On Which Side Will You Sing?

Last weekend, I moved for the third time in a little over three years.

Let me just say this in light of this fact: I'm tired of pulling up tent pegs. 

I look back on my 20s and marvel, wondering who on earth that girl was who delighted so much in bouncing around the globe, restless at the mere thought of even being in one place for every long, aching far more for wings than roots. 

My mind and body must have been inhabited by some other woman back then because now in the latter half of my 30s, I am going kicking and screaming at the prospect of not being in one place for very long. I ache far more for roots than wings these days.

The decision to move is one stemming all the way back to mid-August, and the months in between were filled with stress, tears, meltdowns and temper tantrums of the adult variety. Life felt like a rollercoaster and a yo-yo all rolled into one, first searching for a house to buy, not finding anything, then deciding to rent, then deciding to search for a house again, and finally just deciding to rent again. The reasons behind the decision aren't all that significant - it was practical things like getting a new landlord who raised the rent, wanting to save more money for a downpayment on a house, and generally being sick of living below people who owned two large dogs who felt the need to turn their apartment into their own personal tumbling gym.    

And through it all I felt like God was silent. Oh, there were whispers of his promptings, but were they really him or my own thoughts? I struggled to discern, there was so much racket in my head. 

In the seeming silence, I doubted. I protested. I worried. I stressed. I complained. I panicked. I became anxious. I became fearful, consumed with self-imposed pressures and timelines. I practically begged for the heavens to open up, for angels to descend and declare, "Behold! This is the house you should buy," or "This is where you should live." My belief that God could provide evaporated in a cloud of unbelief.

No angels descended from on high, and there certainly were no words of gratitude flowing from my lips, no song of praise pouring from my heart. Not on this side of the matter.

I have thought often of the Old Testament Israelites as of late, people of tent pegs and tents, wanderers and nomads. 

It wasn't always that way. They had roots for over 400 years in one place and it was their undoing. They sank roots deep into Egypt, roots that would eventually enslave them. I wonder what songs they sang in those 400 years? Surely laments, but were there songs of praise? If they knew their prophecies, then they had to know that some day the 400 years would end, that it wouldn't always be like this, that they wouldn't always be slaves to a slave-driver. 

After 400 achingly long years of breaking backs and breaking hearts, God gave the Israelites wings and they took flight,  pulling up stakes, and fleeing Egypt.

But even with wings, there still was no song. They had the cloud by day and the fire by night, but no song. (None recorded anyway.) They had the very presence of the living God with them, but no song. They had been liberated from four centuries of bondage, but no song. 

And then their wings lead them to the Red Sea. A dead end. A brick wall of water before them and an angry army behind them. "As Pharaoh approached, the Israelites looked up, and there were the Egyptians, marching after them. They were terrified and cried out to the Lord. They said to Moses, 'Was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you brought us to the desert to die? What have you done to us by bringing us out of Egypt?'" (Exodus 14:10-11).

There is no song on this side of the Red Sea, only unbelief and doubt cloaked in terror and panic. The God who liberated us, provided for us, led us, surely he can't save us now!

But save He does. The wind roars, the waters part, the people pass and the army drowns.

And then - and then - a song. 

"Then Moses and the Israelites sang this song to the Lord:

“I will sing to the Lord,

    for he is highly exalted.

Both horse and driver

    he has hurled into the sea. 

The Lord is my strength and my defense;

    he has become my salvation.

He is my God, and I will praise him,

    my father’s God, and I will exalt him.

The Lord is a warrior;

    the Lord is his name...

Who among the gods

    is like you, Lord?

Who is like you—

    majestic in holiness,

awesome in glory,

    working wonders? 

You stretch out your right hand,

    and the earth swallows your enemies.

In your unfailing love you will lead

    the people you have redeemed.

In your strength you will guide them

    to your holy dwelling...

The Lord reigns

    for ever and ever." 

Exodus 15:1-3, 11-13, 18

It's amazing the difference parted waters can have on a departed perspective.

Will we be like the Israelites and only sing on the other side of our Red Seas? Will we only worship after we've been delivered, after we know how it all ends, and after the happy ending? Or are we willing to worship in the space between beginnings and endings, pronouncements and deliverance, prophecies and fulfillments? Is not the song on the far side of the Red Sea, when the waters have not been parted, far more powerful than the one on this side of the Red Sea? Must we always wait for hindsight to inform our worship? Why do we not lean more on our foresight, our foreknowledge, which is built on the character of God, to inform our worship? 

