I was in church the other day, during the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, I had a rush of grief. It didn’t feel like self-pity or situational. It felt sort of–sacred–for lack of a better term. Like sorrow for sin and suffering for those who cannot pray for themselves, and the struggles of so many. I was flooded with so much grief, and at the same time wrestling with trying not to make a scene.

Integrating

I work at an integrative Clinic where my job as a “prayer partner” is in the mental health wing. We are working together to lead people to Christ for healing, mind and spirit, and of course growing numerous services for the medical/body part of the clinic as well. I have been learning much from those I work with about emotions and how they intertwine in our spirit and how to integrate ourselves as human beings (or letting Christ integrate us.) I knew I must have been feeling this rush of grief for some reason, and must not label it as “bad” or “wrong” but needed to allow it and take it to Jesus.

Check In On Yourself

I had to ask myself “why” I was feeling such sadness. I think I have been trying to “do” so much lately. I realized how much I am over-doing it the other day when I got stopped by a red traffic light and actually felt relief! I realized I had been rushing and plowing ahead and the light turned red and I let out a deep breath and thought, “ok good.” Maybe I had been holding it in during the craziness of life and all of its demands lately or maybe because I have been watching many people I love struggle and suffer because of aging, health issues, cancer, stress, etc.

Feelings Tell Us Something

During that Mass, I must have been sucking in my breath for a while in order not to sob, and I remember thinking “Pull it together!” and felt dizzy. I took a deep breath and surrendered it all to the Lord, crying as quietly as I could, trying not to disrupt the prayers of those around me.

Let All Creation Sing

My attention was drawn to the altar. All around were lilies and sprays of palms behind beautiful white flowers. There was ivy falling out of the flower arrangements that were hoisted high around the paschal candle. I adored their careless nature, seemingly floating and falling at the same time without effort.

This verse came to mind:

 Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.”  He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”

Luke 19:39-41 NRSVCE

I knew in my heart that I didn’t have to wrestle with my feelings at that moment. I needed to observe the ivy’s floating nature. The palms whose “arms” were extended in a stretch that seem to shout excitedly to the heavens, and the lilies who looked like tiny trumpets, all blasting musical praise and lifting their heads to each other, the heavens, and all of us.

I knew it was not my job to control whatever my heart was trying to tell me. God had me. It felt in my heart as though He saw me. He saw me feeling helpless, but also that it was His job, not mine, to carry all that suffering.

He wanted me to notice the surrender and glory of His Creation, springing forth in sight and scent and beauty. Creation is subject to Him and so was I. Where I had to cry and surrender to this flood of emotion, nature took over my song of praise and thanksgiving. They were shouting out like the stones, and showing me that I don’t have to do anything but let myself be held by Christ, cascade carelessly into his arms like the ivy falling.

Nature can rejoice in the hope of his Resurrection, and so can I. I don’t have to have expectations of what that should look like for me as a human being, feeling all the things in the midst of a busy and demanding life where a red light has remind me to breathe.

The fact is that he is risen. Indeed, he has. And that is even more cause for surrender and trust.