Lent... Sad brains

Mom, how can I stop crying when my brain is still sad? Mason Thomas Maguire

I went to my daughter Megan’s house this week to help with her boys while her husband was out of town for a convention. Megan had a class in at her work and her days began at six thirty teaching, often lasting through the evening meal. So Nana rode in on a white horse(or a white donkey?) to the rescue arriving to loud shouts of praise and acclamation from three of our grandsons. My days began early with snuggles and laughter followed by the multi-tasking required to feed, clothe and transport small children to and from school. Matthew takes a bus to his neighborhood school but Mason’s special class is in a school in town so he must be driven in.
Every morning we walk in with the other children and parents at Ward Elementary, many colors, ethnic backgrounds, typically and atypically developing, all converging in a swarm on the school doors. I smile at the African American mother who walks her son in on crutches. Maximiliano, Mason’s friend, and “my girl Donna” are already in the classroom at the computers and look up smiling as we enter. The principal speaks to Mead and calls him by name, teasing him a little as we leave.
Then it is on to Mead’s school where I join in the parade of parents and grandparents bringing their little ones to the pre-school at Lewisville Methodist Church. I watch the Pap Paw in overalls, driving a pick up truck and wearing his cell phone blue tooth in his ear, walk his granddaughter into the building. I smile at the mothers and fathers and grandparents who have the privilege of being a part of the daily routine for these children. So much joyful energy concentrated in this one place lifts my spirits.
In the evening of the first day, we go to eat at the boys favorite restaurant, The Statue of Liberty. Its real name is the Liberty Restaurant but the statue of Lady Liberty in the front translated by the literal minds of children has resulted in a name change. She stands washed in gold paint over a sea foam green background, holding her torch aloft, a sign of fine dining for the boys. It is a down home place with leatherette covered booth seats, home made potato salad, salmon patty specials and waitresses who have worked there for years. Like the bar in “Cheers”, everybody knows your name.
We order and sit with the boys, talking about their day. Megan and I catch up on the schedule for the next day. Matthew asks how long I will be staying and I tell him I will be leaving Wednesday. A few minutes later we look at Mason and see his lower lip trembling, eyes brimming and running over with tears that streak down his dusty little cheeks. One of the ways Mason’s autism is manifested is in a slower processing of information. He had just realized I would be leaving and was already grieving my departure. “Mom, could you hold me?”, Mason asked as his tears continued to flow. Megan held him and tried to comfort him with the prospects of coming to the farm next week for Easter with Nana and Pop. Looking up at her with tear streaked cheeks, he asked, “How can I stop crying when my brain is still sad?”
And there it is... the question for Holy Week reflection in preparation for the Resurrection Easter. Sad brains for Lent leave us with tear streaked souls, trembling chins and the dawning realization that our lives too will come to an end. Even as Jesus died and descended into hell, so do we during Lent die to ourselves and descend into the pit of despair and loss. We will never measure up, do enough, be completely true to our professions of faith, or obtain a certificate of perfection. Facing our shortcomings, our sins of omission and commission, is a depressing business and we weep not only for ourselves but for the world and its grimly familiar cycle of wars and rumors of wars, hunger and starvation, earthquakes and tsunamis, haves and have nots. Depressing... How can we stop crying when our brains are still sad?
An article in the New York Times Magazine, Depression’s Upside, written by Jonah Leher, quotes Andy Thompson, a psychiatrist at the University of Virginia, and Paul Andrews, an evolutionary psychologist, who have proposed a new meaning for some of our sad brains. They view some depression as a necessary part of our development that carries with it the possibility of benefits... the silver lining in every cloud school of thought. Andrews and Thompson say “Wisdom isn’t cheap, and we pay for it with pain.”
Our souls need the wisdom that comes with the pain of Lent, the recognition of our limits and the awareness of our endings. Like Mason facing the departure of his Nana, our knowledge of suffering and death can lead us to grateful appreciation for life and all its gifts, a celebration of life’s triumph over death in the resurrection of Jesus, a model for living all the little lents that come our way during the days of this next year.
So I will learn from Mason... find someone to hold me, weep without shame, feel the sadness and loss, anticipate the bridge between grief and joy, and walk into the light of a life lived wisely without whining, grateful for all that has been and all that is yet to come. Hosanna, indeed! Anybody up for a donkey ride?