This Sunday marks the beginning of November.
As the vibrant beauty of early autumn in New England inevitably fades day by day, we consider the season ahead. Much remains uncertain. Eight months of a global health crisis lie behind us. Better understood now, but unabated, the pandemic rolls on. The world at large is tired of this strange, constrained life that has imposed itself upon us, and many are anxious about what the winter months will bring. What will Thanksgiving look like, this year? Advent, and Christmas? We watch the headlines. Leaders report suffering from "decision fatigue", as corporate activities that were once automatic or taken for granted now require agonizing discernment, with little hope for consensus. It is a heavy burden to bear, day after day. The weight of constant uncertainty is great.
"Come to me", Jesus said, "all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28–30)
"You will find rest for your souls."
Rest.
For my soul.
Today, I find that is a word, a promise, that brings me near to tears. A word for a weary world. A word for a weary nation, rending at the seams under the force of its own sins, incivility and polarized intransigence. A word for a weary heart, beaten down by strangeness and uncertainty and worry. It is a word that we - that I - need, today. It is the word, and the way, the very person of Jesus; he himself is our hope, and peace, our sustenance and rest. But the question remains: Will we come to him?
For me, for the Church, THIS is the question that strikes through the heart of this season; that which is behind, and all that yet lies ahead. We are tired, we are frustrated, we are angry and anxious. We have suffered, and daily suffer, the loss of "normalcy". Our sanctuaries are empty, our songs have been stifled. Social interactions have become strange. Families are at odds. Loneliness is epidemic. These are our circumstances, the burdens we find ourselves carrying today. But circumstances cannot sidestep or drown out the question. It remains. Will we come... to HIM? Will we suffer ourselves to be defined, formed by our circumstances, or will we daily bear these burdens to the feet of Jesus, that we might receive his care, his correction, and his life-giving word?
It strikes me that there is so much that we simply wish we could have back, right now. Our gatherings, our songs, our once blessedly mundane assumptions and social interactions... We miss these things, we long for them. But, I have to wonder if we may not NEED them. At least, not at the bedrock level that we are tempted to imagine that we do. It strikes me, that what we most WANT is a return to normalcy, but what we most NEED is Christ. Himself. Period. And I wonder, again, if this storm of upheaval and uncertainty has been given us - as "exile" experiences of the past have been given - in order that we might rediscover that longing and love for Christ above all, which is his due and proper claim.
What I want is a rest. What Jesus offers is himself. (Selah)
And so, this is my prayer for these days ahead. That, come what may - blessing or curse, peace or war, feast or famine - we who bear the name of Jesus in this world would daily grow to know him, and love him, and resemble him more. That, whatever our circumstances and burdens may be, we would daily learn to bring them to him, surrendering them in exchange for the burden of his word, and the way of the cross, and by grace find them life-giving and light.
Our world is crying our for restoration and rest, but what she needs most desperately is nothing less than Jesus, himself. When they look to the Church, will they find him, there? I pray that they will, evermore by the day as we seek him, and find him, and receive his presence and rest, together.