Have To Go On

My acting debut began in an Easter performance, so it felt fitting to be in prime acting mode this Easter. Remembering my star role as the dead girl raised to life by Jesus, I looked out the window after my futile attempt to bring my fever down by splashing my face with cool water. I noted the irony of the snow-covered ground. It was appropriately rainy and gloomy on Good Friday, a reflection of the not good that brought about the most good. And Easter day’s sun had shone through creating rainbows of hope as the choir belted “In Christ Alone.” Monday had brought a snow covering to Michigan and I was still nursing fevers that had begun Saturday, uncertain whether I should wait for my labs to come back or just make the trip to the hospital.

People I spoke to on Easter remarked that I looked great as I fumbled with extra doses of Tylenol and Motrin I had stashed in my pocket. Isn’t it wild how we can appear so ‘great’ and ‘normal’ when something terrifying is raging inside of us?

I am a terrific actress. Not only did I excel in my performance of the dead girl raised to life, but in sixth grade I was honored to play the part of an Oompa Loompa in the junior class performance of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory that debuted in my school’s gym/cafeteria. Never mind that I was chosen for the non-speaking role because of my stature (or lack thereof.)

But I’m an even more terrific actress in everyday life. I have an astute ability to mask my true feelings and reality, and present myself as tidy and tied with a bow without lying. Oftentimes I breeze right by the question “how are you” as though it wasn’t even asked, without the other person noticing. It’s not that I don’t want people to know how I really am. I typically yearn for a listening ear that can handle the ugliness. But I often worry that people aren’t prepared to hear how I really am when they ask that question. That they would rather pretend everything’s grand and beautiful. And I don’t want to burden people with the reality of my brokenness.

I don’t think I’m alone in that. I think a lot of us have become so attune to our acting personas that it’s difficult for us to even remember our own brokenness. Then some random trigger- a statement, a story, fatigue, hunger, or a trying circumstance- brings us to our knees with our reality. We’re forced to stop and analyze. Or we self-medicate with whatever our pleasure is- food, exercise, busyness, Netflix. More dopamine, more hiding. 

In 2 Corinthians 1:8 Paul says something fascinating. Out of all the miracles and encouragements that could have been put in God’s grand letter to us, Paul says, “For we don’t want you to be unaware, brothers, of the affliction we experienced in Asia. For we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself.”

It’s incredible this was chosen to be in scripture! At the end of John’s gospel, he says that many books could not contain the miraculous works of Jesus. Yet, precious written Word was given to Paul’s expression that it was important for his brothers to know that they were suffering and so beyond themselves that they despaired life. His despair was that important to share.

Perhaps it’s important to remember that life isn’t all about the miracles. The pretty things that can be tied up with a bow and make people smile. Perhaps it’s also important to remember that sometimes life is hard. Despairingly so. And that ought to be shared to. 

It’s often difficult to admit we are struggling or hurting because it makes us feel weak. It makes us feel small when the world tells us to perfect and promote ourselves. But when we squash that notion of pride, we allow God’s strength and power to be displayed in our inability and weakness. Had Paul never written about his difficult times we would not be so awed and encouraged when he tells us in 2 Corinthians 4:17 that, “our light and momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.”

And one thing we can stand on is that we are all weak, and we will all suffer in one way or another. So, let’s identify with each other in it! Let’s reach into each other’s messiness and tell each other they’re not alone in imperfections and struggles. Let’s comfort each other with the comfort we have needed and been given powerfully by God. And let’s allow ourselves to be comforted. Then together, in all our messiness, we can see even more glimpses of God’s perfect redemption.

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ.”

2 Corinthians 1:3-5

People will see our weakness, but better yet- they will see God’s strength amidst it. They will see what is far better than any earthly hope. You’ll have the opportunity to proclaim that yes this is hard, and honestly, I am kind of despairing my life, BUT I know that this life on earth isn’t the end. It’s only a mist that will lead to an eternity with Christ. And that eternal hope is far more powerful than any ugly earthiness. Knowing Christ and the power of his resurrection allows us to belt out “In Christ Alone” with the full power of an Easter choir every day. Even in our pain. Because that temporary grief, as real as it is, can’t touch the incredulous joy of knowing and being known by God. And spending eternity in His presence.

“Indeed, we felt we had received the sentence of death, but this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God WHO RAISES THE DEAD. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he WILL deliver us again.”

2 Corinthians 1:9-10

In Christ alone my hope is found
He is my light, my strength, my song
This cornerstone, this solid ground
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm
What heights of love, what depths of peace
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease
My comforter, my all in all
Here in the love of Christ I stand

No guilt in life, no fear in death
This is the power of Christ in me
From life’s first cry to final breath
Jesus commands my destiny
No power of hell, no scheme of man
Can ever pluck me from His hand
Till He returns or calls me home
Here in the power of Christ I’ll stand