Love anticipates the impossible

Practice amazement

Numb people do not discern or fear death. Conversely, despairing people do not anticipate or receive newness. ... The language of amazement is against the despair just as the language of grief is against the numbness.

― Walter Brueggemann, The Prophetic Imagination

Welcome to my Lenten Saturday series, Love & Unlove in Lent. You can read previous entries here: Week 1 | Week 2 | Week 3

We sometimes allow counterfeit expressions of love, like stoicism and sentimentality, to turn us away from things that remind us of the realities we’d rather not face. When we talk about numbness, I find inspiration in Walter Brueggemann’s thoughts from Prophetic Imagination. He points out that this feeling often comes from avoiding discomfort, and I think many of us can relate to that temptation. In Brueggemann’s terms, countering numbness with lament and amazement is prophetic work, bringing forth love with our own.

It’s so easy to fill our lives with distractions that keep us from experiencing uncomfortable emotions, leaving us numb to life's brutal and beautiful parts. During a period when our family experienced prolonged and intense suffering and grief, I was holding my breath emotionally, just trying to get through the day without feeling too much anxiety or anything else. I didn’t fully realize I was living this way until midway through one of my walks. The sights that would usually rouse a sense of hope and gratitude— happy gulls dropping clams on the rocky shore when the tide is out, the briny whiff of the sea air making my eyes water, or the chatter of neighbors resting on park benches shading their eyes from the sun reflecting off the water—felt flat. More than flat—heavy, burdensome even. In that moment, I became aware that I’d been keeping my head down, trying to get through the walk while resisting the beauty around me, which had significant consequences for my spiritual life.

Beauty invites in us equal parts longing and contentment— neither pair well with trying to press the pause button on our emotions. Realizing this didn’t lift the pain, but it did elicit a sense of tenderness toward myself: I realized I was deep in grief and needed mercy. For a long season after that, my walks mainly consisted of asking God to make me sense the merciful mystery of Christ’s presence ahead, behind, above, and below me, even though I was too sad to savor the beauty. As this awareness grew, gratitude again stirred in my weary heart. I felt grateful.

The prophetic work of lament and amazement

Walter Brueggemann sums it up: "Only grief permits newness." Grief opens the door to new beginnings, as lament, mourning, and tears serve as a love language that active