Divine Timing

Well, now that was something. I have had a whirlwind two weeks here that have consisted of the following (not necessarily in this order):

A long-time member of the church passed away (funeral on Wednesday).
I was asked to preach for the Presbytery (Saturday).
I am the "leader" of a Family Camp this weekend at our Presbytery's camp.
Julie and I purchased a new (to us) car.
My parents (and two nephews) visited.
It was my lovely wife's birthday.

That, friends, makes for one whale of a fortnight. In the midst of all of this, I had probably the most difficult day, emotionally, of my life as a pastor so far. Wednesday's memorial service was emotional for me (I am starting to realize that these get harder the more I actually know those involved), and so I arrived at home exhausted around 4:30. The phone rang. It was a woman who needed help...and lots of it. Through a terrifying set of circumstances stemming from cancer, she has been left without work, income, physical strength, or hope. I drove over to her home.

I walked in the door to find the accoutrements of faith all over the walls, the dresser. Crosses, books, Bibles, frames of her family saying "God loves you...and so do I" around them. But she sat at the table...crying. I asked, "What's wrong?" It took an hour and half to answer. I sat there as she cried and cried and cried...stories of weeks spent looking for work, stories of family apathy, stories of being turned away time and time and time again. It just poured out of her. I sat, mortified...no idea what to say. She finished by asking, full of hurt, "Why does God hate me so much? Am I being punished?"

I wanted to run and hide. I wanted to run and hide because, ultimately, I couldn't blame her. I have those same questions about why she is suffering. I wanted to know why, too. We sat for what seemed like a long time in silence. Then I muttered something like:

"You are not alone. You are loved. By God. By me. By the church. We care about what happens to you. See, we get together...in all our fear and hurt and doubt...because we know we can't do it on our own. We need God...and we need each other.”

Then I showed her Isaiah 40 and Ezekiel 37, explained their contexts a little bit, and drove home...feeling shaken and completely inadequate. Wondering how much of my faith is contingent on my car, my nice house, my health, and my all-in-all favorable circumstances. I didn't sleep well...so I rolled into the office early, anxious about my impending sermon for a house full of preachers.

But I sat in my chair...tired, sad...and didn't feel much like a preacher.

On that morning and the next morning, two things rolled in through the mail. The first was a simple, wonderful, completely pointless card from a good seminary friend that caused a long, hard chuckle and a good dose of therapy along with it. The next day, as I pondered my Wednesday encounter and I tore my hair out trying to compose an IMPRESSIVE sermon...the following bit of prophetic intervention showed up via another wonderful friend:



Spectacular. And with these two seemingly random, silly gestures I was, at once, reminded of two wonderful truths:

That God still wants me, not some super-pastor. God, even with all my scars and limitations and hurts...even in my "Scottness," can share the hope and love of Christ in and through me.

And that it is community, even across thousands of miles, that best demonstrates that love and gives us hope, encouragement, and perspective when we need it most.