Confusion and Certainty

Sorry I haven’t been around for a while. Easter, family visiting, software problems, as well as the usual and depressing tendency to question everything I do, has contributed to my absence. But I’m back, at least for now.

I am certain that confusion, not certitude, is faith’s faithful partner. And yes, I do realize the irony in that statement. Jesus went on the cross and into the grave believing, not knowing, that he would rise again. I don’t think he was certain. He believed it and had to trust God to wake him up again. It wasn’t as if he was going into a hotel room saying, “See you guys in a couple of days!” It was a risk to hand himself fully and obediently over to death. It had to feel like a huge risk. He had to feel the full weight, terror, and finality of death. He had to actually die. Full stop.

My grandmother just died a couple of days ago at almost 94 years old. She’s been wanting for years now to go be with Grandpa and with Jesus. I think the same trust is required of my grandmother as it was for Jesus. I don’t know for certain what comes after the grave. I hope and trust and believe, but I don’t know for certain. I trust, when I die, that my father will wake me up too… whatever that means or looks like. I don’t want to minimize or romanticize or sentimentalize death. It is my final enemy. But I believe, in a confused sort of way, that it will be defeated. And I want to be there when it is.