I want there to be a song flowing from my mouth no matter which side of the Red Sea I'm standing on because the God who saves me on one side is the same God who saves me on the other. He is worthy of praise either way. I don't want to wait for hindsight to inform and determine the song I choose to sing. 

I want God to catch me singing on both sides, no matter whether I've got roots or wings.   

Similes in the Time of Corona

Sometimes the best way to describe something is not to describe the object itself, but to compare it to something else. Similes can be of great value in writing, heightening the imagery of the text and enhancing the reader's understanding. 

In these strange times, I've had many a moment of reflection and time to myself, pondering the how's and why's of life, collecting my own list of similes, gathering them up in a basket in my mind. A good many have come at the hand of personal experience in recent months. Please, allow me to share but a few here.

COVID-19 is a little bit like sin: it robs you of your senses. 

Literally. I managed to contract COVID somehow along the way earlier this summer, and like many others who have had it, I lost all sense of taste and smell for a couple of weeks. It was surprisingly depressing to not taste or smell anything I was eating. I resorted to just drinking bone broth on occasion for meals because I thought resignedly so, "Well, why not just drink your meal? It's not like eating it is any more enjoyable." Sin is like that. Eventually when you're in so deep, you lose the ability to detect right from wrong anymore, desensitized to what is true, apathetic to the pursuit of right living.

Getting a COVID nasal swab test is a little bit like a Pap smear for your nose. 

I need not comment further. Only women will understand this. 

Quarantine is a little bit like an introvert's dream come true. 

While in quarantine, there were friends and family who were genuinely concerned not only for my well-being as it pertained to the virus itself, but also to my being alone in quarantine. I always wanted to say, "Ha. Are you kidding me?! I'm living the dream here. Alone for weeks on end? Bliss." One of the very first social media posts somebody sent me back in March said, "CDC: To prevent coronavirus, stay home, avoid physical contact, and don't go into large crowds. Introverts: I've been preparing for this moment my entire life." Yes and amen.

Sometimes dealing with your health is a little bit like playing a game of Whac-A-Mole. 

Both are maddening. Pre-COVID, I was sorting through a laundry list of health issues, and it seemed that every time I would go a follow-up appointment with one of my healthcare providers, some new issue would have surfaced in the interim. Whack. And then COVID hit and that presented its own issues. Whack. Now its dealing with my body post-COVID. Whack. For once, could one of you moles just go down and stay down?

Hunting for crickets is a little bit like a game of Marco Polo in the dark. 

I hate crickets. With a passion. One of God's creatures that I absolutely do not understand why he made. And for whatever reason, they have decided to take up residence in my house, not just merely outside my house. I found one in the dishwasher. In the shower. In my bedroom. In the hallway. In the kitchen. In the dining room. And they chirp all the time. They seem particularly fond of the hours between 1 am and 3 am. One woke me up the other night around 1 am, and I could tell he was in the kitchen somewhere. It was all-out guerrilla warfare. With the lights off, I stood in one place and he stopped. I moved and waited in silence. He started chirping again and I moved closer to the sound. He stopped. I waited. He started again. I moved closer. One of us eventually lost that game of Marco Polo. It wasn't me.

Hunting for apartments is (presumably) a little bit like online dating. 

I have never done online dating, but if it's anything like shopping for a place to live, then there is good reason why I won't be signing up for eHarmony anytime soon. Good heavens. What an overwhelming, exhausting, frustrating and annoying process. My landlords informed me (on the same day I got out of quarantine) they were selling my place unexpectedly, and I was sent scrambling to find a place to live. I visited a half-dozen complexes and looked at dozens more online. About a week into it, I told my brother I was just going to move into his basement. If by some strange turn of events, online dating becomes the only means to marriage, then I'll stay single forever, living in my brother's basement.  

Since this pandemic doesn't seem to be ending anytime soon, I'm certain there will be no shortage of similes yet to be formulated. Whether those are dispatched from my brother's basement or not remains to be seen.

What Our Anxieties Reveal

The Bible says in Matthew 6:21, "For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

What I have come to realize, however, in the last several years and in the aftermath of my own mental health crisis, is the corollary of that statement is actually what reveals the most about a person:

For where your idols are, there your anxieties will be also.

Show me your anxieties, and I'll show you your idols. Show me your idols, and I'll show you your anxieties.

You can pay lip service all you want to worshipping God and God alone, but your fears and your responses to them will ultimately tell me what you worship.

