When I ponder the final words of Jesus on the Cross, I feel intrigued by the word \u201cabandon.\u201d Matthew and Mark recall Jesus’ anguished cry to the Father, \u201cMy God, my God, why have you abandoned me?\u201d (Matthew 27:46, Mark 15:34). But Luke recalls Jesus \u201cabandoning\u201d himself into the Father\u2019s hands in trust and surrender, as he breathes his final breath (Luke 23:47). How can two so drastically different human experiences be expressed with the same English word?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I feel a personal connection with both experiences. The one is so full of anguish, sorrow, or panic \u2013 even fury. The other is touched with tenderness, intimacy, trust, and security. The one screams out from isolation; the other approaches in sweet intimacy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
During my college seminary years, I drew much consolation from reading Abandonment to Divine Providence<\/em> by Jean Pierre de Caussade (1675-1751), a French Jesuit. His words spoke into my orphaned heart that struggled to trust and surrender in vulnerable relationships – even though I couldn’t have named the experience at the time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n During that same time, I went on my first ever silent retreat. I look back with a smile on the “me” of a quarter century ago. In my willful heart, there was both a tender longing for intimacy with God and a pharisaical legalism. Like young Saul, I threw all my zeal into the retreat. My 21st<\/sup> birthday came and went; a few friends even sang for me at breakfast. I smiled and blushed, but dutifully kept my silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt a longing as I recalled our high school chaplain describing the importance of his annual retreats. He had once testified to how God began speaking to him when he stayed in silence long enough. This must be how it works, <\/em>I thought.<\/em> So I spent a full three hours in the chapel each afternoon \u2013 mostly kneeling. But I didn\u2019t conquer God; he conquered me. On the third day, abruptly and unexpectedly, it was as though a massive wave pulsed through the room and me. I suddenly and intensely felt the the strength and security of his providence – a sense that truly (in the words of Julian of Norwich) “all will be well and all manner of thing will be well.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n Amidst that peace and an intense desire for more of that peace, I felt convicted of all the times that I was \u201cpushing through\u201d the present moment. I was either enduring that which was unpleasant or devouring that which was pleasurable. Either way, I wasn\u2019t opening myself to the gift that can only be received in the present. He helped me see how often things that felt confusing or overwhelming in the present moment actually led to abundant blessing. He flooded my mind and heart with the image of looking back down the mountain at the twisting path already walked \u2013 including steps that made utterly no sense at the time \u2013 and marveling at how no other path would have worked. He gave me some felt sense of how he sees all of these things simultaneously; all the moments are one in him; all are \u201cnow\u201d for him. He invites me to surrender to him in the \u201cnow\u201d of the present moment. I resist. When I left the chapel and felt the throb of circulation as the blood returned to my knees. I paused in the hallway to gaze on a copy of a Pinturicchio painting of the Crucifixion (see above). I felt a jolt of awe as I gazed upon the \u201cnow\u201d of Jesus\u2019 once-and-for-all sacrifice on the Cross. Beneath him lay death dismantled, overcome by his love and his shed bled. Behind him was paradise restored, and a felt sense of God\u2019s eternal rest sustaining him in that moment of surrender. I felt Jesus’ trust in his Father and an intense desire to share in that trust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In the twenty-five years since, I have felt both senses of \u201cabandonment\u201d many times over. Perhaps the most distressing situations for me are those in which I feel left alone by those I thought I could trust \u2013 suddenly facing an overwhelming and dangerous threat by myself, when I thought I would have protection and security. That feeling of abandonment is so ancient for me and so familiar. The lies can race through my head at lightning speed: They don\u2019t understand; they don\u2019t care; they can\u2019t be trusted; I am all alone! <\/em>In some cases, I flee and isolate myself; at other times I attack with an angry outburst and hold others to impossible expectations, as if they are supposed to revolve around my needs. The more I mature in Christ, the more quickly I notice, and the more frequently I choose a different path \u2013 or repair if I repeat old patterns.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Again and again, God has also invited me into trust and surrender, reminding me to live in the present moment and look for his gift. If I abide and gaze and receive, the gift is always there, including in those moments in which I am invited to take up my cross with Jesus.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I can only receive the gift of\nthe present moment to the extent that I let down the defenses of my\nself-protection. Otherwise I limit how much I can receive, and ultimately how\nmuch I can give.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The English verb \u201cto abandon\u201d comes from the French abandonner<\/em>. The French verb has multiple senses, which one way or another are ways of untying, releasing, or relinquishing a band <\/strong>that ties something together. When we do so with a committed relationship or a grave duty (e.g., parenting, governing, leadership), other humans experience abandonment in the first sense (\u201cMy God, my God, why have you abandoned me?\u201d). But there is also an untying or letting go when we encounter beauty, when we forgive harm, when we dance, or when we connect with another person.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Jesus, in his Passion, enters fully into both human experiences of “abandonment,” and reconciles them. Those of us who have experienced abandonment in the first sense tend to have spectacular defenses against ever letting anyone close again. Jesus cries out to the Father on our behalf. Jesus also \u201cabandons\u201d in the second sense. He cancels the debt of our sins, releasing all claims to make us pay. He meekly surrenders himself like a lamb, even in the face of contempt, violence, and powerlessness. He releases every merely human solution and entrusts all of it to his Father. He freely submits and becomes the seed sown into the earth that bears abundant fruit. May we claim his victory and allow him to reconcile in our hearts all that impedes our own surrender.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" When I ponder the final words of Jesus on the Cross, I feel intrigued by the word \u201cabandon.\u201d Matthew and Mark recall Jesus’ anguished cry to the Father, \u201cMy God, my God, why have you abandoned me?\u201d (Matthew 27:46, Mark 15:34). But Luke recalls Jesus \u201cabandoning\u201d himself into the Father\u2019s hands in trust and surrender, … <\/p>\n