I looked around the room with grateful affection for the people present and a tinge of sadness over those notably absent.
After 43 years, the guest of honor was retiring, exchanging his pulpit for an RVangelism crusade.
(You can retire from church, but never the call.)
The last-minute invitation to attend came after church on a Sunday where I'd just spent the final hymn and closing prayer at my own church rationalizing naps as biblically-required rest. It had been a long week of all nighters and challenging circumstances. The week ahead promised more of the same. Had they said 'Amen' yet or had I nodded off again? It was that kind of Sunday.
It is hard to admit I was struggling because it is always hard for me to admit that. I can't always put into words where a dilemma lies. If you don't know how to spell elephant, there can't be one in the room, see?
When the low gas light comes on, you can still eek out a good 20 miles if you're lucky - no cause for alarm. And so, I'm fine. This is fine. Everything is and always will be fine.
It's just that sometimes, I find the day has been muted, my visibility limited to just the one step in front of me to take. So I take it. One after the other, over hill and dale, creeping the last 20 miles on fumes, until the sun reappears to chase the fog away. (yes, I actually am kinda solar powered, its true)
This had been a muted Sunday.
I tested the nap hypothesis over lunch, but my son was not keen. He wanted to attend the event to see his own friends, despite the lack of time for freshening up and me three-days-shower-overdue.
Bedraggled but present still counts, right? It absolutely does.
We all obeyed the "No Shaking Hands" CoVid19 signs posted around the foyer in bold inkjet red, opting instead for those tight and prolonged 'how-long-has-it-been?!' hugs that cause you to adjust your footing or fall over.
It didn't take long for me to forget my frazzled state.
I was happy to be there.
And, to my future self I say, just go. Whatever it is, despite how you feel, you'll always... eventually... be glad you were there.
The modest sanctuary was dotted with friends from high school and further back, beyond the awkward mutations of middle school to the time when communion took the form of butter cookies and juice.
It's a real thing, you know, to bask in the presence of others; like so much sunshine through a windowpane. And it seems to me we need the warmth of community like a baby bird needs to be sat on, this despite my hard-wiring to seek out solitude whenever I can.
My old friend was at the piano, playing through four decades of church music. I felt long-dormant lyrics spill from my lips as if they'd never been placed on a shelf (Majesty...worship His majesty...)
Having become overly dependent on projection screens in recent years, and with nary a lyric nor hymnal in sight, we also stumbled through a few songs we are certain we used to know.
Stumbling or second-nature, the songs unfurled around the room, tying our voices in one accord. For the first time in a long time, we were singing again under the same roof.
Many of the folks gathered were connected in one way or many to local ministries. We attended the same church, Christian school or our dads saw each other at seminary.
My dad taught English in the christian high school by day and Greek at the seminary by night. Some of my teachers were his students and some of his students were my best friends.
In this way, and many others, our lives overlapped and were woven together.
Perhaps it will come as a shock to some but, nearness does not guarantee neatness.
These men of theology sometimes had different ideas about what old king James meant or whether it was permissible to listen to anything new king James declared.
Like a sweater, we were knit together, sure. But maybe, more accurately, we were more like well-entangled coat hangers.
(Same purpose, different fabrics, divided by changing seasons and hanging at opposite ends)
Still, all serving the same king - whose name it turns out - isn't James at all.
As I looked into the faces of my old friends, I saw the stories they represented. Triumphs and defeat. Love, loss and long walks back home. I saw the legacy of my dad and his contemporaries being carried on. And it was seeing my own pastor that made me most glad, for that man is also my younger (much smarter and better looking) brother.
Despite missteps along the way and miles that separate, how good it was to realize that all this while we've still been journeying forward - together and singing the same song.
~ * ~
Recently, I've had no choice but to engage with a specific conflict at work. While dissecting the problem aloud with my dad (he always helps me sound it out) I explained that it would be helpful if God had written a chapter or two for super-literal people like me- I want to know exactly what to do and how, also when and where and WHY.
After stuttering out a confused plea of a prayer, I encountered the same theme multiple times in a short span: God is your strong tower, hide yourself in Him.
But, I was still amiss. How do you hide behind a God you can't see?
xx Spoiler alert: I still don't know exactly. Continuing to read this entry won't give you literal life answers either. Sorry about that. xx
After seeing my old friends, I chose to fasten this hope around me as I walk into the cool indifference of the weeks ahead:
Our dads and those who brought Good News to them, and the generations stretching all the way back through Methuselah's awkward middle school mutations didn't always know the exact best thing to do, either. They had to trust God's goodness was bigger than their human limitations.
The God of our fathers is still the God of me. He has been faithful to the generations before me, and often, despite them.
When I reply to that nasty email, attend a tense meeting or try to walk worthy of my purchase day-to-day, my confidence will not be that I am going to know exactly what to say or do.
I'm not going to just supernaturally get it right in the moment because God is on my side. I'm painfully aware He lets us skin our knees or learn the hard way.
My confidence will be that the God of our fathers is still the God of me; bigger, kinder and more gracious than I could ever be. He will be the one to set things right - despite me.
Turns out - surprise, surprise- the Earth isn't kept in balance by me, nor is it expected to be.
I know these things, I do. I've learned them and learned them and learned them before.
Like refrains from old songs, I just need them sung back to me once and again and once again more.
*When looking for a picture to go along with this post,
I found one of my brother's pictures and an accompanying
post from a while ago. You can read it here.
God makes everything come out right;
he puts victims back on their feet.
He showed Moses how he went about his work,
opened up his plans to all Israel.
God is sheer mercy and grace;
not easily angered, he’s rich in love.
He doesn’t endlessly nag and scold,
nor hold grudges forever.
He doesn’t treat us as our sins deserve,
nor pay us back in full for our wrongs.
As high as heaven is over the earth,
so strong is his love to those who fear him.
And as far as sunrise is from sunset,
he has separated us from our sins.
As parents feel for their children,
God feels for those who fear him.
He knows us inside and out,
keeps in mind that we’re made of mud.
Men and women don’t live very long;
like wildflowers they spring up and blossom,
But a storm snuffs them out just as quickly,
leaving nothing to show they were here.
God’s love, though, is ever and always,
eternally present to all who fear him,
Making everything right for them and their children
as they follow his Covenant ways
and remember to do whatever he said.
-Psalm 103:6-18
Generation after generation stands in awe of your work;
each one tells stories of your mighty acts.
Your beauty and splendor have everyone talking;
I compose songs on your wonders.Your marvelous doings are headline news;
I could write a book full of the details of your greatness.
The fame of your goodness spreads across the country;
your righteousness is on everyone’s lips.
God is all mercy and grace—not quick to anger, is rich in love.
God is good to one and all;
everything he does is suffused with grace.
-Psalm 145:4-9