The Longest Night (part 2)

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; 
        those who lived in a land of deep darkness – 

        on them light has shined." 

(Isaiah 9:2)

 

Can you spot the conjunction?

I want to pick up where I left off yesterday. Darkness is real, and we would do well to acknowledge the heavy toll that darkness takes on the human soul.

 

But darkness, real and agonizing though it is, is not the reality that defines us. Darkness is not God’s ultimate intent for us. You don’t have to go any farther than the third verse in the Bible to know that darkness is not what God intends for us, for the very first words God speaks in all creation is “Let there be light.” So while we acknowledge the darkness that is common to all human experience, we also affirm that God breaks the darkness with the light of his glory and love.

 

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined.” (Isaiah 9:2) The words of the prophet Isaiah are affirmed and underscored by the apostle John when he speaks of Jesus in this way: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” (John 1:5) The Good News that we proclaim in the darkest season of the year – and in every season, for that matter – is that in the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, God answers the darkness with light. 

 

Light, which dispels the darkness. 

Light, which guides us through the darkness. 

 

And darkness did not, has not, cannot, nor ever will conquer the light. Not ever.

Yesterday was the winter solstice, the longest night. Last night was also the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to witness the convergence of Saturn and Jupiter. So, of course I had to go and take pictures. As the sun set, the two planets began to appear side by side on the southwest horizon. And as the night became darker, the two planets appeared even brighter.

 

In the darkness, light was shining.

 

An interesting tidbit that I learned from this weather guy I follow on Facebook: Jupiter is 550 MILLION miles from earth, and Saturn is one BILLION miles from earth. Think about that for a second. The light we see from Jupiter and Saturn travels through hundreds of millions of miles of darkness to get to us.

 

The light shines, and the darkness did not, has not, cannot, nor ever will conquer the light. Not ever.

 

Light is the answer to darkness. Jesus Christ, the Son of God and the Savior of the world – and the Light of the world – is God’s answer to our sorrow, our suffering, our broken hearts, our misery, our pain.

 

Not even the longest night can keep the light from coming to us.

It never has, and it never will.

The Longest Night (part 1)

“For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples…” (Isaiah 60:2a)

This morning was a cloudy, wet, gray, dreary morning. So I did what any normal person would do; I got up and said to myself, “It’s a perfect day for pictures.” (To be honest, gray days don’t usually make for the best photography; however, when you want a moody photo, it’s hard to beat a foggy morning) I went to the cemetery down the street from the manse, and snapped a few shots. 

 

Happy Monday, right?

 

Actually, I thought the gray moodiness of the morning was appropriate for today, the winter solstice – our longest night of the year. And for many people, 2020 has been a series of “longest nights”: a worldwide pandemic that hits us in waves; extended isolation from family and friends; national turmoil on the social, racial, and political fronts; economic uncertainty… I’m sure you can add your own reasons why this year seems to be one prolonged “longest night.”

 

As people of faith, it’s important to recognize the stark reality of the darkness in which we find ourselves. A quick reading of Scripture – especially the psalms – will reveal that it is perfectly normal for us to lament the darkness that enshrouds us. I say this because this time of year we need to remember that not everybody is merry and bright. For many, this will be the first Christmas without loved ones. For others, this will be the first Christmas since their family was fractured by divorce. For still others, this season adds salt to the wounds of their soul because, already struggling just to keep a roof over their heads, they cannot afford to buy gifts for their children. And for many, life itself is simply a struggle they face every day.

 

So, while a good number of us are finding ways to inject happiness into the strange and challenging year that 2020 has been, please be mindful that there are many others for whom the nights are always long. Find ways to reach out to them, and let them know they are not alone. Send them a note, call them, text them, take a small gift to them -- anything to let them know that someone is with them in the darkness.

 

Normally, I try to end on a high note. After all, that’s what we’re told to do, right – be upbeat, be optimistic? But today, I think I’m just going to be mindful of the darkness, because it is important that we not deny the reality of the darkness that enshrouds our world. Darkness isn’t all bad; if nothing else, darkness convinces us that we need a Savior, someone who can dispel the darkness with Light.

 

And on that note, I’m simply going to end by saying, “to be continued…”

Gratitude for a Renewed Heart

I keep my eyes always on the Lord.
    With him at my right hand, I will not be shaken.

Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices;
    my body also will rest secure,
because you will not abandon me to the realm of the dead,
    nor will you let your faithful one see decay.

(Psalm 16:8-10)

I praise you, good and loving Lord,

for the ways that you have filled my heart

during these forty days.

Your presence has

  strengthened me,

  comforted me,

  encouraged me,

  filled me with hope,

  convicted me of my sin 

          (and that’s not a bad thing),

  inspired compassion, mercy, and grace within me.

  given me peace.

Oh, that wonderful peace that only you can give!

