Holy Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.
It seems like everything is falling apart. The foundations that hold up our lives are crumbling, leaving us precariously hanging, dangling at the edge of an uncertain future. Even our past is in question.
The crumbling away creates open space for those who take advantage of the fear, grabbing for the power that seems to have no master. We falsely place blame on a convenient, powerless other, wrongly giving names and faces to the causes of the destruction, the source of our fears. We declare war on the fictitious enemy, this powerless other, who has been losing these same wars for generations, as if by making them lower, we can be raised up.
And out of fear, we believe.
The crumbling away causes some to scramble for safety, wildly latching onto anything that seems to offer something different. In groping and grasping for whatever we can reach, we let go of all that we have held onto before, even that which continues to hold our hand tightly amidst the chaos. But it feels good to feel good for the moment. And the moment is all that matters.
And out of fear, we believe.
The crumbling away causes some of us to retreat, to seek nothing, not power nor distraction; just a place to hide. We become numb in the darkness. Motionless. Thoughtless. Hopeless. Prayerless. Alone. Convinced that all we had once held as dear is over, if it ever really existed anyway.
And out of fear, we believe.
But there are some who hold on. Fearful and uncertain they lovingly made preparation yesterday, and spend today, this moment, this Sabbath, in faithful waiting for tomorrow, as they have been taught from centuries of teaching, and from three short years of living, learning and loving. Fear does not drive them to hate, or to seek other answers, or to retreat. They spend today amid the chaos and crumbling in waiting, fully prepared to go and see tomorrow what will come of all of this.
And amidst the fear, we believe.
"There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear . . ."
1 John 4:18
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Perhaps there is good to be found in the falling apart of everything but the core of our foundation . . . the first-laid blocks. These were designed to support us, and, no matter what ill has befallen us, they have held strong. I would urge that we not question our past. It was then that the foundation was formed. Instead, perhaps, we should tether ourselves to it and hold on tightly until the worst has passed. Personally, I thank God for what’s left.
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