Sadness of Heart

In the month of Nisan in the twentieth year of King Artaxerxes, when wine was brought for him, I took the wine and gave it to the king. I had not been sad in his presence before, so the king asked me, “Why does your face look so sad when you are not ill? This can be nothing but sadness of heart.”
-Nehemiah 2:1-3

Like Nehemiah, I’m not great at hiding my emotions when there’s a lot of pain going on. He was profoundly sad because the city that he loved, the place that he saw as the center of God’s faithfulness and activity— Jerusalem— had been reduced to rubble and ashes. 
It’s hard to feel optimistic when you look out and see brokenness at the heart of places you care about. 

My goodness, do I feel that. 
I feel that sadness for how painful and heartbreaking life has been for so many people I care about. 
I feel that sadness about God’s church. 
I feel that sadness about our country. 

So much of what Christians argue about, the way churches exclude people they’ve deemed unworthy, and the way discipleship has morphed into a series of rules and certainty rather than a humble, transforming heart toward Jesus—all of this grieves me.
I spend my days with amazing people, many hurt by faith systems and leaders who pile on commands but ignore the primary two that Jesus actually gave us. The damage is so real. It gives me sadness of heart. 

And our country’s president made a joke this week about going to war and dropping bombs on a US city that he doesn’t like. Many Christians who worship the prince of peace laughed and applauded. And I find myself overcome with sadness at how blatant levels of hatred and corruption are going unchecked in our country. I want to understand. But so far, the confusion remains. It gives me sadness of heart. 

I’m trying to learn the path of discipleship from here. Jesus is our guide to understanding God’s nature and our example for how to live our days. So when I look at what Jesus did when he encountered heart sadness, I see two things. 

First, he cries too. It seems significant that the Scriptures tell us about three different times that Jesus sheds tears. He shares in the sorrow of a world that is contaminated by death, disease, violence, corruption, selfishness, and greed. He doesn’t really tell people to buck up. He enters into sadness and validates it. 

And second, he responds to the sadness by continuing to be a healer. He uses his time and energy to invite people toward God's hope, and to proclaim their worth, their value, and their forgiveness. One person at a time, one conversation at a time, one healing at a time. It was a slow movement that must have looked pretty insignificant in a messed up world. After all, his church was pretty tiny when he handed it over to inexperienced leaders. That sure seems like a lot of faith in imperfect people. I’m glad we have the Spirit’s help, but I wish he would have stayed longer. 

So our prayer today is something that has been etched in my heart for years. It wasn’t actually written by St. Francis, but it bears his message, so it’s been known as the Prayer of St. Francis for about a century.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. 
where there is hatred, let me sow love; 
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith; 
where there is despair, hope; 
where there is darkness, light; 
where there is sadness, joy. 

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much 
seek to be consoled as to console, 
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love. 

For it is in giving that we receive. 
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned. 
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. 

If you’re joyful today, that’s a beautiful thing to be thankful for. But if you’ve got sadness today, know that Jesus weeps with you, and that Jesus will use your compassion to make you a healer, if you allow him. 

Peace,
Keith​