HE HOLDS US

ften during a parish event, I will sit next to a seasoned woman from the parish, and we will make small talk about the weather or the meal we are eating, until the conversation shifts to stories arising from her life experiences. I listen. These are stories filled with dreams and disappointments, sorrow and regret, joy and love. The weight of her voice subtly changes with every joy relived and each sorrow remembered, held together by tenacity, courage, vulnerability, hope, and pain. I hold onto such stories, and sometimes they mirror my own life’s unfolding story.

There is much to learn from what women hold and share. One mother turned the key and locked the door of her beautifully furnished home, and walked away holding onto hope for a peaceful life of freedom. Only carrying humble belongings on their backs, she and her husband, with their four children, left Palestine years ago to make another home in America. “Your Mercy, O Lord, will hold me up.” In a crowded hospital room, an older man with so much more life to live, lay dying; I witness quiet, mutual devotion between wife and husband in the midst of the loving-chaos of family and friends holding on to final moments. A few years later, in a different hospital room, surrounded by the same loving-chaos of family and friends, this widowed mother holds her only daughter’s hand, now bereft in the complexity of being a young widow; bravely holding onto uncertainty in raising two fatherless teenagers. “Your Mercy, O Lord, will hold me up.”

Another woman tells of holding the sorrow of not one miscarriage, but six, of never having children. Another woman carried her twin boys to full-term, only to bury one in a few short months. A sister attended Al-Anon to navigate life with an alcoholic family member. I’ve held in my arms women crushed by the cruelty of the world, abandoned by husbands, ostracized by a relative, or unfriended. I have heard of trauma that stunts a life, weighed down by guilt, anger, loss, or betrayal. I’ve looked into the eyes of too many needing to clothe and feed their children, alone and afraid, and daughters burying their beloved mothers and fathers. Those times are too many to count. We fight to hold on and we fight to let go. Still, these women hold on. They teach me to hold on too. “Your Mercy, O Lord, will hold me up.”

Artist and author of Women Holding Things, Maira Kalman, read the following during a TED Talk:

One day at a farmers market, I saw a woman carrying an absolutely gigantic cabbage. When I asked to photograph her, she looked really annoyed. And for some reason, I was so delighted by her crankiness. It seemed so authentic and true. Let’s just say what we feel. It made me think of all the things women hold, literally and metaphorically. Balloons and grudges. And heavy loads and cabbages. And stupendous love and courage. And the pink ukulele under a cherry tree. And from this a book was formed: Women Holding Things. What do women hold? The home and the family and the children and the food. The friendships, the work, the work of the world and the work of being human, the memories and the troubles and the sorrows and the triumphs and the love. Men do as well, but not quite in the same way. Sometimes when I’m feeling particularly happy or content, I think I can provide sustenance for legions of human beings. I can hold the entire world in my arms. Other times, I can barely cross the room. And I drop my arms, frozen. There is never an end to holding, and certainly there is often the feeling of never doing enough. And then there is the next day and the next day. And one holds on.”

The weight of holding on in this life seems daunting, and it can be, so we pivot to shift one foot to the other, to steady our balance. Fear hovers like a thick fog, and we may lose sight of our footing, and we may lose our way – for a little while. That is grief. Grief does that, holding us hostage for a while, until it seeps into our sinews and bones. “Fear not, for I am with you; Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, Yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.’ saith the Lord” (Isaiah 41:10).

In the ever good and holy fight to balance what life gives us, we hold on. God is there. The lessons of it all seem endless. Yet eventually, should we allow it, we are always held. We are fashioned by the Creator, known before we were born – we are loved. If God holds us, then what more do we need to carry? With outstretched arms, exhausted from holding on, we can transform ashes to beauty, elevate our sorrows into something more brilliant. “Fight the good fight of faith, lay hold on eternal life, to which you were also called and have confessed the good confession in the presence of many witnesses” (1 Timothy 6:12). We can let go of fears to hold on to trust, rise above despair to hope, release hatred to behold God’s love leading us toward forgiveness and salvation in Him. We hold, we release; we hold, we release – again and again. Your Mercy, O Lord, will hold me up.

