MIDWEEK MESSAGE #103
Hello and welcome to Midweek Message #103. Jo and I took off for Ohio Sunday after the 2nd worship service to spend time with our family, for her to visit her sister on Monday in the nursing home and for us to watch Braden play ball on Monday and Tuesday night. I will be back in Wednesday afternoon, Lord willing, in plenty of time to teach my “66” class. Since I will have next week to remind you of the Resurrection Sunday “list,” I thought I would share a very meaningful post from my friend, Zee, whose family had to evacuate from Ukraine. I think we can all relate to her thoughts:
// Silence & Emmanuel //
What does silence mean to me right now?
I used to love silence because most of the time it meant calm comfort, where I don’t have to speak to be understood.
In the last month, however, the silence started scaring me.
When there were no air raid sirens at night when we were still in Kyiv, I used to wake up and lie awake, waiting for the siren and thinking about my husband.
When there was no news from our friends and relatives – even for a short while – my mind kept coming up with worst-case scenarios.
When Sam wouldn’t message me after his shift – oh, those silences were the worst in general. The first time it happened, I lay in my makeshift “bed” on the floor, listening to my kids as they slept, and thinking “Is he dead? Will I survive without him? Was it just a phone malfunction? Am I a widow?” (Turned out a few hours later that he just was tired and fell asleep.)
Even now, when we are in a safe place, I keep reading messages and prayer requests from my friends “My parents haven’t sent me any messages for two days,” “My friend was in a military battle and I haven’t heard anything from him,” “There is a boy who miraculously escaped from Mariupol, but he hasn’t heard anything from his other relatives…”
All of these messages are about silence.
Lack of information.
Lack of connection when you ask and nothing happens.
This week, the Lenten reflections were focused on another phrase of Jesus on the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
If anything, this was appropriate. I think this cry is heard throughout Ukraine – and throughout the world, as Ukrainians are forced to move far away from home to stay alive and to save their families.
“Why have You forsaken us?”
And yet… did He?
I think this phrase, more than anything else, speaks volumes to support those who are crying out right now. It tells a story of God who knows exactly what’s it like to wonder where is God in all of this?
Even Jesus felt forsaken.
And yet, at the same time, a short time later, Jesus says “Father. Into Your hands, I commit my spirit.”
I have read a comment on my friend’s Facebook wall about faith and logic being like two hands – you technically can do everything one-handed, but when you have two – it’s much easier.
During these days of war and horrible stories and explosions and evacuations and anxiety, my faith has been sustaining me. If anything, it was what I could hold on to.
My faith isn’t in “God is with me, therefore everything will be great.”
Rather, it is “God is with me. Whatever happens.”
As we approach Good Friday, remember that the same baby who was born on Christmas – the same Emmanuel “God with us” – is the same person who is “God with us” even in our darkest of days.
Even when it feels like we’re crying out and we hear silence as an answer.
Even when it feels like we cannot take any more pain.
Even when it feels like we are forsaken.
We’re not.
“God with us.”
Emmanuel.
Have a great week. See you Sunday if not sooner! Love you all.
Pastor Bill
