Impotency

My spiritual director held a very open and loving space for me today as I dumped my load of issues into the room. She said not a word...well, I didn't exactly give her space to...but when I was done, she said, "Let's just sit awhile and see what comes." A very, very wise choice.

My issue was that I came this morning feeling impotent. Powerless. On the one hand, the number of people found dead from the tsunami in Japan is rising by the thousands. Years ago, Mom would have found a way to tangibly help over there. Me? I pray. That doesn't seem like enough. I feel impotent.

On the other hand, my relationship to my mother is different now and I struggle to be enough for her. She is dying. What can I do for one whose only spark of life now is to enjoy being in the presence of those whom she loves and who love her back...what can I do when I am not able to be in her presence? I feel powerless.

I find myself close to tears this morning. I tell my spiritual director so. This brings the tears to overflowing. What is this? Is it the frustration of my impotency? No. I tell her that I can feel something very powerful trying to emerge. What is it?

She asks that we sit in holy silence.

Rising out of the "nothingness", as potent as love itself, is the word "grief". And the image of Christ hanging from his assassination posts. He is looking down at those with a future. "Forgive them...", he says. For the first time, I realized that he was in deep grief for them, for us all. Could he do anything from his fixed position? In one sense, no.

In another sense, he did all that he could. And it was enough. He loved us enough to grieve for us.

There is power in grief. Grief is not impotent. Grief is a visceral measure of the love we have invested. Love invested is anything but impotent.