Jesse A. Schroeder

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During this season of Lent, I am reading "Show Me the Way," which includes selections from Henri Nouwen's books. He is one of my favorite authors, and the selections from Friday are examples of why I love his writing. I'll quote a bit, and then write some of my thoughts. 

"The love of God [has] become visible in Jesus...It is made visible in the descending way. That is the great mystery of the Incarnation. God has descended to us human beings to become a human being with us; and once among us, descended to the total dereliction of one condemned to death. It isn't easy really to feel and understand from the inside this descending way of Jesus. Every fiber of our being rebels against it...For Jesus' way is God's way and God's way is not for Jesus only but for everyone who is truly seeking God. Here we come up against the hard truth that the descending way of Jesus is also the way for us to find God. Jesus doesn't hesitate for a moment to make that clear."

This week I was confronted with death once again, in a personal way, within my family. My young cousin, Caleb, was found dead in his home. The causes are yet uncertain, but it appears to be an accident, perhaps involving drugs. He had struggled in his life, recently getting out of jail, trying to get back into a working lifestyle and perhaps continue his education. He was also an extremely talented person. Like others in his family, he was very athletic, good-looking, smart, and just a great guy to hang out with.

When I heard the news early Friday morning, it was obviously a surprise. And having recently confronted death in the experience of my brother-in-law, Jon, many similar emotions arose. More than anything, I kept thinking, "Why? Why so much death? So much death...." And then I remembered the people who live in war-torn parts of the world, countries in which death is an every day experience, places where dying a "natural death" is the exception rather than the norm.

So much death. How does a life that is filled with death involve a so-called "God of love"? It's hard to escape these questions, and like Nouwen says, "every fiber of our being rebels against it." Nouwen also writes:

"The mystery of God's presence, therefore, can be touched only by a deep awareness of his absence. it is in the center of our longing for the absent God that we discover his footprints, and realize that our desire to love God is born out of the love with which he has touched us...In our violent times, in which destruction of life is so rampant and the raw wounds of humanity so visible, it is very hard to tolerate the experience of God as a purifying absence, and to keep our hearts open so as to patiently and reverently prepare his way."

Yes, God feels absent. Where is God in these difficult times? Where is God, when a mother finds her son, dead in her own home? Where is God, when we awake every morning to the sense that we are living a nightmare, our best friend and brother is no longer alive, but is dead? Where is God, in this life that contains so much death?

The mystery is that, when we ask these questions, and look for God, "we discover his footprints," and we realize that he has been her before us. He is the descending God, the God who gave up all power and glory to take on humanity, and to walk the way of shame, condemnation and death. He has walked this path before us. The sense of his absence is a reminder that he has been here before - it is "a purifying absence." The descending way rids us of any false sense of strength, self-sufficiency, control, or immortality, which we so desperately cling to day after day.

I don't like this descending way, but I have come to trust that it is somehow better. I have come to believe that a God who is present in life and death is a God I can trust and love, no matter what. I have hope that this God has truly conquered death, in this life and the next.

And so the descending way hurts. Good God, it hurts. Every fiber of my being rebels against it. But it is the way of Jesus, the God-human, who showed us what abundant life looks like, the abundant life that includes an intimate knowledge of the pain of death.