That Magnificent Emptiness

                                                  That Magnificent Emptiness


Ninety percent of the folks gathered didn't want to be there. No, it wasn't a church meeting. The twenty or so, the number kept changing, had gathered to see their doctors, a group of neurosurgeons. It was the Thursday before Thanksgiving but on this day it was a day of misgivings and questions of  'what ifs' and 'what will be'.

 People were there because of accidents, genetic weaknesses, poor decisions, unknown factors, and the wear and tear of living life. They were trussed up, braced up, taped up. They limped, waddled, shuffled on feet, canes, and walkers. A few claimed a wheelchair as their steed.   Most were slow but a few strode confidently,quickly and seemed happy. Their treatment or surgery had worked. You could read the relief on some people's faces when they came out from their appointment compared to the concern in their eyes before they went in.

Back, brain, limb and neck troubles didn't seem to be very discriminating. There were black folk, white folk, Asian, Latino and middle eastern folk there. People's age didn't seem to matter a lot either. A few were young, a few old, mostly they were in the middle somewhere. Some were obviously poor, others middle class and a few, at least looked wealthy. Just about as many men were present as ladies.

Despite their differences they all had at least a few things in common. They were in the same waiting room. They were seeing the same doctors. They all had a story to tell and about a third were busy telling them to another third. The remaining third were silent, except for the eyes. The biggest common denominator was pain. They had all been broken, and they needed help. They were all there with some degree of fear. And they were there, every one, waiting in hope.

As a group they were pathetic and at the same time magnificently noble. Mixed with the pain, fear, silence, grief, resignation were strength, joy, resolve, and faith. The scene was familiar, but not just from the thousands of waiting rooms in which I have sat. Where else had I seen this scene, these faces, this pain, this nobility, this strength mixed with fear and carried by hope? Then it hit me--this is our world, our hearts.

This is where and why Jesus came.

And He is why Thanksgiving is possible at all. It is not just because someone else may have it worse, but even in the worst, He brings hope, He brings Himself. It is not that healing will come to every brain, back, or bone in time but that ultimately every heart and life can be whole when time is no more. Some people in waiting rooms will get good news that the back is healed, the bone is mended, the legs can walk, the cancer is gone. For that they can be thankful. But Thanksgiving moves to another plane when it is realized that one day even death will die.

And it is here, into this magnificent mess that Jesus came and why He came. One day, He will empty every waiting room and every grave. And the grace that empties the graves is as indiscriminate as the pain--it is for all who believe.

For that magnificent emptiness we give thanks.

Cos