It’s interesting how much we as humans fear transitions. Except for the most unequivocally good events — going from unemployed to employed, moving from sick to recovered — we usually feel an apprehension about new situations. Even when we recognize that transitions are good or necessary, they still come with mixed emotions: A child’s first day of school means near-constant interactions are coming to an end. The day when a young adult moves out of the house results in an “empty nest” than can be painful, even if the parents recognize how good it is for their progeny. The retirement from a long-held job means an end to the daily interactions with friends and colleagues, even as it means a new era of relaxation and opportunities.
There’s one line in today’s readings that sparked all this: “Devout men buried Stephen and made a loud lament over him.”
Now, Saint Stephen was the first martyr for the Church. He was, no doubt, a firm believer in the promises of Christ. He had a great name . . . even if he did misspell it (just kidding!). The line from the Book of Acts makes clear that “devout” men buried him, so clearly they were believers in Christ’s words and deeds.
If so, why the lamentation? Why the sorrow at their departed brother? Do we not feel — with utter certainty — that he’s in a better place?
Now, that’s some Grade A “chicken soup for the soul,” and I’m sure many people are comforted by those ideas. But lamentation in these circumstances — even among the faithful — is common. Even if we do know that someone is better off, our feelings can still be complex in those situations.
These feelings are recorded in other parts of Sacred Scripture. Many of the people Moses led out of Egypt to the “promised land” complained about their new situation and bemoaned how things would have been better back where they came from (even as they knew they left untenable conditions). Before the descent of the Holy Spirit, those early Christians (after Jesus’ resurrection) were in hiding, because they feared the newness of their situation and felt uncertainty about the road that lay before them.
In fact, the Church encourages those feelings. When our readings revolve around the Passion of the Christ on Palm Sunday — and, again, on Good Friday — we’re encouraged to place ourselves in the sorrow and uncertainty of the crowd, of those who witnessed Christ’s death. Even if we intellectually know that it’s all good (God’s plan is working out just fine), we still see the value in placing our hearts and minds in that anguish.
If you don’t feel uncertainty, that’s perfectly okay! Some people are happy at funerals because they firmly believe that the deceased is in a better realm, and they recognize their own momentary discomfort at not having that person around physically anymore is a small price compared to the certainty of the deceased’s eternal bliss.
But if you — like most of us — struggle with feelings of uncertainty during times of transition, don’t berate yourself. Understand that God is there for you, ready to comfort and reassure you as needed as you work through these troubles.
Look at Christ’s words today from the Gospel of John. Jesus’ tone is serious: “But I told you that although you have seen me, you do not believe.” But this is just an assertion of the truth; those who were there had not yet fully believed . . . and Jesus was trying to get them where they needed to be. Compare that with times when He is stern or angry; He’s not above directly calling people “hypocrites” or “wicked” if the situation warrants. But in today’s Gospel selection, Jesus is acting as a knowing, loving, caring teacher, ensuring that those near him learn what they need to move forward with their lives.
In a similar way, God understands your concerns, and is there to listen . . . even during times of transition, when our emotions may be at odds with how we think we “should” be feeling.
If you have such concerns, offer them to God. The peace and silence of adoration — if available at your parish — can be an especially good opportunity to to share your feelings with our Lord.
If you know of others who have such concerns, perhaps encourage them to talk. Avoid any platitudes you might be instinctually drawn to — “they’re in a better place” or “it will all work out for the best” — but instead try to actively listen to and reflect their feelings, so they can understand that such emotions are common. The simple act of acknowledging those feelings can go a long way toward helping someone work them out.
The world is complex. It is — ultimately — unknowable to any one mortal mind. But our feelings, our hopes, our fears, our doubts . . . they make us who we are, and God is okay with helping us work through them to get closer to Him. Embrace your feelings, as God has embraced the world.
Today’s readings: Acts 8:1B-8; Ps 66:1-3A,4-7A; Jn 6:35-40
