comfort

Word LESS…

Ok, so I’m not completely wordless this evening as we continue our journey through Lent. But I am tired. It has been a long day, with much to do. So I don’t have a lot of words. A few, but not a lot.

Today we had a funeral for another pillar of our community at St. Andrew’s. Tears were shed, and when I came across this image, I thought it quite apropos:

tears

Sometimes our days are marked by tears. In this season as we journey towards the cross, toward the way of sorrows taken by Jesus, tears seem appropriate and significant. So remember, when tearful days come your way, that Jesus wept. And that God reads our tears as if they were the most eloquent of prayers. In His presence may we find comfort and peace.

Blue…

blue

Tonight was the first ever Blue Christmas Service at St. Andrew’s. I’ve always struggled with the concept of a Blue Christmas Service – I always enjoy the sparkle and joy of the Season. So to take time to focus on the struggle with grief or loss didn’t seem to make a lot of sense to me. It seemed like something that would jar me out of my joyful celebration.

However as we sang, prayed and lit candles this evening, I found something precious. A space of silence and breathing in the midst of a hectic and stressful season. This year, I have struggled to find my footing in the celebration of Christmas. I have loved every moment of worship that I’ve had since returning from Israel, but in between moments of singing and praying and listening to the word, I have found myself cranky and out-of-sorts. I think this has to do with wanting time to process all that we experienced in the Holy Land, and not having the time to do it. It also has to do with all the things on the “to-do” list which normally would have been done by now.

I have felt harried and frustrated and lacking in rest. So though I am not struggling with any particular grief or loss, I am struggling nonetheless. And this service ministered to me. My hope and my prayer is that it also ministered to all who attended, all who came broken and weary and weighed-down.

My hope is that if you are feeling that way, you too may be ministered-to during this season. That you may find a space to breathe, to reflect, to heal. And that the One who was wounded for us all, the One by whose wounds we are healed, would bring you comfort.

He was despised and rejected—
a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief.
We turned our backs on him and looked the other way.
He was despised, and we did not care.
Yet it was our weaknesses he carried;
it was our sorrows that weighed him down.
And we thought his troubles
were a punishment from God,
a punishment for his own sins!
But he was pierced for our rebellion,
crushed for our sins.
He was beaten so we could be whole.
He was whipped so we could be healed.
All of us, like sheep, have strayed away.
We have left God’s paths to follow our own.
Yet the Lord laid on him
the sins of us all.
Isaiah 53:4-6 NLT

Sunday of Joy…

h

I always appreciate being at church after a tragedy. Not that I ever want a tragedy to occur, but when they do, being in worship with my family of faith is a blessing. I remember my Dad preaching words of hope and comfort after 9/11, in those first few weeks when it still felt like maybe the world was ending. I remember how beautiful it was to sing and pray and read words of hope and of peace in that very troubling time.

On the one hand it was hard to be at worship today – my emotions over the Connecticut school shootings are still very close to the surface. On the other hand, I was so relieved and blessed to be there. For some it might have felt like it was ironic in a terrible, terrible way that today is the Advent Sunday of Joy.

But for me, it felt right. Not because I want to just smile and laugh and ignore the pain. But because I believe that joy is stronger than pain. That joy can be felt in the midst of pain. And that joy can help to heal our wounds.

So my smile was wobbly today in worship. My tissue was drenched by the end of the service, and my eyes and nose were red. But there were so many good things that happened in my community of faith today. We baptized a baby. We listened to our children sing and play the handbells. We laughed. We danced (does this mean our Presbyterian card will be revoked?!). We sang Go Tell It On The Mountain at the top of our voices and clapping broke out.

And God was with us. God was drawing us together. God was healing us. God was blessings us.

In the Gospel According to Matthew we find these words:

All of this occurred to fulfill the Lord’s message through his prophet:

“Look! The virgin will conceive a child!
She will give birth to a son,
and they will call him Immanuel,
which means ‘God is with us.’”

When Joseph woke up, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded and took Mary as his wife. But he did not have sexual relations with her until her son was born. And Joseph named him Jesus.

Matthew 1:22-25 NLT

Jesus came so that we would know that God is with us. On the good days, on the bad days, on the ordinary days. Jesus came so that we would know God cares and so that we would know what it is to experience the joy of being unconditionally loved.

So that we would have a joy inside us that shines in the midst of darkness, that smiles through the haze of tears, that sings and claps, even when our hearts are broken.

Logically, or emotionally?

Today Koski went to get spayed by the Vet. On the one hand, this is a perfectly routine procedure and tonnes of dogs have gone through it before without a hitch. On the other hand, THIS dog is MINE. And that seems to make all the difference. I didn’t sleep at all last night. I cried when I drove away from the vet’s office this morning.

Logically, I understand that the risks were low and the likelihood that she’d be home with me by the end of the day was high. Emotionally, I was a bit of a wreck (not a terrible wreck, but it was stressful).

And that’s the reality of life, isn’t it? At least for my personality type, it is. I say this all the time: logically I know that….but emotionally I worry/fear/feel that…

One of my colleagues pointed out to me this week, that the fear and worry is a monster that is always hungry. And worrying about an issue just feeds the monster and makes him bigger and hungrier. I asked her what the solution was, then. Because the “just don’t worry” theory doesn’t really work.

And she said the wisest thing. She said, “Find a scripture that brings you great comfort, repeat it to yourself whenever you feel yourself beginning to worry.” So simple. So wise. The word of God chases away our fear and discomfort. The monster cannot survive when we don’t feed it.

So I have chosen a couple of scriptures to help me starve the monster:

“For I know the plans I have for you,” says the LORD.
“They are plans for good and not for disaster,
to give you a future and a hope.”
Jeremiah 29:11 NLT

Don’t panic. I’m with you.
There’s no need to fear for I’m your God.
I’ll give you strength. I’ll help you.
I’ll hold you steady, keep a firm grip on you.
Isaiah 41:10 MSG

If you make the LORD your refuge,
if you make the Most High your shelter,
no evil will conquer you;
no plague will come near your home.
For he will order his angels
to protect you wherever you go.
Psalm 91:9-11 NLT

You may choose different ‘starve the monster’ scriptures. But if you are one who finds it easy to worry, easy to feed the monster, I urge you to choose some and to memorize them and meditate upon them. Starve that monster. It’s a better way to live.

Words of comfort…

Tonite during the video part of our weekly study, The Divine Conspiracy, John Ortberg told a story about his daughter. When she was upset he or his wife would say to her “Honey, honey, honey, I know, I know, I know.” When she grew up enough to start speaking, they would hear on the baby monitor that she would self-comfort. She’d wake up from a scary dream and say to herself, “Honey, honey, honey, I know, I know, I know.” These had become words of comfort and of love for her.

So one of our discussion questions had to do with what sort of words from God would be the equivalent to our own “Honey, honey, honey, I know, I know, I know.”

When I was a kid, my Dad would say to me, when I was afraid, “It’s ok, it’s going to be fine. I wouldn’t tell you that if it wasn’t true.” My Dad’s voice saying “I wouldn’t tell you that if it wasn’t true,” is one of the most comforting sounds in the entire world to me. And I think the equivalent would be all the times in the Bible that God says “Do not fear, I am with you.”

There is something so comforting in just knowing that our Heavenly Father is with us. He does not leave us, he does not forsake us. I wish I could share the peace I find in that that thought with everyone I meet. I wish I could go around handing out that certainty and comfort to all those in need of it.