Fourth Sunday of Lent
Five years ago today my maternal grandmother Barbie passed away on her 79th birthday. Though she had a very colorful past, towards the end of her life, she was a devout and pious Catholic. She prayed the Divine Mercy Chaplet every day along with the nuns on EWTN. She was a Sunday school catechist to kids preparing for First Communion. And whenever I would come to visit we would have lengthy spiritual and theological conversations late into the night.
Sometimes when I would feel overwhelmed by big questions or stressed about everything going on in life, she would tell me to “keep it simple.” I think this was her way of trying to return to the core truths and values of life: love, God, gratitude, presence... She didn’t say this to cut off debate, to invalidate my perspectives when they were different from hers, nor to remove nuance. I respect that my grandma was usually able to hold the tension of simplicity and mystery. She had a childlike faith and a heart of compassion and humility.
On one of the last days of her life, I was with her in her hospital room, and, through labored breath, she asked for water. I was given a cup with a sponge on a stick and instructed by the nurse to put the wet sponge up to her lips for her to drink. I thought of the moment in John’s gospel where Jesus says “I thirst” and they bring a sponge soaked with wine on a hyssop branch up to his mouth to sip. It was a deeply consoling, mystical, sacred moment, even as it was filled with grief. The day she died, at 1:23am on her birthday, it was a Sunday and I went to Mass with my mom that evening. As I knelt down to pray after receiving communion, I sensed my grandmother’s voice saying “I’m with you, I’m always with you.” This was another moment of consolation. Joy breaking through the thick, heavy layers of loss.
Days later, holding her ashes in a container, was incredibly surreal. The question “where is she now?” filled my heart and mind, and while I still believed in God, notions of heaven or eternal life brought me no comfort. All I knew is that what physically remained of my grandmother in this world was reduced to a box of ashes. Photographs. Her handwriting. Things she had made. Evidence that she used to be here, reminders that she wasn’t anymore.
As I felt encompassed by a swirling cloud of sorrow and loss and unknowing, I tried to cling to the simple truth of knowing the love we shared for each other was real. That she would always be part of me. I tried to focus on the experiences of consolation I had in her last moments alive and in the moments after she died. I recalled the depth of her faith and kept trying to turn to Jesus because that’s what she did. Ultimately, giving myself permission to let my mind and heart explore the dark unknown of my questions that I had previously feared, gave way to not needing to have answers and to finding more peace with the mystery of what lies beyond the veil.
A year after her death, four years ago today, I released my song “Keep It Simple,” written about her and about moving through doubt and grief, while leaning on the friendship of Christ, just as she always had.
What simple truths do you find anchoring when you pass through life’s storms? Are there ideas or thoughts about death that frighten you? How might you invite God into them with you? During this Lenten season, as we recall our own mortality, how might Jesus be inviting you into simplicity? Into mystery? Into new life with him?
Jessica Gerhardt is a singer-songwriter and ukuleleist from Santa Monica. She is a board member of the Catholic Artist Connection.