Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to the tomb that early resurrection morning. Heartbroken, grief-stricken, and feeling the full weight of a suffering soul they went to the tomb to look for Jesus.
We know the story, he wasn’t there, he had risen. But there is something so powerful about what these women did. They were looking for him to worship him. In their darkest moments, they wanted to worship their king.
Last fall, a dear friend of mine lost her son. He was 24. His mother’s agony echoes the hearts of thousands of mothers around the globe who find themselves burying their children long before their time.
Young people trying to alleviate some of their internal pain believing they will find comfort in a drug that will help them to just get through. They are consumed with anxiety and depression and in response, they take a pill that allows for a moment of escape. It’s how they cope.
He took a drug that night. It had been laced with fentanyl. It didn’t take long for the potent toxin to impair his ability to breathe. Within minutes, an attempt to escape shut down his life. And just like that, Spencer Chan was gone.
Losing a child is every parent’s worst nightmare. The fears linger until they are home tucked away safely in their bed. Every siren in earshot ignites a panic that won’t be calmed until we hear, “I’m okay.” They are to bury us, and never the other way around. But it happens. Far too often it happens, and it happened to my friend.
I watched Camille go through those first few weeks. I was with her the day it happened. I will never forget listening to her breakdown in sobs. Her emotions raged alternating between anguish and a lost gaze of confusion. She seemed disoriented, almost lifeless as she tried to wrestle with the nightmare she was now living.
I can’t imagine the thousands of thoughts that were racing through her head. The unanswered questions that were haunting her fragile mind. In some moments she seemed millions of miles away and in others, she was very present. I remember wondering, how do you move forward from this kind of place. The rawness of the news, the realness of her pain leaves no room for movement. And it was in that moment, Camille looked up. Her face was stoic and determined with an unwavering focus. “I need to go to church,” she said.
We come up with all kinds of excuses to skip church. We easily give ourselves permission to stay away. We like to take a Sunday off here and there to, you know, to rest. We live in this new era of social media including online church. Like a fast-food restaurant, church is becoming an in-and-out experience.
Ironically, in other countries folks are risking their lives to be in corporate fellowship with one another. But us westerners? Not so much. Excuses run deep and we double down defending our need to stay under the covers. It’s a shame it’s such a burden.
If anyone needed a justifiable reason to stay away that Sunday, it was Camille. She was a mess. She was distraught and disheveled, suffering in every way. But she came. Nothing was going to keep her away. She reminded me of the women at the tomb of Jesus. In their darkest moment, they pushed everything aside to be in the presence of their Lord.
She walked through the church doors a complete wreck. She made her way to her seat and cried through the entire service. She never stopped. I don’t even think she heard the message. We covered her in prayer. We held her and hugged her and poured love on her the best we could. She walked out those doors after church and her new journey had begun.
It has been just 5 months since she identified her son’s body in a mortuary. How do you do recover from that? I watched her stroke his hair and touch his face. I watched her weep over his lifeless body. I watched her hold the hand of the boy she gave birth to and raised. I watched her kiss his forehead and hug him one last time. I watched her say goodbye to her child.
I’ve learned so much of her life’s story. She’s been dealt a cruel hand. Chapter after chapter are filled with unbelievable pain, abandonment, rejection, and loss. The tragedies of her life have left gaping wounds that led to anxiety and depression. Mental and emotional torment surround her continuously. And now, the death of her son. When is enough, enough?
I have gotten to know this woman well. She’s unassuming and quiet. She isn’t someone who needs to be upfront. She doesn’t demand attention and is others centered. She’s strong. In all her weakness she is this pillar of strength. You don’t expect that, but it is there. I want to be like her.
The thing about Camille that sets her apart is her complete and utter devotion and commitment to God. I’m not saying she’s happy with how her life has unfolded and I am not saying she hasn’t asked the unanswered question of why. What I am saying is she is a surrendered woman who understands her place.
There is a saying that true character is revealed in a crisis. This is a woman who fights for her faith. She is determined to stay in the center of His will, a will that often seems unfair and cruel. And yet, she remains. She is steadfast. She understands what it means to take up your cross and walk.
She is there week after week. She shows up. She doesn’t give herself permission to pull the covers over her head and hide. She runs to the father with her tear-stained cheeks, puffy eyes, and broken heart and she sits. She waits expectantly for her Lord.
I want to be like her. I want my faith to rise above every peril in my life. I want my walk with Christ to take precedence over everyone and everything. I want to run to the father, fall on my face and worship in my wounds.
The torture of Camille’s life continues. And she continues to fight for her place at the footstool of his throne. He’s not done with her story. More pain in the future? Maybe. But Camille has positioned herself well. She will not be shaken. Oh how we need that kind devotion and determination our Lord.