How To Lose

“May I hold your baby?”

The elderly stranger took the young mother by surprise. He looked as if he could expire at any moment, yet his eyes shone joyfully as he beheld her son. The parents with their infant, who was just forty days old, could have gone unnoticed among the bustling crowds that day. Yet the old man approached the family as if he knew them, as if he had waited all his life for this moment. Wonderingly, the new mother offered her son into the outstretched arms.

“Now I can die in peace!” the old man sang. Praising God, he spoke knowingly about the boy. He called him a light to the world and the glory of his people. The baby’s father and mother marvelled at the stranger’s rejoicing. This was not the first time they had heard such blessings for the child, and they recognized the man’s words as prophetic.

But the man’s gracious words took a sudden turn, and a dark warning came next: “The child will be opposed.” Then he spoke the words no mother wants to hear:

“A sword will pierce your own soul too.”

Luke’s account of the aged Simeon is chilling (Luke 2:25-35). When the pious man finds the baby Jesus with his parents in the temple on the day of their purification, he at once recognizes the good news: this infant is the embodiment of God’s promised salvation. But immediately he announces that this will entail suffering, pain, and loss.

Simeon delivers a hard blow to Mary. His prediction to her, “a sword will pierce your own soul too” (Luke 2:35), is in itself a piercing, haunting disappointment. He does not mollify his statement with a cheery, “There there, don’t worry. Keep your chin up; everything will be fine.” The promise of pain is left ringing in her ears, no doubt to resound the rest of her trial-filled life.

If Mary replied to Simeon, Luke does not record it. Upon hearing her heart would break, a natural reaction might be, “Why, God? Why me? What have I done wrong? Why are you punishing me? Why do you hate me? If you really are good, you wouldn’t let this happen.” Another tempting response could be, “Don’t tell me I’m gonna lose. I can avoid this. I won’t let anything get me down.”

Whatever agony Mary experienced from the knowledge of her imminent suffering, she did not run away. She did not insulate her heart from the relationships that would surely break it. She embraced the life of loving Joseph and Jesus. And because she loved, she suffered.

Simeon had warned her this would happen. At what point did Mary recall to mind his words and think, “Ah, this is what he meant”? Was it when she fled her homeland in the middle of night with Joseph to save Jesus from the wrath of Herod? When her twelve-year-old son went missing in Jerusalem? When Joseph died, leaving her a widow? When Jesus died before her eyes, scourged, bruised, and executed as a criminal?

Mary’s life reveals the profound connection between love and loss. She did not agree to motherhood only on the condition that she would be spared from hardship. And after her encounter with Simeon, she could no longer be surprised when her willingness to love made her vulnerable to loss. As a loving mother, she gave her heart to her child anyway. Loving her son meant sharing life with him and identifying with him, standing by him at his death and suffering alongside him. Mary did not withhold her heart; therefore, she became acquainted with grief.

Grief must not be romanticized. It really is awful and can be utterly demoralizing. But Mary exemplifies a grief born of love. Such a grief is not meaningless. Love-fuelled grief is not centered in self-pity and does not stay focused inward. Grief-pierced love extends also to others experiencing heartache and chooses to be in solidarity with them.

Solidarity is not the kind of solace that takes away anguish or even assuages it. It is not so much comfort as it is company. It means someone crying with you, questioning with you, and waiting with you, not forcing you to snap out of it, not trying to make it all better, not telling you to just go take a bubble bath. A loving presence, offered in solidarity, validates the broken-hearted. We are given a living sign that we are not alone.

Pain is a problem, but rejecting love in order to avoid loss is the greater problem. Simeon and Mary show us how to lose, revealing a way beyond either bitterness or phony optimism. Simeon confronts us with the fact that pain is real and we must not pretend otherwise. Mary accepted the reality of grief that pierced her heart, and so models how to lose while full of love. Their example does not settle the problem of pain with a satisfying reason why. Instead, they prove the meaning of love. When love cannot be silenced even by pain, love affirms that, in the end, loss will not have the last word. 

Comments

[George]

A lovely reflection.

[corky]

Well said. Indeed almost any love, even a little love, involves some pain or disappointment. Conversely, I'm not sure if love is really possible in a universe without scarcity and avoidable pain. How can I give you anything important, anything born of love, if it costs me nothing and gains you nothing?

[Heathe]

Wonderfully retold of God's Reveled Word. I would say 99% of the suffering I experience is self-induced. I appreciate the reality check that embracing the need to embrace others in their time of suffering is key to living out the will of God.

[Fr. Richard and Gail Bowman]

What a mature and understanding article, Jennifer! We are proud of you for your skills and God-given understanding. Way to go. Thank you for including us in your mailing.

[Mitra Paik]

I studied this carefully and kept it in my heart. Thank you!

[Oma]

Having had my oldest son killed by teen d.u.i. I understand the pain of love and loves triumph over the evil in this world. You are correct, there is no satisfactory why but knowing I am not alone is strengthening.