I Will Not Leave You Orphans

In the gospel reading for this Sixth Sunday of Easter, John 14:15-21, Jesus is preparing his disciples for his return to heaven, commemorated in the celebration of the Ascension, which falls on May 21 ^st this year. Jesus makes a very touching and powerful promise: “I will not leave you orphans.” It is this promise that is the focus of today’s reflection.

Isn’t it amazing that some of the most engaging works of literature and the arts deal with orphans? For example, the comic strip Little Orphan Annie was made into the 1977 Broadway musical Annie , which included the hauntingly beautiful song “Maybe” in which Annie desperately longs for her parents to return to the orphanage and take her home. And who can ever forget the orphan Oliver Twist, stepping forward with a bowl in trembling hands, asking for more gruel, “Please, sir, I want some more.” One of my favorite orphans in modern literature is Harry Potter, who has a miserable existence, is hated by his aunt and uncle, and is forced to sleep in a closet under the stairs. One critic comments, “He has nothing, hopes for nothing, aspires to nothing. He simply ekes out a meager existence. But, I believe, what captures people’s attention is that our orphan friend has a very special gift, is famous but doesn’t know it, and has a powerful destiny to fulfill.” Anne Shirley, Cinderella, Tom Sawyer, Jane Eyre, Frodo Baggins and Batman—all these are orphans. We have a natural sense of empathy for such orphans who begin life in unfortunate, deplorable and cruel conditions. We marvel at their ability to survive, and we root for these underdogs as they triumph over their fate.

In some of the most ancient traditions of the Bible orphans are singled out as those who should receive special care because of their vulnerability. For example, we read in Exodus, “You shall not molest or oppress an alien, for you were once aliens yourselves in the land of Egypt. You shall not wrong any widow or orphan. If ever you wrong them and they cry out to me, I will surely hear their cry” (see Exodus 22:20-21). Psalm 146 counsels placing trust in God. “Happy he whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord, his God, who made heaven and earth, the sea and all that is in them; who keeps faith forever, secures justice for the oppressed, gives food to the hungry. The Lord sets captives free; the Lord gives sight to the blind. The Lord raises up those that were bowed down; the Lord loves the just. The Lord protects strangers; the fatherless and the widow he sustains, but the way of the wicked he thwarts” (see verses 5-9). And finally, the prophet Jeremiah issues this plea: “Only if you thoroughly reform your ways and your deeds; if each of you deals justly with his neighbor; if you no longer oppress the resident alien, the orphan, and the widow; if you no longer shed innocent blood in this place, or follow strange gods to your own harm, will I remain with you in this place, in this land which I gave your fathers long ago and forever” (Jeremiah 7:5-7).

In the New Testament letter of James we read, “If a man who does not control his tongue imagines that he is devout, he is self-deceived; his worship is pointless. Looking after orphans and widows in their distress and keeping oneself unspotted by the world make for pure worship without stain before our God and Father” (James 1:26-27).

Biblical scholars and spiritual writers remind us that there was a point at which Jesus himself felt orphaned, cut off even from the consoling presence of his Father. The gospel text even preserves the original Aramaic words that Jesus would have spoken: “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani,” which is translated, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34) It was at this point, when Jesus was shedding the last drop of blood, that the pain must have been excruciating. It was then that he showed the immensity and completeness of his love, and he so identified with the human condition, that he knew what it felt like to be orphaned. Of course, there is another aspect to this verse, namely that Jesus is quoting Scripture, specifically Psalm 22. The Psalm is rather long, and it does indeed begin with the sound of desperation: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me, far from my prayer, from the words of my cry? O my God, I cry out by day, and you answer not; by night and there is no relief for me.” Then, almost immediately, there is a note of hopeful trust. “Yet you are enthroned in the holy place, O glory of Israel! In you our fathers trusted; they trusted, and you delivered them. To you they cried, and they escaped; in you they trusted; they trusted, and you delivered them.” Then the anguish returns: “But I am a worm, not a man; the scorn of men, despised by the people. All who see me scoff at me; they mock me with parted lips, they wag their heads, ‘He relied on the Lord; let him deliver him, let him rescue him, if he loves him.’” And, once again, this is followed by a positive remembrance of God’s faithfulness. “You have been my guide since I was formed, my security at my mother’s breast. To you I was committed at birth, from my mother’s womb you are my God.” The rest of the Psalm continues back and forth, capturing the suffering of one who is trapped between anguish and hope. Finally, the Psalm ends with a crescendo of ultimate victory. “All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the Lord; all the families of the nations shall bow down before him. For dominion is the Lord’s, and he rules the nations. To him alone shall bow down all who sleep in the earth; before him shall bend all who go down into the dust. And to him my soul shall live; my descendants shall serve him. Let the coming generation be told of the Lord that they may proclaim to a people yet to be born the justice he has shown.”

This Psalm captures well the roller coaster ride of emotions that human beings go through when they have an experience of feeling orphaned. For example, those who lose a spouse often experience raw emotions of loss, bewilderment, anger, frustration, disbelief, questioning of faith, and wondering where God is to be found in all the pain.

