I read about children separated from their parents at the border, detained in facilities no one should say are fit for human beings, trauma forever being etched into their minds, their bodies, their lives. I read about the fifth anniversary of the death of Eric Garner, and I wonder how time passes so quickly when justice isn’t realized. I read about my friend’s journey on an Asian-American Civil Rights Pilgrimage coordinated by her church, and I pound my chest at the racism and fear-driven rhetoric that was used during the Japanese concentration camps that is again and still being used today. I read about a writer friend who lost her husband to a freak accident. I read about someone whose child has been diagnosed with cancer before the age of two.
I listen to friends as they face shattered hopes of a marriage that won’t last as their wedding vows had intended, as I struggle in my own marriage to love and to cherish for better or for worse, till death do us part. I witness friends, who live with a river of grief and joy, of heartache and celebration, flowing in the background of their lives as they parent children with autism.
It all seems too much to hold, too much to take in at the same time — death and grief and injustice and sadness crashing relentlessly around me. There doesn’t seem to be enough room to take a moment, to breathe, to be present in it all.
Lament gets stuck in my throat; I don’t have the words anymore. And if I’m honest with myself, half of me wants to look away, to hide away from the pain of those around me. I want to shut my eyes, put my hands over my ears, and pretend that I don’t know anything, that I don’t have the power to change anything, that I’m not responsible to carry the burdens of others.
But it’s a privilege to be on the outer ripples of pain, to only experience the aftershocks of the initial ground shaking. It’s a privilege to even have the choice to look away, to even say that it’s too much. It’s a privilege not to be inconvenienced by the lives of others with the ease of clicking the x at the top corner of the browser window, at the swiping away of a social media app. It’s a privilege that comes at too high of a cost on the other to bear it on their own. It’s a privilege Jesus didn’t even consider to grasp.
Instead he emptied himself
by assuming the form of a servant,
taking on the likeness of humanity.
And when he had come as a man,
he humbled himself by becoming obedient
to the point of death —
even to death on a cross.
Philippians 2:7-8 (CSB)
Love means being inconvenienced. It means having boundary lines redefined, having family and community be reshaped. It means values are reconsidered based on the red-letter words of Jesus, and it means choosing to stay in the pain, to not run away or look away, but to see, listen, weep, and bear the weight together. It means entering in and holding space and not rushing to solutions or placing blame or figuring out happy endings. It means sitting in the discomfort of unresolved issues and somehow still holding hope for a future, for redemption, even when it seems impossible.
Love means showing up, speaking up, and sticking around even when it costs us not only inconveniences but even more so, when it costs us our reputation, our relationships, our time, our energy — possibly even our lives.
It doesn’t seem to end, does it? — this barrage of loss and ache. It only seems to grow as life goes on. It can lead us to feeling hopeless, or we can stare at our own privilege in the face. We can acknowledge that our privilege doesn’t protect us or make us more like Christ. When we hold onto it instead of laying it aside, we miss the mark of what we’re called to be and do as people who profess faith in a God who broke down all barriers, who laid down every privilege He had, who took on all the pain, all the sadness, all the grief, all the death and said, “It is finished.”
Instead, we can make the choice to lay down our privilege like Christ did. We can make space to hold the agonizing pain of others even when we don’t understand its breadth, its origins, its long-lasting reverberations. We don’t have to know what to do next, but we can keep our eyes open, holding room for the stories to be shared, bearing the weight together — each person holding a corner of the cross.
We can do as Jesus did and be as the Holy Spirit is — parakletos, one who comes alongside, an advocate, a comforter. We do this when the tragedy hits, when the ashes of the chaos seem to settle, when the wind kicks up all the grief and pain in our faces again. We hold space even when our arms ache, and we remember that God Emmanuel — God with us — isn’t a sweet Christmas sentiment, but the very way we are to carry one another — with, together, alongside.
I hold the stories of those around me, and I repeat this cry of lament:
Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
I imagine my prayer like the fragrant smoke of incense, making its way to heaven, where God, who weeps with us, will one day make all things right again.
Love while laying down our privilege means showing up, speaking up, and sticking around even when it costs us. -@gracepcho: Click To Tweet
by Grace P. Cho
Grace P. Cho
Grace, this message is powerful. Necessary. To be sung to Christians from the highest heights. And in the With in the low places. Thank you for raising a Hallelujah to where we are, when we stick together. God is there in our midst. I NEEDED these words. It’s something He’s been revealing to me while birthing a more fulfilling mission.
Wow. I am struck. Everything I have been feeling for so long seems to be written right here for me. I am so encouraged by your honesty, your faith, your generosity in sharing these raw emotions. To know that others are feeling, thinking, facing these seemingly endless barrage of loss and ache as you say has shown me that I have allowed myself to feel alone. I am not alone. I thank God for you and for the words He has given you and you have given me. I will dwell on your encouragement. I am ever so grateful.
Oh, we’re so not alone, Joyce! So glad we can hold onto the corners of the cross together.
A more fulfilling mission – yes and amen. Let’s press in as we keep hearing from Him.
Grace,
Oh…friend…the weight of these words–gripping, compelling, and beautiful. You’ve shared thoughts that give pause, stir reflection, and more than anything, point to Jesus with great hope. “We don’t have to know what to do next, but we can keep our eyes open, holding room for the stories to be shared, bearing the weight together — each person holding a corner of the cross.” There’s a certain freedom in letting go of the need to know what to do, in order to know what we CAN do. I’m grateful for the way you’ve slowed me down to again consider how to love well. xo
Thank you, Robin!
