This Too Shall Last

Reflections on that which lingers

Sooner or later we hear the phrase, uttered at times to comfort us and other times to dismiss us: “This too shall pass.” It happened to me again not long ago. I voiced a concern, a problem I struggled with, and the one listening simply responded, “This too shall pass.” Sometimes that is the best response – we may be overthinking things, fretting about something that is of little consequence, making mountains out of molehills, catastrophizing as one writer puts it. It becomes like a splash of cold water in our faces, a way to wake us up, bring us back to reality. Yes, this too shall pass. Often correct, but sometimes not. Why? Because some things don’t “pass,” they “last” – sometimes for a long time. Sometimes forever, it seems.

When it became obvious I was going to survive Covid but my kidneys wouldn’t, I was told by medical staff in the hospital that I should get a kidney transplant. It shouldn’t take long, they said, maybe next year, and you will be as good as new. Looking back, I understand. For many it was just bizarre that Covid had damaged my body so much and yet undeniably miraculous that I lived. Those who were caring for me wanted to assure me – this won’t go on forever, there is a fix! Get a new kidney as soon as you can! This too shall pass!

Now, after the passing of four years, I realize that they were just trying to be kind to me. For one thing, you just don’t go to a hospital and say, “I need a new kidney, can you work me in soon?” No, at any given time there are close to 100,000 people waiting for a transplant, and it often takes three, four, five years for a person’s name to rise to the top of the transplant list. With no living donor in the waiting, I will likely have to wait until next year to receive a kidney. This too shall pass? Not soon! And the claim I will be good as new? Not really. A transplant is another form of therapy, much healthier than being hooked up to a dialysis machine, more convenient, a better prospect for living longer and helping me to feel better. Even so, I won’t be as good as new – I will be on drugs to prevent rejection for the rest of my life, facing blood tests and whatever else I need to live as well as possible for whatever days I have. In the end I will still have a kidney problem. This won’t pass – this is going to last until I take my last breath.

Just like a lot of things that we all experience in life. That which lingers…

Take grief, for instance, the loss of someone we dearly love – we don’t get over that in a week, a month, a year. I traveled the road of loss with many of the folks I pastored, praying with them, hearing their heartache, wrapping them in my arms and in my prayers. Yes, over time, grief changes – but do you get over it? Being in one congregation for 32 years gives me a unique perspective. I was able to be with people not only at the critical moments of their loss, but also the weeks, months, and even years they struggled to laugh again, live again. And even when that loss is a long time in the past and a person has “moved on,” I have seen the tears well up in their eyes and heard them say, “Oh, I so miss….” Yeah, some things don’t pass. Some things linger. Some things last for the rest of our days.

The phrase “this too shall last” does not originate with me. I have been reading a book by K. J. Ramsey with that title, with a subtitle, “Finding Grace When Suffering Lingers.” Her story is one of the sudden intrusion of an arthritic illness when she was just a college student, a disruption so great that it changed the rest of her life, racking her body with pain, robbing her of energy. Even more difficult was that the diagnosis seemed elusive, and some doctors wondered if it was all in her head. Her book, This Too Shall Last, tells the story of her struggle and how she found grace and strength to live day by day, God’s greatness in her weakness. What she writes can seem raw, a painful grasping for grace and the presence of God in the midst of the God-awful. But it is also a reminder that, regardless of what life throws at us, there are things that linger, last, and do not pass.

What sort of things? I can only tell you what I have witnessed and experienced. There is the love, care, and prayers of family and friends, those who want the best for you, those who wake up in the dark of the night with your name on their minds. Maybe they envision you the same way Jesus saw the disciples at sea, lost in a storm, rowing with all their might, despair taking over. And in that midnight moment they pray, they beg, they ask God to be with you, to love and care and give you hope.

The things that linger, such as fellow travelers on the road. They may be medical caregivers who look after you, or other sufferers who face what you face. Being with others who have experienced loss and survived, whether that is the loss of a loved one, the end of a marriage, the loss of a career, or the death of a dream – it doesn’t matter, having others walk with you can make a difference. There are those around us, if we will look, that will travel with us, help us with the twists and turns of life ahead.

The things that linger – doesn’t God also make a promise to us here? I often turn to Romans 8, a chapter in the Bible that is saturated with that which lingers – the presence of God, the overwhelming experience of grace, the Holy Spirit praying for us when we are clueless what to ask, God working in the midst of the mess of our lives, and a love through Jesus that never, never, never gives out. And one day, K. J. Ramsey says, all of this world will pass and with it, all the suffering, heartache, dark days and grief that plague us.

This is the way Ramsey puts it, “And one day soon, we will rise. We’ll trade our places on this couch for honored seats around a table. We’ll sit, with bodies that no longer ache and minds that no longer fear, and instead of pain, we’ll share laughter. The tears we needed to glimpse grace will be wiped away by Christ’s tender, scarred hands. And we’ll watch with wonder as God hurls death like a fireball into a fathomless sea, never again to be seen. Wrapped in the bright linen of our perseverance, we’ll see earth and heaven newborn. And from the silent spaces of sorrow within and between us will rise the most stunning song. Glory will be our sun. Joy will be our inheritance. God will be our king. With his words of ‘well done’ still ringing in our ears, we’ll look at each other with smiles and see.”

This will last!