Some seventeen months ago, when I was in the hospital with a severe, life-threatening and highly contagious disease, I personally experienced what it was like to be at death’s door, feeling cut off from family, friends, parishioners—all those I loved—at Christmas time. I knew what it was like to lose strength, to be dependent on others for things that, days ago, I had taken for granted. I was grateful for the compassionate ministrations of nurses, the expertise of various doctors and scientists, visits by family and friends. And yet, I learned what it was like to feel “alone” in confronting a serious illness, and in that sense to be “orphaned”. Oddly enough, I felt an incredible solidarity with the human race—a solidarity of humility—and I thought often about others who were facing similar situations—many in poor areas of the world where there were few doctors or medical facilities. Most importantly, I had a stronger sense of the depth of God’s love—the God who knew what it was like to feel orphaned, and to experience horrific pain, fear, and anguish, while continuing to hope and trust. In the midst of fear and anguish, ultimately, I realized that I was not orphaned after all.

I share my experience as an offering to those who may feel orphaned during the pandemic. Certainly, with the need for social distancing and staying at home, our world has become much smaller. A feeling of isolation can easily set in. I have received word from several friends that they are experiencing increased anxiety because of the threat posed, not only for themselves but also for those they most love. For those who have had a family member or loved one hospitalized, or in a nursing home, or a veteran’s facility, there is the added trauma of not being able to accompany, provide comfort and encouragement, or offer support during serious illness and possible death. And a steady diet of information, especially on cable news channels can lead to a sense of dread and psychological overload. One can begin to feel orphaned, with all the usual moorings and supports having changed.

One of my favorite spiritual writers, Henri Nouwen, offers tremendous insight that helps me to find perspective. Nouwen writes, “Emptiness and fullness at first seem complete opposites. But in the spiritual life they are not. In the spiritual life we find the fulfillment of our deepest desires by becoming empty for God. We must empty the cups of our lives completely to be able to receive the fullness of life from God. Jesus lived this on the cross. The moment of complete emptiness and complete fullness became the same. When he had given all away to his Abba, his dear Father, he cried out, ‘It is fulfilled’ (John 19:30). He who was lifted up on the cross was also lifted into the resurrection. He who emptied and humbled himself was raised up and ‘given the name above all other names’ (see Philippians 2:7-9)….Nobody escapes being wounded. We are all wounded people, whether physically, emotionally, mentally, or spiritually. The main question is not ‘How can we hide our wounds?’ so we don’t have to be embarrassed but ‘How can we put our woundedness in the service of others?’ When our wounds cease to be a source of shame and become a source of healing, we have become wounded healers. Jesus is God’s wounded healer. Through his wounds we are healed. Jesus’ suffering and death brought joy and life. His humiliation brought glory; his rejection brought a community of love. As followers of Jesus we can also allow our wounds to bring healing to others.”

In the midst of all this, Jesus proclaims, “I will not leave you orphaned.” He promises the gift of “another Advocate”—the Holy Spirit. “I have much more to tell you,” Jesus tells his disciples, “but you cannot bear it now. When he comes, however, being the Spirit of truth, he will guide you to all truth” (John 16:12-13). Turning to Henri Nouwen for insight once more, he writes, “Our emotional lives move up and down constantly. Sometimes we experience great mood swings: from excitement to depression, from joy to sorrow, from inner harmony to inner chaos. A little event, a word from someone, a disappointment at work, many things can trigger such mood swings. Mostly we have little control over these changes. It seems that they happen to us rather than being created by us. Thus, it is important to know that our emotional life is not the same as our spiritual life. Our spiritual life is the life of the Spirit of God within us. As we feel our emotions shift we must connect our spirits with the Spirit of God and remind ourselves that what we feel is not who we are. We are and remain, whatever our moods, God’s beloved children” (all quotes from Nouwen, Bread for the Journey , meditations for May 13, July 8 and July 23).

Let us bring our meditation to prayer. Once more, I remind you of the focusing technique I introduced in previous reflections. To begin our prayer, we need to “show up” totally —give our entire attention, mind, heart and soul to this time with God. Here’s a simple way to start. Sit comfortably with your back straight, feet on the floor and hands in your lap. Close your eyes. Take some slow, deep breaths. This should begin to calm your body down. Begin to be totally present to this special time with God. When thoughts, concerns and distractions arise, simply name them (“car passing by” or “tonight’s dinner” or “tomorrow’s meeting” or “my friend’s problem”) and then set them aside. You can imagine putting them on a shelf or into a paper bag at your side. That doesn’t mean you will ignore them or forget them; you are simply setting them aside for another time. This time is to be spent with God in prayer. Hopefully, you will find that, with time, the distracting thoughts and concerns will stop, and you can be totally present to God. Some people find it helpful to use a word or phrase to help them focus, to gently call them back if they begin to wander (“Jesus” or “Jesus, I love you” or “Abba, Father”—whatever helps). Be very still, as you are in the presence of God.

As our Scripture text, let us return to Psalm 22:

I will proclaim your name to my brethren; in the midst of the assembly I will praise you: You who fear the Lord, praise him; all you descendants of Jacob, give glory to him; revere him, all you descendants of Israel! For he has not spurned nor disdained the wretched man in his misery, nor did he turn his face away from him, but when he cried out to him, he heard him. So by your gift will I utter praise in the vast assembly; I will fulfill my vows before those who fear him. The lowly shall eat their fill; they who seek the Lord shall praise him: May your hearts be ever merry!

As you slowly read this scripture, reverently, more than once, what strikes you? When Jesus felt like an orphan, he cried out, and was heard. Beneath the roller coaster ride of our feelings, can we still cry out and trust God? Even in times of pandemic, can we sense that we are not orphaned?