Nouwen: Crushed Grapes
“Sometimes our sorrow overwhelms us so completely that we can no longer believe in joy. Life seems like a cup filled to the brim with war, violence, rejection, loneliness, and endless disappointments. At times like this, we need our friends to remind us that crushed grapes can produce tasty wine.” —Henri Nouwen, “April 7” in Bread for the Journey (HarperOne, 1997).
Our God never promises that we will not experience sorrow or tragedy, but God does promise to be with us through our despair. Out of every Good Friday experience, an Easter, a resurrection, can come.
When we, our friends, or those we come to comfort are in the midst of sorrow and pain, the words we offer do not bring comfort. We are first called to be the love of God simply by our presence among those who grieve. No words are sufficient to fix things—only our love and our standing with the broken can bring healing life.
As the pain of grief eases, we can slowly offer this promise of an Easter experience in which crushed grapes become wine. For example, some people whose son committed suicide have developed a suicide-prevention plan so others will not have to endure the same pain. I see those who have endured the death of a loved one become the first to reach out to others whose loved one has died, sometimes sitting with them for hours. Parents whose child has been killed in a tragic accident build a playground or a trail so other children will have a safe place to go. A family whose teenage daughter dies in a car accident begins an arts program for teens in public schools because art made such a difference in their daughter’s life. Participants who form friendships in a grief recovery group form a funeral team at their church to care for families before, during, and after the service.
The Freeman Playground is at the corner of Beech and Market Street in Downtown Helena, AR, honoring the life of Freeman Ellis Staley who died in his 10th month of age.
All of us are a product of our wounds. We have a choice. We can learn, work, and live through our sorrows and, over time—at some point—may experience another Easter and taste a new wine. Or we can stay isolated and buried in our Good Friday tomb.
My experience is that Christ always remains with us as long as it takes, ready to roll away the stone as new life emerges.
An unfortunate part of our attempt to heal from the coronavirus pandemic was not being able to be physically present with those in pain. We then offered our presence through words. Some of the most moving stories were of those who thought outside the box and went into cars with signs, honked, or sent love through a glass window.
Joanna. Joannaseibert.com
