I came to Good Friday noon-day service at St. John’s Cathedral with unusual anticipation. My wife’s lung cancer was in its 19th month, and she had already outlived the very first diagnosis of 4-12 months that she had received in a blurry life-rearranging moment in September, 2022. The reality since that day has been like flying into – and out of – a fog bank: after the first 11 months of total unpredictability, the last 8 months have become unexpectedly stable. She has low energy, which is a real problem, but her health issues are no longer keeping us on high alert.
Through the ups and downs of this journey, my singular mantra over the last 18 months has remained a passage from Cynthia Bourgeault’s Eye of the Heart:
All roads eventually lead to a mysterious waiting in emptiness . . . The heart will always know what it wants, deep inside, and does not need to be reminded. Do not use your mind to create scenarios for your heart. When the time is right, the heart’s own speaking will be clear (122).
For the first time in my life, I copied down a passage on a 3 x 5 card – “mysterious waiting in emptiness” – and posted it on my nightstand as a reminder to let go of future expectations.
It seems, then, that Zella and I came to this Good Friday service in a posture of waiting, seeking wisdom from Jesus himself, who knowingly walked the kenotic path to the end.
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