‘It’s called looking after each other’: we will all be a burden at some point in our lives

As a culture we are obsessed by not being a burden. We are trained to aspire to be autonomous, self-sufficient and independent, and many of us can be these things for parts of our lives. We learn from an early age that our value as individuals is directly linked to whether we can perform, produce or be competent at something.

This works out well for some people, some of the time. But at other times – when we are young or old or infirm – we will be burdens. A burden by definition is something we carry. Why would we not want to be carried, when we need to be carried? Would we rather just be dropped, when things get difficult? As Giles Fraser says: ‘I do want to be a burden on my loved ones just as I want them to be a burden on me – it’s called looking after each other.’

My friend Maggie had a stroke five years ago that left her very disabled and a shadow of her former self – she had been fit and assertive, an active singer and gardener, a generous and faithful friend to many. Her husband, Edward, cared for her tenderly and cheerfully until the end, which came just a month ago. The sense of loss they must both have experienced down the years as they adjusted to their diminished lives after her stroke must have been immense. Sometimes there were tears from Maggie, as she found herself unable to form words to explain something she couldn’t remember to a familiar person she could not recall the name of.

Maggie was a burden for Edward, a beloved, fragile burden that he counted as a privilege to carry. It must have taken him to the end of himself at times but he never complained. Those of us around them tried to make sure that they got the support they needed but these situations are inevitably isolating in and of themselves. To me, observing this beloved couple, it was a picture of God’s faithfulness to each of us, until the end and beyond.

Inside the early morning operation to move asylum seekers from Mount Street encampment

---

Hannah Daly: Batteries are vital to ending fossil fuel dependence

---

Dave Hannigan: Grotesque Tyson-Paul spectacle the very antithesis of a real sporting event

---

‘I had no agent, no invites . . . it was do or die’ - Jude McAtamney, the latest Irishman heading for the NFL

---

Our health, our physical wellbeing, our egos, our homes, our possessions, our brilliant careers – they all come to nothing in the end

The Bible exhorts us to be interdependent – to carry each other’s burdens, as and when. We will each be a burden, or called to carry the burden of another, or both. The grace and readiness with which we rise and yield to this is what shapes our collective character as a society.

We all end up as dust, anyway, this side of eternity. Our health, our physical wellbeing, our egos, our homes, our possessions, our brilliant careers – they all come to nothing in the end. This coming week we have our yearly reminder of this, on Ash Wednesday. As we line up to receive ashes on our foreheads at church the words will be spoken over us: “From dust you came and to dust you shall return. Turn from sin and remain faithful to Christ.” There is peace and levelling in this bald admission of our creaturely status.

Christ himself was a burden. He was a burden in the womb, and as a babe-in-arms. He became a liability to his friends when he was arrested and executed. He was completely helpless, in control of nothing, a torture victim. When his mangled body was taken off the cross, it was given to his mother to cradle in her arms, as she staggered beneath the burden of her grief. If it was enough for Jesus – God incarnate – to embrace utter helplessness and dependence, surely it must be good enough for us, if this is how life plays out for us or for someone we love?

So let’s take heart, and remind ourselves that we do not need to be afraid. Let us be quick to shoulder our burdens with all the courage we can muster, and allow ourselves to be carried by others when it’s all too much, as it will surely sometimes be. There is grace and holiness in this weakness, because God himself spent time in this very place of helplessness too.