The Week of the Eclipse

We drove out to the family business to watch the eclipse on Monday. An interesting phenomenon to see the young and old alike peering at the sky in unique eyeware to watch something small obscure something large. As the lunar orb passed before the solar orb, and the shadow fell upon us, there was a surprising temperature drop. Astronomers tell us that if the sun were the size of a beachball, the moon would be about the size of a pin head. How can something that small effectively obscure something so large, dimming the sky and chilling the air?

There was a type of eclipse in my soul this week as well. Josh and I squabbled one evening - a sad ending to a lovely weekend away. The truth be told, he expressed his feelings on something (ancient and forgotten) and I completely overreacted. I genuinely felt hurt, but instead of helping our communication with an "I-think-what-you-meant-to-say-was..." statement, I chose to be hurt and gave full vent to my wounded emotions. We went to sleep that night clinging to our respective sides of the bed, and he went off to work the next morning without either of us proffering our usual parting affection. All day I stewed over my wounded feelings. I knew I was in the wrong, but I was searching for "the issue behind the issue" - the reason I had overreacted so severely. I came up short. And so I nursed the grudge. And the eclipse began. I zoomed in on a speck of hurt and allowed it to become bigger than love, than forgiveness, than the Son. And the air became cold and the Light faded.

I open the Bible. Reading in John brings me to the story of the man healed at the pool of Bethesda. He had been crippled for 38 years and had spent most of his life there near the pool, with the others blind and lame. When Jesus sees Him, He seems to already know his story. In light of it, His question seems strange, "Do you want to be healed?" But the paralytic's response shows Jesus' perception. Instead of a resounding "YES," he proceeds to get defensive, blaming others for his continued state of brokenness. He only saw one way to be healed - one path to wholeness - a traditional road where others played the primary role.

And I saw myself in the story of the feeble and the Healer. As I look at my situation of hurt, I hear Him query, "Do you want to be healed? Or do you demand that healing comes on your terms? Do you want peace in your home - really? Or do you want to harbor that hurt until it gets resolved your way? Do you want to move past selfishness? Or do you want to be miserable?" I give my own "lame" excuses - "But he needs to know he hurt me! How can I feel better unless he knows not to do it again? He should take some responsibility too!"

Thankfully, Jesus hears the heart behind the whimpering of my biblical counterpart and I. He knows we do want to be healed, even though our faith is small and our vision short-sighted. He speaks to the paralytic - commanding him to take up his bed - his place of constant suffering - and walk. And he does. He rises and moves on, whole, not needing to seek out and berate those who left him in his pain. And the Son speaks his love to me, and I find I am no longer wounded and I, too, can walk past this place of hurt without demanding the accounting of anyone, even the one who saw my pain. Jesus has the power to make me completely whole. And though I may habitually reach for the crutch of blame and defensiveness, I pray I will continue to say "Yes" to His healing and experience the strength and joy to walk uprightly in obedience.

The pin-prick of darkness passes on, and there is light and warmth again.