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Sunday, December 3, 2017

Persistently Seeking Hope in God






The Nutcracker music is playing as the day winds down.  It is 7:42PM on the first Sunday of Advent, December 3, 2017.  This morning in worship, we had our regular English congregation, many Spanish-speakers from Iglesia del Amor de Dios, Karen-speakers (the Karen come from a Burmese tribe), and many Chinese-speakers.  In our Chapel Hill, NC, these worshipers from all over the world came together in Jesus’ name.  There were at 130 of praising the Lord together.
Yesterday, in Arlington, VA, I was in a gathering of more than 500, and just as ethnically diverse.  My good friend Kevin, a pastor in Luray, VA, and someone I mentored 12 years ago when he was getting started, died this past week.  He has cardiac arrest while weight-lifting, collapsed, and died.  He was just 39.  The mood at our worship service this morning was joyful, festive, happy.  We had a big potluck after worship, with tables decorated for Christmas.  The mood yesterday at Kevin’s funeral was somber, heavy. So much sadness.  Kevin’s mother was disconsolate. 
Now, on whatever music loop that’s playing, it’s shifted from The Nutcracker to ‘Star of Wonder.’  It’s the typical background music of Christmastime.  Our house has lights on the outside.  Our tree is up.  Our decorations are around.  I sit and reflect upon conflicting moods: joy from this morning’s worship, and sorrow from yesterday.  The first Sunday of December is, along with Easter, the highpoint of the year at our church and this morning was no exception.  Yesterday, grieving my young friend and protégé, was one of the lowest lows I’ve had in a while.  There’s a weight to grief and it has settled on me even as feel the true of joy of Christ’s birth.
Facebook has given me perspective.  Memories popup on Facebook.  The memory to pop up just now was from 2012, when I posted my sermon for the first Sunday of Advent that year.  The theme was the same as this morning – our search for hope.  The path for that search was different then than today.  In 2012, I lamented the divisiveness of politics (Obama v. Romney), and the specter of terrorism that hangs over us.  In spite of the negative waves emitted by politics and violence, I promised our church that God is present and can be trusted. 
This morning, 2017, I took our church through Kevin’s story and his parents’ and young wife’s sorrow at his death, and I invited the worshippers to contemplate their own losses.  Just as in 2012, I promised that God is present.  God is with us and God’s promises can be trusted.  I stood before the congregation this morning and said that.  I did the same in 2012 and many, many other occasions throughout my 20+ years preaching the Gospel. 
Am I right?  Is God’s here?  Can God be trusted?  I think the answer is ‘yes.’  I am sure it is.  But tonight, I feel so tired.  It’s more than fatigue.  It’s not malaise, though it feels a bit like that.  What heaviness is wearying me?  Grief?  Probably.  The lights in the house shine softly, warmly.  Right now, my kitchen table feels like a peaceful place.  But my tiredness is not a peaceful feeling.  What is it? 
Yes, I am sure that God is present and God’s presence is a source of unfailing hope.  Yes, I am sure this is so.  I don’t feel it at the moment, but feelings can’t usually be trusted.  At least mine can’t.  Yes, I will go on, year after year, preaching that God is here and God can be trusted.  I say it because it is true. 
It is true. 

Right now, I’m just tired.  And that’s OK too.  I’m not necessarily OK.  But it is OK that I am not OK.  Because God is here.

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