And in this past week, as my heart has

meditated on your passion,

I am humbled by the magnitude of your love.

"Love so amazing, so divine,

demands my life, my soul, my all!"

I thank you for these forty days of Lent.

I have needed them.

But then again, you knew that long before Lent began.

Sometime last year, you began to whisper to me,

"My child, you need prayer. 

You need to open your heart to Me."

I offer this prayer in the shadow of the cross.

I have left the tomb, with you wrapped in burial cloths.

I know how this ends, so I cannot spend my Saturday 

in mourning and fear.

I know that Sunday is coming.

I know that death cannot hold you in the tomb.

And because death did not hold you in the tomb,

then I also know that death will not hold me there, either.

For you will not abandon me to the realm of the dead,

     nor will you let your faithful one see decay.

Over these forty days

you have shown me once again

that you are God,

  and that you are gracious and compassionate,

  and that you are forgiving,

  and that you are always with me,

  and that your blessings are more than I can count,

  and that though I cannot know the future,

        I can know you.

And that is enough.

That will always be enough.

You, Lord, will always be enough.

I love you, Lord. I really do.

My heart is glad, my tongue rejoices,

and my body will rest secure,

in You.

Amen.

Father, into Your Hands I Commit My Spirit

Into your hands I commit my spirit;
    deliver me, Lord, my faithful God.

(Psalm 31:5)

My heart aches on this day, O God,

as I think about the agony of your Son.

He was despised and rejected

by people not unlike me. 

He was oppressed and afflicted,

again, because of people like me.

He was subjected to the greatest agony 

he could ever experience, 

when you turned your back on him:

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

He watched his mother watch him die;

no one should ever have to experience that horror, but he did.

O God, forgive me, 

for it was my sin, and the sin of the whole world,

that was placed upon Jesus.

He did not deserve any of the torture or punishment he endured.

He did not deserve it, but he endured it just the same,

because of us (myself included), 

and also for us (myself included).

The agony he experienced

was for the fulfillment of your plan

for the salvation of the world.

He endured the cross,

and every cruel thing that came with it,

because “it is written.”

And at the end, he said unto you,

“Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”

He lived and died, O God, completely trusting in you.

But for that one moment  in his cry of dereliction,

he had always experienced perfect fellowship with you.

Even in his cry of abandonment,

he did not fail to trust you.

And his last words before he breathed his last,

“Father into your hands I commit my spirit.”

Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.

When I witness Jesus, who only wanted 

to be faithful to you, even unto death,

I want the same for my life.

Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.

I rest in you, 

for you are righteous and just,

and you are gracious and compassionate,

and you are faithful and true;

there is no shadow of turning with thee.

Your Son has shown me the way:

the way of the cross, to deny myself,

the way of the cross, to give myself for others,

the way of the cross, to show my love for others

the way of the cross, to forgive others,

the way of the cross, to be faithful to you.

Your Son has shown me the way,

and I want to live like him.

Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.

Amen.

During the season of Lent, I am "Praying with David," using prayers from the psalms as inspiration for personal prayers.

I Was in the Upper Room

Even my bosom friend in whom I trusted,
    who ate of my bread, 

    has lifted the heel against me.

(Psalm 41:9)

On this day, O Jesus, I come to you with heavy heart.

I will go up with you from Bethany to Jerusalem,

and I will gather with you at the table

in the upper room.

On this day, O Jesus, I will hear you say,

"Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me – 

one who is eating with me."

And I will say, along with all the others

who gather at the table with you,

"Surely you don’t mean me?"

On this day, O Jesus, I will hear you say,

"You will all fall away, for it is written,

      ‘I will strike the shepherd,

          and the sheep will be scattered.’"

And I will boldly bluster with bravado, as did Peter,

"Even if all fall away, I will not."

I know, Jesus, 

I wasn’t in the upper room all those years ago.

But still, I can see myself in the disciples.

I, like them, am a broken sinner,

prone to the temptation of greed and glory,

weak against opposition,

apt to crumble under pressure.

"Even my bosom friend in whom I trusted,

     who ate of my bread,

     has lifted his heel against me."

I, Lord – even I – am that bosom friend.

My heart breaks at my weakness.

And yet 

(there are those amazing words again: "And yet")

knowing the treachery,

knowing the abandonment,

knowing the denial,

still you invite us – me – to your table.

     "Take, eat. This is my body."

     "Drink from it, all of you. 

      This is my blood of the covenant,

      which is poured out for many

      for the forgiveness of sins."

You knew, Lord. 

You knew how your people would fail you.

And yet you loved us just the same.

And you opened the way for us,

for our forgiveness

and our salvation.

On this day, O Jesus, I will receive the gift 

of your body and your blood

to nourish my soul

and to renew in me a right and steadfast spirit.