This is practical, real, tangible commissioning to all believers. Thank you for this reminder.
Powerful reminder Grace. Thank you.
Amen Grace!! I feel so much like you and some days I want to hide in the closet!! Yes it’s better to show up and stick up for the abused , hurting and lonely.. this is the will Jesus has and we should have.. blessings to and through you \0/
Blessings to you as well!
Thank you Grace. It’s almost been 3 years since my grandson has been gone. He choose to take his life at 17 and go to his eternity home with God. It hasn’t been an easy road for any of my family. It breaks my heart everyday. It is hardest on my daughter and grandaughter. But as a family we have that love that sticks together as best as we can to survive everyday. We include my grandson in all we do and we talk about him no matter what. His memory has to be kept alive. I want to ask everyone to please keep my daughter and family in prayers to give strength and love to keep on surviving .
I’m so sorry for your loss and the ache that keeps aching. Holding it with you today.
Thank you, Grace, for these words. Yes, we need to come alongside those who suffer. Lord, please help me to see where I am needed and put myself there.
Amen amen amen.
Grace, thank you for this beautiful reminder of the value of Presence. When my little one was suffering—and eventually died—from a cancer-type disease, it was the Body of Christ that sustained me. They served our family, loved on all of us, prayed, cried, and even questioned with us. And now, years later, as friends and I face all kinds of hardships, knowing we’re walking through life together, embracing one another in our pain and carrying one another to the feet of Jesus, we are able to keep on keeping on.
Lord, have mercy… thank you for sharing your loss with us here, Tammy. I love how the Body of Christ came around you and how you continue to do so for one another. This gives me so much hope.
Grace,
Your words have deeply touched me this morning, and have helped immensely, thank-you. True love is unconditional and yes we might be pushed beyond our own set of boundaries and what we thought we’d ever endure or be capable of. I have been learning this over the past months in a way I thought I never would. It’s also taught me not to say “never” because we don’t know what we’ll be faced with and how God has helped us to be prepared when we are. But with the Lord there to comfort us and guide us we are capable of overcoming it to forge ahead.
I hope that you all have a blessed day,
Penny
Yes, we can overcome, we can come through with Him with us.
Grace, thank you for this beautiful reminder of the value of Presence. When my little one was suffering—and eventually died—from a cancer-type disease, it was the Body of Christ that sustained me. They served our family, loved on all of us, prayed, cried, and even questioned with us. And now, years later, as friends and I face all kinds of hardships, knowing we’re walking through life together, embracing one another in our pain and carrying one another to the feet of Jesus, we are able to keep on keeping on. And as my urban community strives to serve the disenfranchised and the hurting, your words are a powerful reminder of my own responsibility to “hold a corner of the cross” while crying out for God’s mercy.
Grace,
I imagine God in Heaven weeping for this world as He did for Jerusalem. He knows how it will all end. I fear we are becoming like Sodom & Gomorrah. Everyone doing as they please-living like tomorrow never will arrive. They don’t want to hear about a resurrection morning when we give account for all we’ve done. The news is so bad that I don’t watch it much anymore-I do stay informed. I’ve come to the point many days that I look up & ask God to come back now please. End all this suffering down here. Meantime I try to be like Job’s three friends. They came & sat with him for seven days weeping & empathizing with him. We would do well to follow that example. Suffering people just need others to help carry their load. We need to be inconvenienced a little in our lives & help those needing our assistance. You stated this beautifully: To love someone means being inconvenienced. It means having boundary lines redefined, having family and community be reshaped. I know for me I have been inconvenienced to the point of quitting a good job to care for my aging dad-it’s what you do!! In the end we will get jewels in our crown for doing all these things. We will hear those immortal words “Well done thou good & faithful servant”.
Blessings 🙂
I often ask the Lord to come soon too. May He make all things right.
Grace, thankyou…there is such a challenge of truth here…YES, we are to be the hands of Christ…either helping hands or praying hands. I see so many people turning away as getting into the situation costs too much time and emotion. Life so about SELF these days and ..thoughts like ..”let someone else” or “I have had enough”.. God is committed to us as we should be to our sisters and brothers in Christ.
Bless you Dear One…Mizpah (Gen.31:49)
Thank you for your thoughts this morning. I have found it very difficult to have these conversations with those around me. I have never found it so hard to discuss them, and find myself more and more uncomfortable with other’s reaction and I never experienced that before. May our eyes and hearts be more open.
https://www.kathycheek.com/2019/07/make-first-breath-of-morning-your-fall.html
Yes and amen.
Thank you for this beautiful description of love. I help lead a group of women who pray for our adult children with struggles. This is a perfect definition of what we seek to be to one another. We were designed for community and we experience Jesus to a greater degree by entering into the sufferings of others. God bless and thank you Grace.
Wow. Thank you for your bluntness, for not shying away from these truths. And also, thank you for acknowledging so perfectly the way it feels to be barraged by all the decay around us. Jesus is the hope, and He will give us the strength to bear one another’s burdens. Praise God for His love and plan in the midst of the chaos!
He is our hope indeed. Help us, Lord!
Grace, Thank you for your beautiful words to stay in it, when I feel like turning away – “Instead, we can make the choice to lay down our privilege like Christ did. We can make space to hold the agonizing pain of others even when we don’t understand its breadth, its origins, its long-lasting reverberations.” Lord, have mercy…
Amazing post, thank you!
Thanks, Jas!