DAY 42: DAY OF SORROW

SABBATH: DAY OF DESPAIR

I started the day by reading everything I had scheduled to read yesterday, then followed with today's reading:

Reading for today:
Mark 16:1
Luke 23:43
Ephesians 4:7-10

It was 'over' for Jesus - but not for the disciples and followers. They hid - out of public view - and grieved. They were wounded, confused, guilt-ridden, devastated. Sabbath ended at 6 p m - and Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome went and bought spices to apply to Jesus' body on Sunday morning.

Perhaps they didn't know that Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus had encased Jesus in 75 pounds of myrrh and spices the night before when they buried him in Joseph's unused tomb. But they loved Him, and whether or not He met their expectations as Messiah, they loved the gentle person that he was - and they were going to honor him by giving him a proper and decent burial - and that meant spices....

Meanwhile, all the Bible tells us about where Jesus was from 3 p m on Friday until the pre-dawn hours of Sunday morning is what Jesus told the thief on the cross, "Today you will be with me in Paradise."

Paul talks in 2 Corinthians 12:2-4 about being caught up to Paradise....

Where I am going with this is: where did we ever get the idea that Jesus descended into hell and 'preached to the captives.'

When I was a kid I heard preachers say that Jesus went to hell, wrestled with the devil, and took the keys of death, hell and the grave away from Satan. The Apostles' Creed says He descended into hell...and I memorized that in college when I was at Northwest College (now University). But I can't find it in the Bible.

I had already figured out that I don't agree with some of the Apostles' Creed. It takes Jesus out of creator status - and yet, John 1:1-4 says 'In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men.

So here's where I am stuck for now: Jesus said he was going to Paradise. Paradise is not synonymous with hell. When He was on the cross he said, "It is finished." That doesn't sound like an 'except for this one final thing.' All evidence points to his going to Paradise and speaking with those held there until His redemptive work on the cross was completed. The lambs slain for years were only substitutionary until the real came. Jesus was the real deal. His sacrifice reached back into all of man's history and forward for as long as man would walk in metered time.

If I'm missing something, help me out....

This issue was brought to my attention a couple of weeks ago as a 'What do you think?' and I said I'd look into it. My 'looking into' is cursory at best at this point - but I think I was taught wrong. That's where this sits for now....

NOW FOR WHAT I PROMISED FOR APRIL 3:

I hardly know where to begin - so let's just try the beginning and see where this goes. April 3 is a very tender date for me. A date of memory. We all have them. 9/11 is forever seared into my brain. It was the day my Pollyanna world ended. April 19, too, for it was on my daughter's birthday that the Oklahoma City bombing occurred. I also remember dates of deaths that line up in an unusual way:

My mother died April 3, 1953; my Grandfather Rice died April 30, 1963; my Dad died May 30, 1993. Jesus died April 3, 33.

My mother's is the one that touches me most poignantly today. April 3, 1953 was a Friday that year. I was 7 1/2, a Second Grader at Wilder, Idaho. When I got home from school that day my eldest brother told me he was supposed to take us - the little kids - to our Aunt Edna's. He was 16 and didn't get to take the car by himself all that often - - so this was a big responsibility. We didn't even go into the house. We popped into the car and off we went.

What I remember very clearly was the next morning. Since I was the only girl in our family, I always got a room alone - the best guest room at my Aunt's house. My Dad awakened me Saturday morning, and all I can remember him saying was, "I'm sorry, Lola Mae, but your mother is dead."

I didn't want to believe it. But it was true. It was all wrong - and all wrong that if it were true that the sun was shining and the sky was blue. It was wrong that the birds were singing and spring was popping out everywhere. I wanted to scream, "Stop. No. My mother is dead. How can everything look and be the same?" The reality is, it wasn't the same.

I cried until I had no more tears left to cry - and then I was just swallowed up in the sadness that filled every space we entered. We went to my Grandma's house (my Dad's mother) where all the adults gathered and talked in hushed whispers, and stopped talking whenever one of us kids came into the room. Our mother had committed suicide. I overheard snippets of what they said. "How could she do that - leave a husband and four children?" and "Isn't it awful?" and "What will he ever do - a man with four kids and no mother to help raise them?" We were shuffled off to front porches and back yards. They tried not to talk in front of us, but they had so much to talk about.

