He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief. Isaiah 53:3
For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize… Hebrews 4:15
I stood in the candy aisle a few days before Easter, trying desperately to focus. I knew what each of my children liked in their baskets. Peanut butter cups for Claire. Snickers for Michael. Skittles for Matt, Claire’s husband, and salted caramel for Alison, Michael’s wife. Jackie liked Sour Patch Kids. This annual errand usually elicited great joy and anticipation. This year was different. There seemed to be too many choices. The lights above me were too bright, and the people around me too distant. I felt somehow detached from my experience. The labels on the candy bars shimmied and danced through my tears, my mind so locked up it wouldn’t let me distinguish one brand from the next. Never before, or since, have I been so utterly trapped in such a fog of loneliness and isolation. I stood frozen to the spot, disconnected from everything around me, hugging my arms in a vice grip, gently rocking back and forth. “Help me Lord,” I whispered.
We were in the midst of one of the darkest points in raising our daughter, who suffers from severe mental illness. With no one who could relate to what we were experiencing, the isolation was devastating.
Acquainted With Grief
Perhaps you can relate. Your trial may not look like ours, but the results may be the same. A cancer diagnosis, the loss of a child, or any time of extreme testing can thrust us into a pit of despair and loneliness. It is very good news that we have access to a Savior who has been there.
Walmart at Easter is no Gethsemane, but I knew that crying out to Christ in the midst of my desolation in that store would not fall on deaf ears because of his own few days before Easter. No, I was not going to bear the weight of all humanity, but I was living in a torrent of chaos and stress that left me withered and nearly crushed by the weight of it. I knew Jesus could relate.
Picture him in the garden. He had just completed his three year ministry, teaching and preaching to his lost sheep, and preparing his little band of men, those thick fellows who were often slow on the uptake and had no clue why they were following him. He must have been exhausted. His ministry was urgent and all consuming, and not always fruitful. And he knew how it would end. Even though he understood what lay beyond that first Good Friday, that promised “joy set before him” (Hebrews 12:2), his humanness led him to fear the physical pain and utter desolation he was about to face. He was surrounded by people, yet isolated and friendless. He did not “entrust himself to them…, for he himself knew all people” (John 2:24). He had no one to relate to, and no one could relate to him. And there in the garden, when he needed his disciples the most, he found them sleeping.
Jesus was profoundly alone in his experience. He had no confidant. No counselor, no close friend to call in the middle of the night to encourage him or share in what he was feeling. Standing accused before the Sanhedrin, facing an incredulous assessment by Pontius Pilate, enduring the scoffing curiosity of Herod, listening to the mocking of the Roman guards, feeling their spit on his face, winding along the Via Dolorosa beneath the heavy crossbeam and the crowd’s staring eyes, ascending Calvary, and submitting to being nailed hand and foot to a tree, he was alone. For the first and only time in eternity, Christ was forsaken, isolated, and without help. He cried out, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46).
For all he endured, and in his most lonesome moments, Jesus never stopped crying out to his Father. And his pleas were no eloquent, censored prayers. They were raw, pleading, and audacious laments for help and relief. Face to the ground, he pleaded, “Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass…” (Matthew 26:39). Writhing in agony on the cross, he searched in prayer for his Father, wondering, “Why?” I don’t know how long God turned his face from his Son, but even the shortest possible increment of time would have been too long. Yet he never stopped praying. He never stopped reaching out for help from God. And knowing he could have at any time called down an army of angels to relieve him from the ordeal (Matthew 26:53), he instead, fueled by great love and unfathomable grace, prayed for forgiveness for the ignorant creatures for whom he was bearing this agony. “Forgive them,” he pleaded. “They don’t know what they’re doing” (Luke 23:34).
Then it was finished. And in the finishing came our rescue, and our permission to cry to him with our own raw and audacious lament. My heart aches when I think about him there in the garden. Because he endured all that for me. And for you. Nothing I experience in my life, not even the extreme level of stress that living with a child with mental illness brings, can come close to the loneliness Jesus suffered for me on that first Easter. There are promises in the Bible we can stand on, boldly and with solid assurance because we have a Savior who can empathize with us. We are never alone.
Planted on the Promises
Despite our fallen status, God has left us promises we can take straight to the bank. Or, more accurately, all the way to heaven. On my worst days, like my pre-Easter errand to Walmart, I had nothing to do but cling to God’s good promises of companionship and comfort.
Behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age. Matthew 28:20
Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:10
Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you. Deuteronomy 31:6
For my father and my mother have forsaken me, but the Lord will take me in. Psalm 27:10
I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. John 14:18
Meditating on the good and sure promises of God counteracts the effects of isolation. Remember, Christ was isolated, too. It’s somehow comforting that even he, in his lowest moment, questioned God’s promises. But it was only a moment. Jesus pleaded for forgiveness for his accusers, forgave the dying thief beside him, leaving him with one of his precious promises (Luke 23:43), and commended his spirit to the Father who was afflicting him. He was confident that God would be there for him, and he would once again be at his side in heaven. We can have that same confidence, because God who is trustworthy has given the promise never to leave or forsake us. Ever.
I went home from Walmart that day with a few bags of candy and a heart filled with peace. I knew I was going home to the tumult, but I was going in the bosom of my Savior, armed with his promises to draw near to me in my loneliness. It was a good Easter.