The Value of A Tired Soul

I have tired clinging to my bones. There’s no book review today because I spent the weekend in Pennsylvania, helping to bury my grandfather and remember him with my family. It was a sweet time together, and sad. Tears are still, occasionally, making little splashes on my keyboard now. I got home yesterday evening, feeling tired from the drive and the late nights. I am tired this morning. Tired of standing and siting. Tired of crying, tired of saying goodbye, tired of loss, tired of tired. But in spite of my tiredness I am reflecting this morning on all these recent changes and events in my life. I am reflecting on “tired,” and learning much. There is value in a tired soul.

I can imagine how that might sound. A “tired soul” after all, sounds like one on the verge of giving up. Such a soul hardly seems like it would have value. The truth, however, is that many of us have been baptized into the American culture of comfort and safety, and the thought of sorrow and weariness having value appears just absurd. “Only that which feels good is actually good,” we tell ourselves. But a tired soul can have real value if we are willing to reflect on it and not simply run from it.

Think for a moment about what a tired soul is saying. It is saying, “No more!” It’s looking for an exit from the hurt and pain and the difficulty of the situations we find ourselves in. It’s a plea for rescue. A tired soul is a reminder that there needs to be a rescue. This life is full of hurt and disappointment. As sweet as is the knowledge of my father’s and grandfather’s salvation, their death is still a loss to me now. I don’t weep as one without hope, but I still weep. A tired soul is a call for true and lasting rest to come.

Think, too, of what a tired soul allows you to say to others. Death makes people awkward. Inevitably well-intentioned people end up saying the wrong things. Like the woman this weekend who pointed at me in the receiving line and said, “Your dad’s dead too, isn’t he?” It was an innocent question, but worded as if it were just a factual inquiry. And, of course, an individual’s suffering bring out the clichés like no other event. When people don’t know what to say they resort to a few paraphrased Bible verses and pithy greeting card phrases. They all mean well, of course. Their genuine desire to say the right thing is admirable, but a tired soul knows, there are no “right words.” Hurt runs deep and real, and words can’t make it all better. A tired soul can, and should, still believe that “All things work together for the good of those who love the Lord,” but it also knows that such words don’t necessarily need to be said right away. A tired soul can sympathize with others. It can understand their anger, their tears, the longevity of their ache. A tired soul never expects someone to “just get over” loss. A tired soul never assumes that a person’s theology is bad because they grieve. A tired soul is tired for a reason: it’s been through the heartbreak too. It understands.

And we can share heartbreak. That’s certainly a strange value for a weary soul, but it’s a good one. There’s a bond, a deep love that connects people when they share a heartbreak. I love the way one band sings of this point, saying “remember who we are: unconditionally loved by those who share our broken hearts.” As my cousins and I sat Saturday night around a table reminiscing I couldn’t help but think about how much I loved the people at that table. We had grown up together. And though the years have done much to change us, and though we hadn’t all been together in six years, still there was something beautiful happening that night. My wife and I can look back at the tears we shared when we discovered our daughter would need spinal surgery. And I remember vividly clutching my little brother in the back of van as we heard the news that our dad had died while we were still hours away. And these scenes make me weep, they break my heart afresh each time I think on them. And yet…I think too about the deep love I have for those who endured it with me.

I am tired. Tired of so much, as of late. And there are times where I just want to give up everything and just crawl into bed. But then I think about the people in my life. I think about my family and what they’ve endured. I think about the people at my church and the losses they’ve all suffered. I am not the only one who is tired. I see it on the faces of the people I counsel, the people I pray with, the people I kiss in the morning at my own house. And I remind myself that I can’t give up. And it’s not because they need me – at least not in the sense that I am a pastor and I have all the answers. No, it’s much more of a mutual need. We need each other.

Paul tells the Romans to “rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.” I suspect in much of the church we aren’t good at this. I am not good at this. I weep by myself, and rejoice in front of others, but rarely do I do either “with” others. But perhaps my “tired soul” is teaching me how to do this better, now.