Mine certainly told me what I worshiped.

(Hint: It wasn't God.)

I worshiped my mind - I feared losing it.

I worshiped memory - I feared forgetting.

I worshiped control - I feared not having it.

I worshiped productivity - I feared idleness.

I worshiped perfection - I feared falling short.

I worshiped my body - I feared its decline.

I worshiped intelligence - I feared foolishness.

I worshiped money - I feared its lack.

I worshiped predictability - I feared uncertainty.

I worshiped safety - I feared discomfort.

Our idols are cruel taskmasters. Mine left me lying on the floor, gasping for air, incapable of sleeping without a light on for months for fear of the night. They'll enslave us every time and make no apologies, offer no recompense for the damages inflicted. They'll leave you bloodied, battered and bruised. God speaks to the heart of this issue in Isaiah 46:6-7:

Some pour out gold from their bags and weigh out silver on the scales; they hire a goldsmith to make it into a god, and they bow down and worship it. They lift it to their shoulders and carry it; they set it up in its place, and there it stands. From that spot it cannot move. Even though someone cries out to it, it cannot answer; it cannot save them from their troubles.

Pour out your silver and gold. Fashion your idols, your little 'g' gods, and worship them.

And there your idols will stand.

Put them on a pedestal, cry out to them, beg them to save you.

But they will neither answer nor save. In fact, they'll betray you every chance they get. Our idols will always be our undoing.

My perfectionism couldn't save me. My intelligence couldn't save me. My mind couldn't save me. All of them - every single one of my idols - fell short.

They still do.

Yet, in my pride and sinful stupidity, I insist on their existence.

But praise God.

Even my pride and sinful stupidity can't stop him from rescuing me.

All other gods, all other idols, bow down to him, including mine.

God will not tolerate our idols, and neither will he negotiate with us on their existence. He'll reveal 'em. He'll strip 'em away, expose them for the frauds they are.

Because he wants to be your treasure. And he wants your heart to be with him.

"Listen to me, you descendants of Jacob, all the remnant of the people of Israel, you whom I have upheld since your birth, and have carried since you were born. Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you." - Isaiah 46:3-4

They'll Say I'm Just A Building

They'll say I'm just a building, but don't you believe 'em.

They'll say I'm just four walls, a roof, some doors, some windows, but don't you believe 'em.

They'll say I'm just a steeple, a sanctuary, some pews, a pulpit, some hymnals, but don't you believe 'em.

I know too much to be just a building.

I've seen too much to be just a building.

I've heard too much to be just a building.

I heard you sing "Amazing Grace" for the first time, and I heard you sing "How Great Thou Art" for the thousandth time. (I even heard you skip a few stanzas every now and then when you got tired of singing, and I most certainly saw you roll your eyes when the song leader repeated that refrain one too many times.)

I sang with you as you sang.

I watched you walk down that faded red-carpeted aisle to your groom, a twinkle in your eye, a tear down your cheek, flowers in your hand, and I even watched your mom - and your sister - and your brother - and your second cousin once removed - at their weddings, as well.

I rejoiced with you as you rejoiced.

I saw you stand in that pool of water, nervous to be in front of all those people, nervous you might snort water up your nose or very well drown in three feet of water. But I watched you go from death to life in one swift dunk, coming up soaking wet, yet washed clean in more ways than one.

I celebrated with you as you celebrated.

I saw you place that hand on the casket, clutching a tissue to your chest, wondering how and why and what if and if only. I stood firm beneath your feet even when you felt like all of life was giving way to death.

I wept with you as you wept.

I heard you preach with fire and conviction, "For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life."  I saw that fire in your belly and heard that urgency in your voice (even if you were preaching in the King James Version).

I preached with you as you preached.

I watched you rock your babies to sleep in my nursery and teach your children in my classrooms. Then I watched those babies grow, and I watched those children become adults. And then I watched their babies grow and their children become adults.

I grew with you as you grew.

I saw you feast, fellowship and laugh at potlucks, Mother Daughter banquets, Easter Sunday sunrise breakfasts, 4-H meetings, weddings, anniversaries and VBS. (And don't think I missed it when you went back for seconds - and even thirds.)

I fellowshipped with you as you fellowshipped.

To all the generations who walked through my doors:

I knew you.

I saw you.

I heard you.

I'm not just some building.

My bells called you back.
My doors welcomed you in.
My pews wrapped around you as you wept.
My pulpit held your notes and His Word.
My floors creaked beneath your feet.
My walls absorbed the echoes of your worship.

