Hope for what hurts

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” Matthew 5:4

It took three decades of the same argument over and over again (with different details each time) before I recognized the pattern. I’m not proud of this slow understanding, but I am encouraged by an intimate knowledge gained over time. It was so easy for me to see my husband’s pattern when we argue, to think I knew what his goals were every time, but it took a very long time to recognize what I wanted every time. Why did I keep repeating the same pattern of argument and what did that pattern have to teach me about myself?

We’ve worked hard to know what we do now. Since I’ve long subscribed to the idea that wives would do well to sing their husbands’ praises publicly and keep the rest to private conversation, we won’t talk about his arguing style; we’ll focus on mine. I am almost always seeking reassurance. I want to know he is a safe person, ours is a solid relationship, and we are a couple that is healthy and whole. During an argument, I almost always want to be comforted.

For me, to be in conflict is to mourn. Peter Kreeft writes, “Mourning is the expression of inner discontent, of the gap between desire and satisfaction, that is, of suffering.” When I open the definition of mourning to this interpretation, and I consider my intense need for reassurance, I see what Christ intended when he promised that those who mourn will be comforted.

He promised reassurance. He is the reassurance. He is the deep certainty, the safest of safe people, the most solid of all relationships, the truest expression of wholeness. The Father sent his Son into our suffering — all of our suffering — in order to satisfy our deepest needs for intimacy, understanding and reassurance. He promised that our suffering has redemptive value.

Jesus is with us when we weep. He’s there when we mourn in the most conventional use of the word, but he’s also there in the many struggles of our everyday lives. Certainly, he is also there when it all becomes too much to bear and we despair. Jesus came to earth to sit with us as we open a bill for which there are no resources, as we answer a call that brings terrible news, as we lie seemingly alone on a medical gurney. God knows what it feels like to be rejected, to be betrayed. He knows the grief of broken relationships and prodigal children. Knowing all, he entered in. Every pain we suffer, he suffers too.

He was wounded when he walked the earth, and we wound him even now. But he doesn’t turn away. Though we cause him pain, he stays. He reassures. His presence comforts us in a way nothing or no one on earth can. Even more astounding, he endures our sins. He is steadfast when we are not. We turn away from him over and over again, with every sin, big and small, and he stays.

Emmanuel. God with us.

The redeemer of our suffering comforts us in the sorrow. When life is crushingly hard, it is the Jesus of the scourging who absorbs the blows for us. He pours himself into us and we are strengthened. With that strength born of suffering, we have strength to offer others. He is risen and we are his body here on earth, blessed and broken for others. So, we stay. We enter into the sorrow. We offer ourselves.

We reassure a hurting world that there is hope.

His name is Jesus.