On this day, O Jesus,

you have answered my weakness

with your grace and mercy.

I am humbled.

I am grateful.

I am yours.

Amen.

During the season of Lent, I am "Praying with David," using prayers from the psalms as inspiration for personal prayers.

A Prayer for Healing... from Sin

Create in me a pure heart, O God,

     and renew a steadfast spirit within me.

Do not cast me away from your presence

     or take your Holy Spirit from me.

Restore to me the joy of your salvation

     and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.

Then I will teach transgressors your ways, 

     so that sinners will turn back to you.

(Psalm 51:10-13)

Merciful and gracious God,

I have been so focused during this season

on one disease: COVID-19.

And with good reason, 

for the coronavirus has turned our world

upside down.

People around the world are dying from the disease,

thousands every day.

Our best science cannot cure it;

our best science simply says

that we should stay in our homes,

  and wash hands,

    and wear masks.

And so, with good reason,

my prayers have sought healing from COVID-19

and from the effects of the pandemic:

Heal your people, O God.

But there’s another disease to consider, O Lord,

Especially this time of the year,

in the days we refer to as Holy Week.

It’s a disease with one hundred percent infection

and one hundred percent mortality.

There’s a name for this disease, O Lord:

SIN.

I have the disease, Lord;

I have had it all my life;

and I cannot cure myself.

I can try to hide the effects of this disease

from people around me:

  I do good things,

  I help people,

  I show compassion to others.

I can put on a good show.

Omniscient God from whom nothing is hidden,

  you know I have the disease;

  you know I am a sinner;

  you know the corruption of my heart.

I cannot hide my heart from you, O Lord.

  You know my sins.

  You know my secrets.

  You know the things that taint and corrupt 

       the beauty of your image in me.

But then, as I remember your Son this week:

  betrayed

    denied – three times

      arrested and tortured,

        abandoned – by his friends, and by you 

          crucified – for me, 

                         and for every other sinner before me

                         and for every sinner alongside me

                         and for every sinner after me.

And so I know that there is a cure for my disease.

It’s not a cure I can conjure;

it’s a gift from you.

Thank you.

I cannot hide my heart from you, O Lord.

But I can give it to you:

Take me as I am, but do not leave me this way, I pray.

Take me, and wash me, 

    that I may be made clean and pure.

Take me, and purge from me 

    those things that have corrupted my being.

Take me, and make me a new creation.

Create in me a pure heart, O God, 

    for the sake of your glory and grace.

Heal me, I pray, of my sin.

Amen.

During the season of Lent, I am "Praying with David," using prayers from the psalms as inspiration for personal prayers.

A Prayer for the Unwillingly Isolated

Where can I go from your Spirit? 

     Where can I flee from your presence? 

If I go up to the heavens, you are there; 

     if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. 

If I rise on the wings of the dawn, 

     if I settle on the far side of the sea, 

even there your hand will guide me, 

     your right hand will hold me fast. 

If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me 

     and the light become night around me,”

even the darkness will not be dark to you; 

     the night will shine like the day, 

     for darkness is as light to you.

(Psalm 139:7)

O God, since it is true that there is nowhere

that you are not;

and since it is true that no darkness 

can hide any of us from you;

and since it is true that wherever we are,

there you are also – 

Today I pray for those whom the pandemic

has closed off from companionship:

  for patients in hospitals, 

          where no visitors are allowed

  for residents of nursing facilities, 

          where no visitors are allowed

  for people in self-quarantine, 

          where no visitors are allowed

  for the incarcerated, 

          where no visitors are allowed

  for those sick with other conditions, 

          and visitors are not allowed.

It must be a living hell of loneliness, O God,

for those who are not allowed visitors, companionship.

They have no one to tell them it will be okay.

They have no one to hold their hand.

They have no one to comfort them.

So today I pray for those whom the pandemic

has closed off from companionship.

You can visit them, O Lord.

You can fill them with your presence,

  and let them know that they are not alone.

You can calm their fears 

  by giving them your peace.

You can assure them that you will heal them.

You can whisper into their spirit,

"Never will I leave you nor forsake you."

Will you do that, Lord?

Will you assure them that they are not alone?

Will you comfort them?

Will you heal them?

Will you say to them, 
"Peace I give to you. My peace I give to you;
not as the world gives do I give unto you.
Let not your heart be troubled;
neither let it be afraid"?

Will you please let them know how much you love them,

and that there is nothing in all this world

that can take your love away from them?

Will you do that, Lord?

Please?

Will you visit those whom the pandemic

has closed off from companionship?

I know you will, because that’s 

the kind of God you are.

You do care.

And you are able.

And you are present.

Always.

Today I pray for those whom the pandemic

has closed off from companionship.

Amen.

During the season of Lent I am “Praying with David,” using prayers from the psalms as inspiration for personal prayers.