Author bell hooks (1952–2021) considers the biblical call to surrender, so we might be healed by love:
It is difficult to wait. No doubt that is why biblical scriptures urge the seeker to learn how to wait, for waiting renews our strength. When we surrender to the “wait” we allow changes to emerge within us without anticipation or struggle. When we do this we are stepping out, on faith. In Buddhist terms this practice of surrender, of letting go, makes it possible for us to enter a space of compassion where we can feel sympathy for ourselves and others….
Redemptive love lures us and calls us toward the possibility of healing. We cannot account for the presence of the heart’s knowledge. Like all great mysteries, we are all mysteriously called to love no matter the conditions of our lives, the degree of our depravity or despair. The persistence of this call gives us reason to hope…. Renewing our faith in love’s promise, hope is our covenant.…
To return to love, to know perfect love, we surrender the will to power. It is this revelation that makes the scriptures on perfect love so prophetic and revolutionary for our times. We cannot know love if we remain unable to surrender our attachment to power, if any feeling of vulnerability strikes terror in our hearts. Lovelessness torments.
As our cultural awareness of the ways we are seduced away from love, away from the knowledge that love heals gains recognition, our anguish intensifies. But so does our yearning. The space of our lack is also the space of possibility. As we yearn, we make ourselves ready to receive the love that is coming to us, as gift, as promise, as earthly paradise.[1]
Brian McLaren describes how healing occurs when we release our need for supremacy, certainty, and control.
The more we hear the sound of the genuine, the more the deepest habits of our hearts are renovated and remodeled in the way of love, and the more supremacy loses its appeal.… We surrender the supremacy of our ego, our self-centered demands for power, pleasure, prestige, prominence. We surrender the supremacy of our group, whether that group is defined by religion, race, politics, nationality, economic class, social status, or whatever. We even surrender the supremacy of our species, realizing that humans can’t survive and thrive unless the plankton and trees, the soil and bees, and the climate and seas thrive too. We gladly shed supremacy to make room for solidarity. That gain, we discover, is worth every cost….
As the desire to dominate slips through our fingers, something in us dies…. But in the letting go, something new comes, is born, begins, grows: a sense of connection, of not-aloneness, of communion and union and belonging. We descend from the ladders and pedestals we have erected, and we rejoin the community of creation, the network of shalom…. The loss is no small thing, ah, but the gain is incomparably greater.
From Curt Thompson, a Christian Counselor who deals with the issues we are studying this week….
Dear Friend,
As we walk together through Holy Week, we are invited once more into the mystery of Lent—a season of reflection, repentance, and preparation for the joy of Easter.
This time of year has long been about naming our sin, our sorrow, and our longing. But perhaps more than anything, it invites us to name our grief. Lent draws us into the wilderness Jesus himself entered—the place where desire, temptation, and suffering are confronted, not with avoidance, but with honesty and trust in the presence of God.
The more I sit with this season, the more I sense how deeply Lent mirrors the inner patterns of our lives. Beneath our sin lies desire—and beneath that, often, unacknowledged grief. When we begin to untangle these layers, we find that it is not just repentance we need, but healing. Not just confession, but comfort.
Desire is not inherently bad. In fact, it is core to our humanity. But when our desires are unmet or misdirected—when we stop believing that God will give us what we need—we often take matters into our own hands. We grasp instead of receive. We cope instead of grieve. And in doing so, we unknowingly deepen the ache in our souls.
This ache—this grief—can feel overwhelming. For many of us, it’s been tucked away for so long we hardly know where to begin. And yet, the Gospel reminds us that Jesus does not avoid our grief. He draws near to it. In John 11, Jesus is moved not by theological explanations, but by Mary’s tears. Her honest, unfiltered sorrow brings him to his own tears—and then, to action.
This is the invitation of Holy Week: to follow Mary’s lead. To allow ourselves to feel, to grieve, to long—and to bring all of it into the presence of Jesus.
In the days ahead, I encourage you to create space to ask the deeper questions:
- What grief am I carrying that I have not fully named?
- What longing has gone unmet for so long that I’ve stopped believing it matters?
- What sin in my life is really a cry for something good that I’ve tried to secure on my own terms?
Jesus is not afraid of these questions. He welcomes them. And more importantly, he welcomes you.
May this week be marked by sacred honesty, compassionate presence, and courageous hope. And may the One who weeps with you also be the One who calls you forth to life.
Warm Regards,
Curt
