Lenten stories, part II: Why?

My most distinct Lenten memory from last year is the isolation, the constant reminder that I was a stranger in a strange land. My fiance, my family, and my church community were thousands of miles away, and though I was slowly making friends in the village, I often felt useless, laughed at, and practically unable to function in Oroko society. The constant busyness of the year often made it hard for us to set aside "team time" as well, even within our household. The loneliness wasn't constant, nor was it entirely overwhelming-- in fact, I'm sure it was no more than normal for second-year adjustment to a new culture-- but it was there, and it hurt.

I remember pulling out my Bible on Maundy Thursday to reread the story of the Last Supper and Jesus' betrayal and arrest. The disciples all fell asleep while he was praying. "Could you not watch with me one hour?" Then, at sight of the vicious mob, they all left him and ran away. That's when it hit me. On that night, Jesus was alone. It was more real to me than it had ever been before. Knowing my own, infinitesimally small, bit of aloneness, I understood the story better. I even, if one can say such a thing, had a bigger place in my soul for empathy, forging a kinship with Jesus because of some small hint of pain endured. Not always endured patiently... not always endured selflessly... but is there a grace that comes with the fact of endurance anyway? Is that part of what Paul meant when he talked about "the fellowship of his sufferings"?

I somehow found myself not wondering so much if it was all worth it, if anything lasting was going to come of my presence in Bekondo, if I could ever do anything right. There was a grace, if not a salve, in knowing that Jesus had done something in me to bring me closer to him, to change me to make room for knowing him, and that that in itself made the experience worth it-- even if I couldn't see what external difference I was making.

O to know the pow'r of your risen life,
And to know you in your sufferings,
To become like you in your death, my Lord,
So with you to live and never die...