My ashes may be scattered to the four winds tonight, but your memories of me will not be.

I was there when you ushered your loved ones home, when you clutched that tissue to your chest.

Now it's time for you to usher me home.

Turn, lift your face.

Not all is lost.

Including hope.

Especially hope.

I was the church that built you.

Now you will be the people who build me.
_______________________________________________________________________________

The church of my childhood, the church of my family for five generations, burned to the ground last night. My mother could see the plume of smoke from their house early this morning, nearly 3 miles away. It's nothing but a smoldering ash heap, even now in these late hours of the day, long after the fire trucks are gone. Yes, we know it's a building, and we won't lose sight of that, but grief has stolen our hearts nonetheless. The memories are extensive, not only for me as an individual, but for my family and our dearest friends. That church is where I first met Jesus. It's where I was baptized. It's where my parents were married. It's where my grandparents are buried, in the cemetery out back. Our family has lived a lot of life inside those four walls. We are saddened, yes, but not crushed. Grieved, but not devastated. Big Darby Baptist Church will forever stand in the recesses of our hearts and minds as the place where we encountered a God who stronger than both the fire and the flame. We'll still choose to travel by his light, even when he leads us by a pillar of fire at night.

"By day the Lord went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud to guide them on their way and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light, so that they could travel by day or night." (Exodus 13:21, NIV)   

The Inefficiency of an All-Sufficient God

I can spot inefficiencies from a mile away most of the time. It’s arguably one of my greatest assets in my job, being able to take a project or a task, assess its overall scope and related processes, analyze where the inefficiencies are and then put guardrails in place to correct them. You hand me a contract or a project to manage that is inefficient or sluggish in its performance, and I’ll hand it back to you performing like an organized, well-oiled machine. I enjoy bringing order and structure to things that would otherwise languish from lack of organization.

It’s often said, however, that your greatest strength is your greatest weakness, and there most certainly is a dark side to my ability to analyze and correct. It often makes me intolerant of both people and systems who don’t perform or measure up quite like I think they should.

“Why would you do it that way?”

“Wouldn’t this way be better?”

“Why aren’t you doing it this way instead?”

It often makes me critical of those around me. In my impatience and arrogance, I find fault instead of favor, hold a grudge instead of gratitude, maintain unforgiveness instead of understanding.

And when I look at the world around me, I find that perhaps God is seemingly the most inefficient one of all.

In Genesis, God could have given Abraham the long-awaited promised son, Isaac, at 20 years old. Instead, God gave him to Abraham at 100 years old.

In Exodus, God could have liberated the Israelites from the hand of Pharaoh in 4 days, 4 weeks or 4 years. Instead, he allowed them to labor under tyranny for 400 years.

In Numbers, God could have delivered the people straight from labor to liberty. Instead, he vowed to make them wander in the desert for 40 years.

In 1 and 2 Samuel, God could have anointed David as a teenage boy and sent him straight to throne. Instead, he sent David to the belly of a cave and life as a fugitive for 15 years.

In Matthew, God could have gone straight from the time of Malachi to Jesus. Instead, he waits 400 years and whispers not a word to his people in the meantime.

In Mark, God could have sent out 1,200 men and women to proclaim the gospel. Instead, he sends out 12 seemingly inept nobodies.

And perhaps in the greatest tragedy of inefficiency, God waits thousands of years to send a baby who takes 30 years to grow into a man who faces temptation in the desert for 40 days to only do ministry for 3 years before he hangs on a cross for 6 hours. He then takes 3 days to rise from the dead, appears to his followers for only 40 days and is now taking over 2,000 years to come back and make everything right.

The insanity of an inefficient God.

Why send a baby who took years to grow into a man? Why only three years of ministry? Why not thirty? Why six hours? Why not six seconds? Why three days? Why only 40 days? Why 2,000 years?

Better yet, why do any of it at all when none of it had to happen to begin with?

Because God, in his infinite wisdom, is less concerned about his children merely getting somewhere more efficiently and more concerned about his children knowing his all-sufficiency. He's more concerned about the path that will lead to our greatest good, his greatest glory and the world's greatest gain, whether through inefficient means or not.

What’s most efficient isn’t always what’s best or most needed. And those supposed inefficiencies are really based on my limited human perspective, a perspective distorted and twisted by my brokenness and stiff-necked ways.  

