Written by Christina Feng, LMHC (Senior Clinician)
It’s my mid-afternoon break and the sun is streaming through the window, casting a warm golden hue on the half-decorated walls of my home office. I hear cars and trucks passing by, an occasional bird’s chirp, and the faint chatter of people enjoying a walk together. I see no more traces of snow; just the last bit of damp pavement that should dry up in another day’s time. Eastertide was just upon us, and it seems that the earth was aware of this fact and began its own preparations in advance of it. I’ve experienced many a New England March, and this last one was unusually mild, with several days in the 60s, even 70s. As I reflect on March, other things come to mind--most notably, the increased rate and availability of vaccinations that is quickly becoming a favorite subject among clients. I can’t think of many--if any--sessions that don’t touch upon it, even if just briefly. A client this morning beamed as she shared that she recently received a first dose. She’s not the first to celebrate this precious milestone with me, but I never tire of these updates. I hear excitement and joy in their voices. Even those who have yet to receive a first dose have spoken with more confidence, and I notice that their voices carry hope.
For the first time in more than a year, hope is becoming palpable again. It is at once familiar and foreign, tempered by a muted sense of anticipation. We have learned to live in quarantine and isolation. We have practiced caution and distance-keeping. We have known fear and uncertainty as a part of our everyday existence. We have lost, we have grieved, we have mourned, we have worried, we have striven, we have resigned, we have fought, we have grown weary. Many have learned to expect little and suffer much. Suffer much. Suffering is a hard subject as it is uncomfortable to confront, and we are prone to run from it, recover from it as quickly as we can, or risk breaking under the weight of it. In my experience, whether professional or personal, there is no level of skill, wisdom, or empathy that truly comforts the one who suffers. But this is where the beautiful truth of redemption steps in and begins to undo the work of suffering and loss.
Redemption is the recovery, the regaining of something that has been lost. We see traces of this each spring when the loss of daylight returns, the loss of warmth returns, the loss of greenery returns. It implies loss. Yet history and life itself tells us that, the greater the loss, the greater the redemption. And nowhere is this truth seen more clearly than in the loss and redemption of life at Calvary. There has been, is, and will never be a greater suffering than Christ enduring the full weight of humanity’s judgment unto death, but there has been, is, and will never be a greater redemption than the life that is offered to all of humanity in the resurrection of Christ that first Easter morn. For all who believe and call upon his name. Let us not believe for one second that every bit of death and dying that we experience in this world is the end of the story. Let us look to the empty cross and remember what sweet redemption is ours on a later day. And let us fuel the hope that is timidly returning to us by seeking out glimpses of redemption in the everyday. Lately is has been especially noticeable in the return of traffic on the roads, kids at the playground, jobs to families, and small gatherings in person. But let us not be satisfied so quickly; not merely with the prospect of vaccinations and a new normal. Instead, let us train our eyes to await and behold the final redemption when everything will be restored and made new again.