Sonnet-ing Through the “Heavy”

My heart is heavy this week, friends.

I give you fair warning: this post contains much talk of scripture and prayer. If such things are not your scene, I encourage you to read on anyway: there’s a sonnet waiting at the end. Besides, I don’t know anyone who hasn’t wrestled with “heavy” at some point, so this post truly is for everyone. I hope it encourages you.

Our journey through Lent thus far has taken us from the poignant hope of Ash Wednesday to the grace-full invitation of fasting to the importance of being present. I do have another poem for you this week – a sonnet, no less – but ’tis a bit different from the others, so the thematic relevance requires some explanation.

This week has been marked by a small but potent myriad of pressing needs. It is hard to know that someone you love dearly is going through a difficult time; harder still when you can’t do anything to help – except pray.

And pray.

And pray.

When “someone you love dearly” becomes “multiple people you love you dearly”, each with a separate set of woes that have all chosen to wreak havoc at the same time, “hard” escalates rapidly into “excruciating”.

In such circumstances, I have a tendency to cling tightly to all of these needs instead of releasing them through prayer. Somehow, I feel that carrying them around means I’m “helping” – and the more I stagger and crumble under the weight, the more “involved” I feel.

As I said last week about my “denial” fasting strategy: counterproductive, at best.

I think Lent sharpens this tendency. In such times, whenever I read scripture, I am looking for an answer to this person’s problem or that person’s need; every time I pray, I am crying out for help instead of listening. I go into “crisis mode” – which, don’t misunderstand me, is more than ok for a while, but no relationship can thrive if that sort of climate perdures.

As I’ve been reflecting so far throughout Lent, this forty-day period of fasting is meant to be an invitation: a chance to dive deeper into intimacy with my Creator and Savior. It is an opportunity to sit in the silence and hear the song of Love still throbbing at the heart of Reality, that – through listening – I may become a clearer vessel for that song to come spilling through into the world that needs it.

That means reading scripture not just in a desperate search for hope-nuggets, but to hear the Story – meditate upon it – see better how it all fits together, that I may pray afresh to be caught up in it.

That means praying not just in frantic petition, but in thanksgiving, – reflecting on the goodness and power and love of the One to whom I pray, that when I do make my requests, I can make them in confidence that they are heard and will not go unanswered.

Again, do not misunderstand me: sometimes, crisis mode is the way to go.

I see nothing wrong in mining the scriptures for encouragement or dwelling on urgent needs in prayer. Sometimes, that’s all one can do – sometimes, that’s more than I can do. There are moments for me when “prayer” means saying “help” over and over and over – or, not saying anything at all.

In this week of “heavy”, I am choosing – by grace – to let Lent remind me of the good news: the God I serve sees it all, and hears it all, and is mighty to save. The One to whom I pray is nothing less than Love itself – Love unfailing, Love eternal, Love triumphant – and Love will not let anything go to waste.