In Exodus 13:17-18, it says, "When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them on the road through the Philistine country, though that was shorter.  For God said, 'If they face war, they might change their minds and return to Egypt.' So God led the people around by the desert road toward the Red Sea."

There was a shorter road the Israelites could have taken to the promised land, one that didn't dead-end into a brick wall of water. But if they had taken it, the people would have high-tailed it back to Egypt and the Promised Land would have become Never Land. 

In Exodus 23:29-30, it says, "But I will not drive [the Hivites, Canaanites, and Hittites] out in a single year, because the land would become desolate and the wild animals too numerous for you.  Little by little I will drive them out before you, until you have increased enough to take possession of the land." 

What could have been done in a year was done little by little. If it had been done in a year, the Promised Land, the land flowing with milk and honey, would have become the Desolate Land, the land filled with thorns and wild beasts. The land would have become a nightmare instead of a dream. 

Louie Giglio said in part two of his sermon "Waiting Here For You" in December of 2013, 

So we all trust Jesus on a Tuesday and go to heaven on a Wednesday. Isn't that a better plan actually? And an angel shows up to ask you, 'Are you really, really, really sure you're saved?' 'I'm really, really, really sure I'm saved.' 'Okay, you're going to heaven today, boom, you're done.' No suffering, no struggle, no trials, no hardship, no dark nights. No 30 years of trying to navigate a broken planet. No 50 years of trying to navigate hardship. No 70 years of having to live with the pain of waiting. You just trust God and you go to heaven. Isn't that the plan anyway? 

No. 

That is not the plan anyway. 

The plan is that God gets glory and we fall in love with Jesus. 

And I wonder what song we'd sing if we meet God on Tuesday and go to heaven on Wednesday. Yes, we're glad we're saved but we don't really know what we're saved from fully. Because we haven't lived in the fullness of the freedom of what it means to stand on the other side of the Red Sea and go, "We're not dead. We are alive. We are moving on with God into better places. We are moving into the promise he has for our lives. And it has gotten better and better. Not easier and easier, but better and better as we have followed him. Heaven is going to be amazing because of the waiting we've lived in.

I'm in favor of the "here today, gone tomorrow" plan. Far more efficient, and spares me the muck in between. 

It turns out God is not. "But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day" (2 Peter 3:8).

In my sin and depravity, I have bowed down and worshiped the god of efficiency far more than I have bowed down and worshiped the God of all-sufficiency. 

In my sin and depravity, I have held it against others when they were not organized like I think they should be organized, analytical like I think they should be analytical, efficient like I think they should be efficient. 

The tyrannical ruler of efficiency will always make me a slave, and I will do more than just labor for 400 years under its rule. I will miss the miracle of the desert road that led me to the parted waters and an all-sufficient God. 

I will miss God himself.   

Paul pleaded with God three times that he remove the 'thorn in his flesh.' God could have done it after  one request. He could have done it after none. But instead his response to Paul simply was, "My grace is sufficient for you..." (2 Corinthians 12:9).

His grace isn't just sufficient - it's all-sufficient. His ways are perfect. Every single time. No matter how long he seems to take. 

Jesus, may I bend my knee and raise my hands to your all-sufficient ways. My perspective on your wisdom and efficiency is limited and twisted, and I look at life through my lens instead of yours.  When I make efficiency king of my life, I dethrone you and become a puppet to an unbending tyrant. Your thoughts are not my thoughts. Your ways are not my ways. Make my thoughts yours. Make my ways yours. Teach me to delight in inefficiency because it is within that space where I will learn you are more than enough, and you are, in fact, perfectly efficient in all your ways. You are all-sufficient, and I am not. Remind me that the people around me - my co-workers, my family, my friends, even myself - are not you. They are not perfect. They are humans, made in your image, but humans nonetheless. Help me to extend grace and compassion where there was once impatience and bitterness for all their shortcomings. May your power be made perfect in my weaknesses and inefficiencies.  

The Cacophony in the Chaos

Cacophony: noun 

ca·​coph·​o·​ny | \ ka-ˈkä-fə-nē 

1: harsh or jarring sound, specifically: harshness in the sound of words or phrases 

2: an incongruous or chaotic mixture: a striking combination

I am reluctant to speak into the midst of this current season of life, where it seems there are already ten thousand competing voices telling us what and how to think. I am worn out and exhausted by those voices. Daily press briefings from the highest and lowest levels of government, often lasting for hours. Special reports and features on the nightly news, reminding us of the growing body count, discussing all the ways our foresight failed us in our most critical hours. Articles and social media feeds filled with the opinions of every self-appointed expert and homespun quarantined journalist there is. Post after post after post analyzing the myriad of ways we should have handled things differently, should have prepared differently, should have saved differently.