What we hold can look differently for each of us, and yet similar. Either out of necessity or survival, we carry so many things from place to place throughout our lives. For women, especially, we either carry what we hold with endurance, or we carry it because we like to hold on to everything! Ask yourself what you hold on to that does not help. What flows in and out of your hearts and souls? We are given a choice: what we carry, or what we leave behind. “For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out” (1 Timothy 6:7). There is always a path carved out where we carry, or drag, our sorrows, to end up holding joy. They are rarely held separately. Joy is nourishment, a well we can draw from. As my spiritual Father gently reminds me, “love, joy, peace, long suffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control” (Galatians 5:22) are to be stored in a reserve tank.

There will inevitably be seasons in life where we gather our joyful sorrows. As St. Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians says, Christians are “sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; have nothing, and yet possessing everything” (6:10). We are called to abide in His Love and hold all that is Love for ourselves and our neighbor – we hope in all things, we can endure all things, through Jesus Christ our Lord. We are to offer and we are to be offered. Holding and releasing, carrying and letting go, for with what we hold, we must nourish others also.

Is the well you draw from nourishing you and others? Listen for a soft whisper; be attentive to the gentle breeze. There we are made keenly aware of His presence. In God’s presence is fullness of joy.

See the joy of a mother holding her newborn to be churched; witness the joy of holding a newly illumined child while standing at the edge of baptismal waters. Take in the scent of holy chrism that permeates the holy temple; touch joy by lending a hand to assist an elderly woman to “taste and see that the Lord is good.” Hold and process triumphantly with icon in hand, and with the faithful proclaim, “This is the faith of the Apostles ….”

Offer joy when someone lands that dream job after being unemployed for months, or went back to school, or learns a new skill for the first time and starts his or her own business. Rejoice with the one who finally finds “the one” after being single most of his or her adult life, or when he or she chooses to serve the rest of their days in a monastery. Congratulate the person who ran that 5k, or bought her own home to make a better life. Thank God with someone whose broken leg is mending, or who is being healed from years of trauma. Let joy fill all things here and now; looking for what is to come in the fullness of time. O Heavenly King, the Comforter, the Spirit of Truth, Who art everywhere and fillest all things; Treasury of Blessings, and Giver of Life, come and abide in us, and cleanse us from every impurity, and save our souls, O Good One

Embrace the quiet joys found holding a sickly child in the middle of the night, or share the love of poetry with your brooding teenager. Literature has a way of giving them words to express themselves. Hold a friend’s hand in times of sorrow and joy. Joyfully wash dishes for others. Prayerfully carry the prepared koliva for a memorial in church. Cherish memories of summer camp, pictures of old friends long gone, haphazardly stored in shoe boxes. Carry their memories with you. Soak in the spring sunshine illuminating its warmth through the need-toclean windows after a lengthy winter. Hold a small child’s hand when he wants to chase butterflies and hold crickets. Behold life from his point of view in all its miraculous tiny details, even if you need your reading glasses to do so. Hold patience when the same child drags mud into the house. Create space for a cuddly cat needing an afternoon nap in your lap. That could be a good time to read a book. Hold dinner parties, large and small — simply feed people, and cherish the laughter of good company, and those who desperately need company. Hold on to a quiet and gentle soul, into the next day and the day after that. Your Mercy, O Lord, will hold me up. “For we have become partakers of Christ if we hold the beginning of our confidence steadfast to the end” (Hebrews 3:14).

Faithfully, one obeys, “Be it to me, according to your word.” Within her womb, a Lady full of grace, worthy to be called blessed amongst women, contains Him who cannot be contained — Him whom the world does not deserve. Tenderly she holds her newborn son, Jesus Christ, knowing that He has been sent by God the Father to bring salvation to all of mankind. She laments her dead son, crucified for all of mankind’s sins, questioning and yet believing that He will rise from the dead. The fruit of her womb, Jesus, indeed rises, and later ascends to the Heavenly Kingdom, and later still carries her into eternity. He holds us. Hold fast, dear ones, “hold fast what you have, that no one may take your crown” (Revelation 3:11).