There is hope

The Second Sunday of Lent

Just before I started my senior year of college, I had an opportunity to go on a mission trip to Moscow. Those of you who know me well would love to see these photos, because I am sure you can't imagine me getting really excited about working on a construction site half way around the world. It was an incredible, life affecting event. I had done very little traveling in my life, and to find myself in Russia was a huge learning experience and adjustment.

I went with a group of friends from Baptist Student Union at UGA. Although I went to Berry, they let me join their group under the leadership of Ron Little, one of their campus ministers. We would work on the job site most all day, and then set out walking in our filthy state to sightsee in Moscow.

On one such day, we were allowed to tour Lenin's tomb. Situated in the heart of Red Square, I remember well the change of mood as we prepared to go inside. Our light chatter and laughter had quickly subsided after instruction from our guide. I remembered having some fear as for my safety, although I expect that wasn't well warranted. As we entered, we were as silent as we could be. I looked around and noticed the decor near the ceiling resembled flames. Our guide drew our attention, and he said, "Now we descend into hell."

While there are more memories of that experience to share, this is the one that struck me the most. I can't say it made me feel too excited. I admit having some fear of what was ahead. The armed guards didn't help.

I am not sure what all prompted our guide to say this - experience, culture, decor, something else. Whatever drew his words, It was a poignant moment to hear, "Now we descend into hell." So many times since then I have thought of the exact intonation - in little things, like going into a meeting I am dreading - to big things, like funerals or great sadnesses. Now we descend into hell.

Lent offers a flavor that is somewhat the same. It draws us into this dark side of our faith, the sad side of Jesus' own story. Indeed, we claim Jesus' descent into hell in the Apostle's Creed:

I believe in God, the Father Almighty,
the Maker of heaven and earth,
and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord:
Who was conceived by the Holy Ghost,
born of the virgin Mary,
suffered under Pontius Pilate,
was crucified, dead, and buried;
He descended into hell.
The third day He arose again from the dead;
He ascended into heaven,
and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father Almighty;
from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Ghost;
the holy catholic church;
the communion of saints;
the forgiveness of sins;
the resurrection of the body;
and the life everlasting. Amen.

The concept is disturbing, but on the other hand, deeply encouraging. If Jesus has been through the worst, there is hope for us. If Jesus has been through hell, maybe he can understand what we go through. Gut wrenching though it may be, it is a crucial aspect of our faith story.

The sorrow is what gives so much meaning to the joy. Lent literally bleeds itself into Easter.

Frederick Buechner in his sermon, "The Stewardship of Pain," says this:
"Stewardship of pain. What does that mean? I have thought a lot about it. I think it means, before anything else, to keep in touch with your pain, to keep in touch with the sad times, with the hard times of your past for many reasons. I think it is often those times when we were most alive, when we were somehow closest to being most vitally human beings.
Keep in touch with it because it is at those moments of pain where you are most open to the pain of other people -- most open to your own deep places. Keep in touch with those sad times because it is then that you are most aware of your own powerlessness, crushed in a way by what is happening to you, but also most aware of God's power to pull you through it, to be with you in it. Keeping in touch with your pain, I think, means also to be true to who in your depths you have it in you to be -- depths of pain and also in a way depths of joy, because they both come from the same place."

Trust me, I never wish for these experiences where I can be a good steward of pain, but life does bring them. What would it mean if we honored them, when we were ready? Not because they were good things, but because we could steward our pain as compassion? In doing so, we might, just might, find some healing ourselves.

As for my experience in Russia, the images are still burned in my mind. Down, down, down we went, with those painted flames following us down. In a single line, we walked in an arc around the glass enclosed casket of Lenin. Bright red swipes covered the square of that room. Not a sound was spoken. Thankfully, the line moved quickly.

I felt a vast sense of relief when I exited that building. I felt a profound sharpness to the air I was breathing as if I couldn't quite get enough.

We came and went from Red Square often on our trip, and whenever I see images in films or television I am still distinctly aware of my time there. Each corner of the Square holds a memory for me. Only Lenin's tomb, however, took us to hell and back.

Whatever hell looks like for you, however that is defined for you, I do so hope you can exit that place. I hope fresh air waits for you just beyond this set of steps. I hope Easter is just waiting for your Lent to be done.

In Wisdom,
Brandi Calhoun Diamond

John Calvin had strong thoughts on the concept of Jesus' descent into hell. To read his thoughts, as well as some history on this line from the Apostles Creed, please visit: http://www.reformed.org/documents/index.html?mainframe=http://www.reform...

To read all of Frederick Buechner's sermon, "The Stewardship of Pain," please visit http://www.csec.org/csec/sermon/buechner_3416.htm