God Loves the Brokenhearted
by Christopher C. Thompson | 29 February 2024 |
My mom was placed on hospice care this week. It’s a comprehensive in-home service, and so it’s all very convenient, 24-7 care. The nurse was very helpful and walked us through the entire process and explained all the ins and outs of their service and what we could expect throughout. I didn’t expect how emotional that signing those papers would make me. However, there was one part that gave me a little bit of comfort. The nurse told me that as long as she’s eating we still have some time. It’s only when she stops eating altogether that we will know that there is very little time left.
I’d love for my mom to live another fifty years. I’d be elated with another five years. I’d be overjoyed if she made it another five months. Nevertheless, what I have to acknowledge is that I have watched her decline rapidly over the last six months, and I can’t deny the changes I’m seeing.
I used to think that she was invincible. When I was really small, like three or four years old, my mom was the head usher at our family church, the historic First African Baptist Church here in Beaufort, South Carolina. While she performed her Christian duty, I sat on the back pew right in front of her. When she finished, she sat down on the pew beside me. I remember playing with her hands. Her hands were much bigger than mine, and I was amazed that they felt so big and strong. It’s amazing that now she is weak, and it’s my hands that get to be big and strong for her.
I think the part that’s been most difficult about this is that my mom has never been sick my entire life. She has modeled for us the saying “push through.” She has always shown up to do her job every day of my life, and even after she retired she worked to serve our community tirelessly.
She is the epitome of faithful, dutiful, and dedicated. It’s almost surreal to see her in a weakened and vulnerable state because she is, without question, the strongest person I know. At least now I have proof that she’s only human because, in my mind, she’s always been a superhero.
One of the reasons why this has been a very emotional experience for me is because it was during the pandemic that I felt a really strong urge that I needed to move back home and be closer to my mother. I heeded that prompting and was so happy that I could stop by her house and see her several times a week or whenever I had a few minutes. I’m so glad that I came when I felt impressed (while the pandemic was raging) because that is precious time I was able to spend that I would never be able to get back. It would be much more devastating right now if I were still living hundreds of miles away. When she moved in with us after a brief hospital stay in early December, I was well aware that I was in the right place at the right time. There’s no way she would have been able to relocate anywhere far away with one of her children to receive around-the-clock care, and she wouldn’t have wanted to. But I am happy that I moved close to her so that now I can care for her.
That reminds me of another story of something that happened when I was a little boy. It was a Sabbath morning, and I was standing at my post, ushering during church. Suddenly, I blacked out and fainted right in the middle of the worship service. There happened to be a medical doctor visiting the church that day, and he was sitting nearby. When I woke up, I found myself on the floor in the back of the church in one of the children’s areas. I was lying on the floor looking up at this angel of a doctor and my other angel: my mom.
I turned out to be fine. Maybe I had skipped breakfast, or maybe I locked my knees for too long while standing. Whatever the reason, I fainted, but I was up and about shortly after the frightening ordeal. One good thing that came out of it was that I was relieved of my duties that day, and was able to sit for the rest of the service.
However, I distinctly remember that on that particular Sabbath, there was a potluck lunch scheduled. As the church members gathered in the fellowship hall for lunch, several of the young people in the church gathered around me. I’ll never forget it. They came to tell me their version of the morning’s event. One kid said, “Man, your mom was like Superman! She swooped in there and scooped you up. She was moving so fast, you never even hit the ground.” I was beaming with pride. They were only just finding out what I already knew. My mom is a superhero.
Jesus & his mother
This moment in time has caused me to reflect on an iconic statement by Jesus. It’s almost a footnote of a scene that took place while Jesus was on the cross but it highlights the heart of the Savior in such a profound way. It’s found in John 19:26-27.
When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to her, “Woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” From that time on, this disciple took her into his home.
