Started writing this during my church's Easter morning worship service and finished it out later.
A symphony of coughs echoes throughout the auditorium. By this alone, you can know that we are a sick people. It is a telltale sign. Minor, you might say. Yes, sure. But a sign nonetheless.
We are a sick people. Diseased with physical illness, all kinds of weakness, sorrow, darkness, pain, sin, and death.
We hurt and ache and hurt some more. And some of it is our own fault and some of it is not, and even when it’s no one’s fault, and no one’s done anything wrong or bad, hurt still happens simply because of our finite limitations. Even if we avoid the bad, we can’t get around to doing all the good that needs to be done, and so there are still gaps and inadequacies and disillusionments.
And this is the way it is. It is life in a broken world. And none of us knows when it will end.
O God.
God.
What in the world?!?! Why must it be so?
Hear my groaning, You whose ear is open.
Do You see us, God? Do You see us tattered people? We gathered this morning to worship You. We wanted to worship and please You (though we sometimes feel like that’s impossible), so we came. But we came. It was us. The broken, the lamed, the hurting, the weak, the poor, the needy. The most we could bring was ourselves. And we are sick.
But, God, You call everyone who comes. We thought we were coming to You on our own, but we find out we are actually here because You wanted us. You put out a call, and we heard it. We came. And we came sick. It’s our tacit acknowledgement of what Jesus said: people who are well don’t need a doctor, but sick people do. “I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners.” So here we are. And though we don’t always know it in so many words, we also came because we believe You. We gathered because somewhere deep inside of us at a place where words don’t often reach and where our hopes and desires are usually hidden even to ourselves, we know that You are the only One who can help us. Our coming here is kinda like a mute version of the leper’s words to Jesus: “If You are willing, You can make me clean.”
And Jesus put out His hand and touched the leper and said, “I am willing. Be clean.”
But it’s not going to look like that for most of us most of the time though, right? Feeling Jesus’ hand. Instantly healed. That’s not the way it usually works (even though You do that from time to time). Where does that leave us?
Right. I know: “Righteous people live by faith.” Well. That’s why we gather, right? It’s an act of faith. We believe. We believe that it is good and right and pleasing, that it's helpful and healing, to come together to pursue You. We believe that there is grace to be found in obeying Your commands. We believe You, and so we come. And in coming, we demonstrate - most of us perhaps unconsciously - that we do trust what You’ve said. That even when we can hardly feel them or consciously hope in them at all, somehow (because of the Spirit in us) we hold the promises to be true. One day there will be no more crying. There won’t even be any more coughing.
All will be well.