Noise. 

Racket. 

Clanging. 

Banging. 

All of it – just noise. 

A cacophony of dissonant notes, making for an altogether terrible melody that is incredibly painful on the ears, heart and mind.

Out of self-preservation and mental well-being, I’ve had to tune it out, turn it off, and shut it down.    

But there’s still that one voice.

That one voice I cannot seem to escape.

The quiet whisper of Jesus.

That still small voice which echoes in the chambers of my heart and mind, where the notes aren’t dissonant, jarring or unsettling, and the melody isn’t threatening to destroy my ear drums and set fire to my brain. 

What I need more than anything right now is that voice. I need his perspective, his truth, his clarity. I don’t need predictions, projections, theories, or conjectures. I don’t need finger-pointing, paranoia, accusations or fear.  All of those will fall short in due time.  Their insufficiencies will be revealed, the curtain pulled back on the shortcomings of each.  

I need a perspective rooted in unchanging truth, guided by an unwavering voice. 

Because that voice - the voice of Jesus Christ - will be the only voice that declares the truths I need to know, the truths that are most critical in these times of chaos and uncertainty, the truths that will be fixed points in a time when it seems all is unmoored.    

Because that voice declares, if it is shelter I seek, then I must seek it in the shadow of the Almighty, the one who will never be buried beneath the waves or fall victim to the floodwaters of life.

“Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.’ He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.” - Psalm 91:1, 2, 4

Because that voice declares, if it is peace I seek, then I must seek it in the peace of Jesus Christ, the olive branch extended to me, the sign that not all hope is lost. 

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” - John 14:27

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” - John 16:33

Because that voice declares, if it is brighter days I seek, then I must seek them in the promise of Jesus Christ, the rainbow splashed across the skies, a reminder of his faithfulness amid the chaos. 

“Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures of every kind on the earth.”  - Genesis 9:16 

Because that voice declares, if it safety I seek, then I must seek it in the dwelling of the Lord Almighty.

“For in the day of trouble he will keep me safe in his dwelling; he will hide me in the shelter of his sacred tent and set me high upon a rock.” - Psalm 27:5

Because that voice declares, if it is comfort I seek, then I must seek it in the one and only Comforter. 

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ. If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer. And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort.” - 2 Corinthians 1:3-7

Because that voice declares, if it is hope I seek, then I must seek it in the only source of living hope. 

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time.” - 1 Peter 1: 3-5

That voice declares all that I need to know, both yesterday, today and tomorrow, whether in times of crisis, chaos or calm.  

It doesn’t declare I will be exempt from suffering. It doesn't declare my generation will be exempt from suffering. It doesn’t declare heartache will not pass the threshold of my home. It doesn’t declare grief will not come my way. It doesn't declare my family and friends will make it through this pandemic untouched. It doesn't declare my own body won't succumb. It doesn't declare I won't lose my job.  

But it does declare all I need to know in the midst of those things. 

“If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in…” - Revelation 3:20

So, to you I say – 

Drown out the noise, the racket, the clanging, the banging. 

Silence the cacophony of voices and opinions and listen for the only voice you need to be listening to right now. 

Because maybe then you will discover the voice of a God who is neither under a quarantine mandate nor stay-at-home orders, and neither is his Word. They are free to move about.

Listen carefully, listen closely, drown out all the other voices and open the door. 

Listen to the one voice you need to hear most right now.

Jesus promises to come into your quarantined home.

Though Death is Against Us

By your power, great God,
our Lord Jesus healed the sick
and gave new hope to the hopeless.
Though we cannot command or possess your power,
we pray for those who want to be healed.
Mend their wounds, soothe fevered brows,
and make broken people whole again.
Help us to welcome every healing as a sign that,
though death is against us,
you are for us,
and have promised renewed and risen life 
in Jesus Chris the Lord. 

Merciful God,
your healing power is everywhere about us.
Strengthen those who work among the sick;
give them courage and give confidence in everything they do.
Encourage them when their efforts seem futile
or when death prevails. 
Increase their trust in your power 
even to overcome death and pain and crying.
May they be thankful for every sign of health you give,
and humble before the mystery of your healing grace;
through Jesus Christ our Lord. 

Amen.

[from the book of Common Worship, Westminster/John Knox Press]