Snow crackles as I wander along a hillside overlooking the Qu’Appelle Valley in southern Saskatchewan. In the distance a rancher is spreading hay while
some deer raid hay behind his back. I am at a retreat house for quiet and
prayer. The Franciscan Brothers, my hosts, offer rest and simple, tasty food. For lunch we had perogies, homemade sausage with saskatoons for dessert.
The retreat leader, Brother Emile, is from Taize in France. Taize, a magnet for young people, defies understanding in our contemporary culture. Thousands of young people from around the world flock there every summer. They sing spiritual songs, listen to scripture and look for answers to their questions about life and faith.
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Brother Emile speaks about the beatitudes, words Jesus spoke to a crowd gathered around a hillside beside the Lake of Galilee. This morning he focused on the words, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” The words speak to me.
A year ago Marjorie, a friend for 42 years, learned she had a rare form of cancer. A strong and energetic woman, Marj approached this challenge with determination and hope. While hospitalized for chemotherapy, she sent dozens of emails to family and friends. Each one ended with praise for nature and an admonishment to enjoy life.
As the months passed, her emails became less frequent. A few days before she died, she dictated a final goodbye. I reflected that, for a person who had written seven law school textbooks and hundreds of letters, this must have been her most difficult composition.
I read a portion of scripture at her funeral. I could not have managed more. The minister, who had shared canoe trips with Marj, reminded us that we will encounter grief and suffering but there is hope and meaning to life. At the reception Ronalda, a young lawyer with fiery-red hair, described how she and Marj became friends at the Harvard Law School. Marj always had time to listen over a cup of tea. Ronalda blurted out, “Right now I am damn mad at God.” I waited behind her in the lunch line. She turned, recognized me, seemed momentarily shocked, then hugged me and said, “I am sorry.” I told her it is all right to be angry with God. She told another friend, Allan, that she had surprised herself by blaming God, “and then I ran into the bishop!”
The Bible and history are full of people who express anger with God over unjust situations. When Ste. Theresa of Avila’s cart tipped, spilling her into a muddy stream, she looked to heaven and cried, “God, if this is the way you treat your friends, no wonder you have so few of them!”
We left, as you have probably left funerals, wondering where God is in all of this. In The Brothers Karamazov, Dostoevsky writes about a man who mourned the death of his son. He could not find answers but “the silence of earth seemed to melt into the silence of the heavens. The mystery of earth was one with the mystery of the stars.”
Tonight at prayers we will say: “The night is dark. Let our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives rest in you. The night heralds the dawn. Let us look expectantly to a new day, new joys, new possibilities.”
Suggested Scripture: Matthew 5:1-12, John 11:17-27
Rod Andrews is a retired Anglican bishop. He lives in Saskatoon.
