Dig Deeper into this Sunday’s Gospel: Read Mark 9:30–37
This time of year is particularly rough for me, spiritually and emotionally.
As the calendar inches toward October, a season of holiday planning and preparation for many, I find myself bracing for the emotional challenges that lie ahead. The anticipation of difficult conversations, the need to reiterate boundaries with family members, and the constant reminders of relationships unavailable to me or my children all weigh heavily on my heart.
Despite my best efforts to prepare for this season, shield myself from unwanted emotions, and present a facade of detachment from past hurts, I find myself grappling with a silent storm of resentment and anger that simmers just beneath the surface.
Oh, how I have questions for Jesus, many of which begin with “why?” Why have I allowed these circumstances to derail me again? Why am I not over this? Why me, Jesus? Why my family?
Sometimes, it’s just that one word: why.
I wonder if that one word was on the minds and hearts of the apostles after hearing Jesus prophesy about His coming passion in this week’s gospel. “The Son of Man is to be handed over to men, and they will kill him, and three days after his death, he will rise. But [the apostles] did not understand the saying, and they were afraid to question him” (Mark 9:31–32).
The apostles were afraid to question Jesus. Why? Why, Lord, are You being called to suffer and to die?
Perhaps they were afraid to ask because it would open the conversation to hearing more about suffering and death. Their very human understanding couldn’t grasp the idea of their Messiah as a suffering servant rather than the all powerful king they were expecting. Their tendency toward self-protection kept them from asking more from Jesus. Rather than consider the possibility of what Jesus’ prophecy might mean for them—their own suffering and death, their own cross waiting for them—they focused on something more comfortable and controlled: who was the greatest among them (Mark 9:34).
Despite my fear of an answer I may not want to hear, an answer that may require more work on my part or an answer that may not change my present circumstances, I’ve spent a lifetime asking why and very little time with Jesus, waiting for His answer.
Instead, I’ve answered these questions myself.
Why has this happened to me? Because I’m not good enough.
Why have I allowed these circumstances to derail me again? Because I’m not good enough.
Why am I not over this? Because I’m not good enough.
Those answers—those lies that I believe—propel me toward proving my worth at all costs. I strive for praise, acknowledgment, and perfection. Envious of other families and eager to appear unbothered, I pull away from Jesus and toward myself.
On the precipice of yet another predictable season of hurt, I have a choice: Do I answer my own questions in an attempt to remain self-reliant and self-protected? Or do I bring my questions to Jesus and allow Him to answer them in His way and in His own time?
In the gospel, when the apostles and Jesus reached Capernaum, Jesus asked them what they had been arguing about. They remained silent. Perhaps this initial silence revealed not only an awareness of the triviality of their argument but also their fear of asking deeper questions. While Jesus didn’t waste the opportunity to use what His friends had argued about as a lesson in true discipleship and the greatness of the Kingdom of God, I wonder what might have occurred if one of His apostles decided to revisit the earlier teaching. What might Jesus have said if an apostle had the courage to ask, Why? Why, Lord, are You being called to suffer and to die?
Our questions don’t scare Jesus; they don’t anger Him. He is big enough for them all. Surrendering our questions to Him—as a child does with a parent when she seeks to understand the world around her—displays great faith and trust. This kind of faith draws us closer to Him. Trusting that even if it is not the answer we desire, even if it’s an answer that is hard to hear or accept, we are not alone; we are waiting with Him.
With Him, we can allow ourselves to be little when our questions are big.
With Him, we can allow ourselves to be comforted when the answers cause pain.
With Him, we can allow ourselves to be seen when the answers might cause us to want to hide.
Jesus invites us to bring our questions to Him and find the answers we seek at the foot of the cross, where His divine mercy pours from His wounds, rushing into our own. “By His wounds we have been healed” (Isaiah 53:5).
Perhaps, this season, the answers I seek lie not only in gazing up at our Lord on the cross. Maybe the answers lie in who Jesus wants me to find there, standing with me: His Mother, who also had questions, “How can this be?” (Luke 1:34), who also waited (albeit more patiently than me) to see our Lord’s plans of salvation unfold. There, Mary’s sorrowful heart will enfold around my own, filling me with strength, courage, and confidence. Why? Why, Lord, why am I being called to suffer in this way? Wrapped in our Blessed Mother’s mantle, she lifts my head up to meet her Son’s gaze from the cross, to hear His tender words to me, “Here is your Mother” (John 19:27).
That’s an answer my broken heart has been waiting to hear.
In faith,
Jeannine
Food for thought or journaling…
Do you long to ask Jesus why? What questions are you holding back from Jesus? What answers might you be afraid of hearing?
Dear Lord, fill me with the grace to trust You with my questions, to trust that You hear them and that they are important to You, too. In my waiting for answers, allow me to focus on Your goodness, on Your heart, on You. Jesus, I trust in You. Amen.