In bits and pieces we learned that she had taken my brother's rifle, put it to her head, and pulled the trigger.... They conjectured that she waited until she saw us leave that Friday afternoon, and then she ended her all-too-short life. She was only 37.

No one ever sat down with me and explained anything. I came to my own conclusion: every mother wants a little girl; I'd heard people say that many times. I was her only girl, so if I'd been the kind of little girl she'd wanted she would have stayed. It had to be all my fault. I couldn't remember anything I had done wrong. Well, except maybe my little brother and I got into too many squabbles.... But I also knew we played together well most of the time, and that didn't seem like enough for her to kill herself over - - so, it must just be me. I didn't know what I wanted to take back - but I wanted to take back whatever I had done. I loved her and missed her, and wanted for all the world to be the kind of little girl she would want to stay and be mommy to. I wanted normal back.

After the funeral week I went to live with my Aunt Edna in Parma. She was a Second Grade teacher, and because the administration felt sorry for me, they thought it would be best for me to be in my aunt's room. So that is where I finished 2nd grade. My younger brother went to Caldwell to live with the 'fun' aunt - our Aunt Glee; and the two older boys stayed with Dad. Dad worked full time during the school year - he was a teacher, too - and my aunts (his two sisters, Glee and Edna) convinced him there was no way he could take care of us and do his job. They were probably right.

What they didn't take into consideration in their generosity is that we not only lost our mother April 3, we lost each other...well, except for summer.

We all got to be together for the summer - - and what a sight we must have been: Ragamuffin kids with poor haircuts, and the toes cut out of our shoes because we'd grown too much - and clothes that didn't fit right. It was pretty obvious we didn't have a mother to watch out for us - but we were blissfully happy. We were together.

I have incredibly wonderful memories of the summer of my 7th year. I even cooked for the hay crew while they worked at our house. Fried steak; boiled potatoes and corn. I think they had the same meal every day. It was the only thing I had learned to cook. But it was edible - and they made me feel very proud for being able to have their meal ready for them when they came in to eat.

Now don't get me wrong by what I've said about my Aunt Edna. I dearly loved my aunt - and I dearly loved her husband, Uncle Sam. I called him Uncle Dudley, and he was kind, gentle, patient, and provided me all the tenderness my aunt couldn't. What I realize from this vantage point is that having a 'surprise' young child when you only wanted to be mother of one kid was definitely going the second - third - O K - - hundredth mile. She loved me - but loved me best in smaller doses - - and having a little girl in her house at that juncture certainly wasn't on her list of what she had hoped for, but all in all we fared well. She went out of her way to try to train me, and I have amazing memories of the time I lived with her, too.

I just think being a 'good Samaritan' and helping out her brother may have stretched her a little further than she'd have preferred. After the summer ended, everyone thought it was best that the 'little kids' go back to their respective aunties' houses, and the older boys went to live with Dad. Having me for 5 weeks or so at the end of 2nd grade was a lot different than a whole school year.

The biggest problem that year was that Dad moved with the two older boys to Midvale, and with that move they were too far away for us to see them often: not just because of distance - but because our Dad's focus was on 'finding a mother' for us, so he didn't come around much.

But, the reality is, I was, by nature, a pretty happy little kid. I rolled with the punches - especially at the time - and dealt with the actual fallout later.... I was very fortunate to have an extended family that truly loved me and provided stability for me when the world turned upside down. The year I was at my aunt's house built the foundation of a relationship that lasted for as long as she lived. And - I didn't have my 3 brothers, but I did have her one and only son, my cousin - - and I loved him, too... All in all, life was good. I didn't imagine it otherwise - it is just that in retrospect, I think to heal well we needed each other, but who knows? We can't go back and do it differently, so I'll just accept the blessings that were there - and there were many! If I'm tempted to get stuck on the sad parts today - it is because of the date, and walking this journey to the cross - and having it align in time so completely to Jesus' story in 33 AD.

Later, after Easter, I'll share the next chapter in the journey.... I've had enough traveling down memory lane for today.