We live in a noisy world. If we happen to be in a quiet place, we bring our noise boxes with us our pockets.
Does anyone go anywhere without their phone?
Connectivity invites us to constant interaction with others and only the rare, out of the way, unconnected corner leaves us to contemplate our own thoughts or our own feelings.
Yet we need to seek silence. We need to sit with our inner selves and reflect on the work of Christ in our hearts.
Many of you are aware Dominic was killed the Saturday before Palm Sunday in 2014. I spent THAT day contacting friends and family who needed to know, welcoming the warm hugs and sad faces of folks driving up our long driveway to offer prayers and help, and just trying to breathe.
Waiting, waiting, waiting for my husband to get home from his job in California. Looking desperately for James Michael to make it here from West Virginia. Walking-because I couldn’t sit still-and weeping because I couldn’t contain the sorrow.
By Sunday everyone was under the same roof and we went to church.
Not because of some super-spiritual commitment to show the world we hadn’t lost our faith but because it was a habit and we had no idea what else to do as we waited for Dominic’s body to be released from the coroner’s office at the state capital.
I don’t remember much from that service. I have no idea what the sermon was about or what songs were sung.
I do remember that at one point the pastor asked the question, “If you could have any super power in the world, what would you choose?” and then went on to list a few, including the ability to turn back time.
My surviving children and I locked eyes. No question. THAT was what we longed for. Go back to the moment Dominic left his apartment. Warn him to stay home. Change the story.
I also remember a sweet friend who hobbled over on crutches (she had injured her leg) during worship to just put her arm around me and allowing me to lean into her, telling me with her presence that she was oh, so very sorry.
I can’t testify that after Dom’s funeral I was inclined to show up on Sunday to a space where (by my standard of suffering) folks sang songs about the sacrifice of worship without a clue.
I couldn’t take the pseudo closeness of people physically pressing in and asking me how I was doing when I had no idea. They meant well. They truly did. But it felt like pressure to provide an answer that would assuage THEIR fears that, faced with the same loss, faith would survive.
I can tell you that after eleven years I am headed to my local congregation this morning with a different perspective.
My heart still hurts marking these days. I’ve got to get past Resurrection Sunday and the Monday following before I’ve walked through it all, including his funeral and burial.
But my Shepherd King has been faithful to lead me with gentleness and mercy along this broken road.
He gave me rest when I needed it and pushed me to walk on when I didn’t want to but it was the right thing to do.
I’ve learned that while others may not know MY pain, they have their own and the comfort I’ve received from Jesus is mine to share with them. I know I can’t turn back time and, in my heart of hearts, wouldn’t want to.
Dominic is experiencing the fullness of what we hope one day to see.
Many of us who’ve spent decades in church can attest to filling a position because it answered a need deep inside of us rather than because of our love for Jesus.
It’s entirely possible to be near the things and people of God-even God Himself- and not be attentive to or aware of the Presence of Christ.
I’ll just be completely honest here-there are some sins I don’t have much trouble avoiding. I’m not tempted to shoplift or physically harm others.
However, like all of us I have some pet sins I not only don’t avoid but I actually feed from time to time.
And like most folks, I justify my sin as “small” compared to the “big” sins of headline worthy wars or crimes or dastardly actions by those in power over those beneath them.
I remember vividly the first time I read through the passage in Exodus 12 describing God’s instructions to the Israelites for the initial Passover.
The Lord impressed on my spirit that while the blood was necessary (sacrifice had to be made) it was obedience of each person to place themselves under that blood that saved them from the death angel.
They were spared because they believed and acted according to that belief, trusting God to do what He said He would do.
It’s the same with the blood of Christ-He is the sufficient Sacrifice and the full payment for sin.
I did not grow up in an ultra-religious family although we were most definitely Christian.
So unlike some of my friends, I didn’t have a bunch of rules surrounding lifestyle choices that are not explicitly addressed in Scripture (i.e. length of dresses, makeup/no makeup, movies, music, etc.). But one thing was definitely impressed on me: You didn’t take the name of the Lord in vain-not even with “softer” stand-ins like “dad gum it”.
By the time I had kids, I had done considerable Scripture study and managed to draw up a list of “do’s and don’ts” that might put the most strict holiness traditions to shame.
Listen carefully to Chole’s words here (read them aloud once or twice):
The church is both afflicted and exhausted by the dizzying notion that God-given power should be exercised in every God-given moment. Jesus makes it clear, however, that [can does not equal should]. Jesus’ voice flattened armed soldiers, yet He permitted these self-declared enemies to stand up again. Jesus had angels at His disposal, yet declined to dispatch them. We dare not mistake these choices for passivity, resignation, or weakness. This dimension of strength was the fruit of power fully submitted to love.
Alicia Britt Chole
Jesus voluntarily chose to drink the cup of sorrow, pain and sacrifice.
There is SO much meat in today’s devotion/reflection/challenge.
Once Jesus had wrestled His own will to the ground, submitted fully to the Father’s will and accepted that He would have to drink the bitter cup, and firmly faced cross-ward, He was safe from intimidation.
As Chole points out “Fear is intimidation’s oxygen”.