Here’s what I love about this story. Jesus is literally in the act of dying. He is about to breathe his last breath within minutes. Moments from his dying breath, he took time to notice that his mother’s heart was breaking. Not only did he take time to notice that his mother was broken, but he also took time to arrange for her welfare and well-being. He comforted her, saying, “Mom, here’s a replacement son so that you won’t have to fend for yourself.” Then to John, he said, “Young man, don’t ever let my mom be without.”
It’s a magnanimous act of love and compassion. It’s almost like he told death, “Time-out. I need to go handle something right quick.” Then, when the deed was done…, “All right, time back in. I’m ready to die now.” Caring for his mom was the very last act of mercy that Jesus performed before dying. I believe there are a few profound principles here. One of them speaks to the responsibilities of manhood.
It is my personal belief that the primary responsibility of a man is that of a provider. Now, as a pastor, I feel like I’m supposed to say that a man’s primary role is as a priest. That might be right, but in my heart of hearts, it’s his commitment to being the provider that helps to solidify his priestly role. It is my belief that a man who does not go out into the world to fight so that he can provide for the people in his care and the ones he loves is missing the core and heart of what it is to be a man. Jesus is the savior of the world and was busy with the process of saving the world, but he paused to handle his manly responsibilities in caring for his mom and ensuring that she would have her needs met. I believe that should not be lost on us.
Once again, it speaks to the heart of God, that God is Jehovah-Jireh: the God who provides. So it is fitting that Jesus pauses to provide. This is what God does. Yet, there is more. In this moment, it’s not simply providence and provision that is taking place, but Jesus also demonstrates divine compassion. God cares for each and every one of us as children of God. Mary, the mother of Jesus, is no exception. It is likely the most excruciating experience that any parent can have to watch their child die before them. It is unnatural, as the children are the posterity of the parents. The children are the legacy of the parents. To watch your child die is to watch your name, your future, your legacy…die. The Bible says that God heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Suddenly, Jesus turns to his mother to ensure that her broken heart is healed. It’s a powerful act of compassion and care from a son to his mother.
I believe we see Jesus’ humanity shining beautifully in this moment. He was God in the flesh, but he was careful to wash the dishes, clean his room, and complete the rest of his chores. He’s busy saving the world—but he stopped to save his mom some heartache.
God & the brokenhearted
I recently forbade my mom from trying to walk. She isn’t strong enough to bear her own weight anymore. So I take responsibility. I will make sure she gets to wherever she needs to go, but she cannot walk on her own or even with a walker. I am so honored that the tables are turned and now I get to catch her when she falls. Nevertheless, my heart is breaking. It’s a horrendous experience to watch your hero die. Yet, I see Jesus hanging on the cross, and while he’s busy saving the world and holding the entire universe together I know he sees me and knows that my heart is breaking. He knows how much this hurts, so he comes close and adds comfort.
I believe God comes especially close to the brokenhearted. I believe God takes special interest in people who are hurt and broken. The promise to those who suffer from a broken heart is not faulty and it is not forgotten. God sees you, and God sees me. And Jesus said, I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you, and I will send you a comforter. The comfort will come. Oftentimes, just as Jesus did with John, it will come in the form of a fellow traveler who is on a similar journey. Be careful, though. Not every traveler is headed in the same direction.
Be mindful of the patterns that they exude to you and in general. You want to lean into genuine relationships that are also characterized by care, listening, genuine support, and encouragement. The fact is, John will need comfort too. He will be grieving at the same time that Mary is grieving. And while we must be careful to avoid codependency, we are all interdependent. While codependency breeds enmeshment, resentment, and compounded limitations, interdependence leads to mutual respect, growth, and renewal.
Both John and Mary still have a lot of life to live after Jesus is gone. They must believe that there is still a lot of value they have to share with the world and a lot of value that they stand to gain. But in that moment he sees them both as they are hurting, and that profound pain is not lost on Jesus. So he speaks to them. I need him to speak to me now too.
Christopher C. Thompson writes about culture and communication at thinkinwrite.com. He’s the author of Choose to Dream. When not writing, he’s jogging or binge-watching Designated Survivor. He’s married to Tracy, who teaches at Oakwood University.
