Good Friday

Psalm 88

O LORD, the God who saves me, day and night I cry out before you. May my prayer come before you; turn your ear to my cry. For my soul is full of trouble and my life draws near the grave. I am counted among those who go down to the pit; I am like a man without strength.
I am set apart with the dead, like the slain who lie in the grave, whom you remember no more, who are cut off from your care. You have put me in the lowest pit, in the darkest depths. Your wrath lies heavily upon me; you have overwhelmed me with all your waves. Selah.

You have taken from me my closest friends and have made me repulsive to them. I am confined and cannot escape; my eyes are dim with grief. I call to you, O LORD, every day; I spread out my hands to you. Do you show your wonders to the dead? Do those who are dead rise up and praise you? Selah.

Is your love declared in the grave, your faithfulness in Destruction? Are your wonders known in the place of darkness, or your righteous deeds in the land of oblivion? But I cry to you for help, O LORD; in the morning my prayer comes before you. Why, O LORD, do you reject me and hide your face from me? From my youth I have been afflicted and close to death; I have suffered your terrors and am in despair. Your wrath has swept over me; your terrors have destroyed me. All day long they surround me like a flood; they have completely engulfed me. You have taken my companions and loved ones from me; the darkness is my closest friend.

As the season of Lent soon draws to a close, this Psalm is a poetic reminder of the heart of an orphaned and abandoned child. We, meaning those who grew up knowing our parents and knowing their love, can emerge from Lent and all of its symbolism and resume our normal lives with deepend gratitude. But for the kids at Sovietsk and others like them throughout the world, life is like a permanent Lent with a thousand Good Fridays. They feel alone and abandoned; darkness is their closest friend. They act out because they don't know what else to do. They sniff glue to numb the pain. They run away or turn to exploitation and violence. Our kids struggle and fight for their lives, trying to emotionally survive, trying to find the light.

But despite all of this, we believe there is hope. Why? It's called Good Friday for a reason. Easter is coming.

Ashes to Ashes

Calm and distressed

Torn and most whole

Rose of memory

Rose of forgetfulness

Exhausted and

life-giving

Worried reposeful

--"Ash Wednesday," TS Eliot

Throughout Lent and now Holy Week, we are remembering our children at Sovietsk. The walk through the darkness, the story of one Man's isolation and abandonment, the triumph of new life resonates so deeply with the life of an orphaned child. At the same time, it resonates with all of us.

At the beginning of Lent, we were reminded that we are dust, and to dust we shall return. In the past, I've felt the heaviness of that statement throughout the season, mourning the pain and struggle of human life. My perspective has since changed--I find it comforting. No matter who we are, how seemingly tiny and unimportant or grand and renowned, we are all made of the same stuff. We are all capable of feeling--and causing--extreme joy and profound sorrow. We share these qualities with the children at Sovietsk, but Holy Week reminds us that we also share with those who deny them or betray them. I will never understand why different people are dealt different circumstances, but I am responsible for the hand I am given. Being human requires me to acknowledge my brokenness and yet celebrate my part in bringing joy and life to those around me.

It becomes dangerous when we think of ourselves as too small, as if one tiny person could never make a difference, or too big, as if we are the difference the world needs. The truth is elsewhere: yes, we are tiny, but when we accept ourselves for who we are, and pour ourselves out in humility, wonderful things can happen. If we can help our children understand that they are worth every bit as much as the rest of society, they can understand this human paradox of being both small and infinitely valuable. They can rest in who they are and celebrate the gifts they've been given. It takes all of us patiently reminding them what they are worth, as they have lived and heard lies for so long.

I feel this paradox about these children and all the orphaned, abandoned, neglected, or abused people in our world. It is heart-breaking to see what cruel circumstances can do to someone's soul, but hopeful to see the change that comes when patient, unrelenting Love arrives.