It’s been a glorious couple weeks of Spring — “behold, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth and the time of singing has come” (Song of Solomon 2:11). I hope you’ve been able to get out in your neighborhood and enjoy it, and that you are healthy and strong in “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding” (Php 4:7).
If things go as anticipated, you’ll be receiving a note tomorrow with some instruction and guidance on what to do during Communion in the live-streamed worship services. Stay tuned.
Recently an acquaintance in his 50s died of cirrhosis of the liver. No one saw it coming. The walker he had ordered on Amazon was found half-assembled in his bedroom. He lived alone, was divorced, and faced challenges common to many in a day of uncertain beliefs and ennui. Though he did not have a faith (to anyone’s knowledge), he tended to confide most in a handful of Christians he was close to, including a friend of mine.
I spoke with that friend earlier this week and we ruminated along the lines of, “why don’t we see more clearly when a friend is in crisis?” Or “how do we learn to listen to people’s hearts and not just their words?” Everybody’s got problems; how do we learn to discern between those who are coping and those who are not?
I’ve thought a lot over the years about Jesus’ habit of having the “necessary” conversation, not the one initiated by the person he’s speaking with. Think of Nicodemus opening with comments about Jesus’ legitimacy (Jn 3), and the Lord responding with “you must be born again.” Or the Samaritan woman at the well (Jn 4) wanting to talk about national worship practices, not her five husbands. Jesus moves to the real conversation pretty quickly.
Of course, we’re not Jesus. We don’t always know when people are concealing themselves with words rather than revealing themselves. If we become that person who’s always insisting on “authenticity,” in the end we’re just an irritation and a bore. Jesus already knew where the conversation had to go. We don’t. And it’s not the kind of thing you can force.
There’s a need, then, to be the sort of person others feel encouraged to speak with openly. There’s probably also a need for courage to ask, on occasion, the more challenging or demanding question. But above all, the people around us should feel or perceive or sense in us the love of Christ. They should feel that love that didn’t originate in us, and yet is in us and emanates from us. We may, in the end, be the aroma of death to some, but our hope and prayer is that we are the aroma of life (2 Cor 2:15-16). It is the love of Christ that is the bridge into the heart of anyone to whom he is speaking. But you can’t save the world, and He isn’t speaking to everyone.
This seems to me a moment when we need to pray for the ability to hear one another’s hearts. So much cultural and social and personal upheaval. It’s a time to listen to each other — not necessarily to words but to hearts. Some of us are afraid for our bodies (as with Psalmists on occasion), some of us are anxious in our hearts (also the Psalmists), others are frustrated or perhaps angry — or in conflict with the people with whom we are now spending so much more time than ever.
Here’s a simple starting point: “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins” (Prov. 10:12; 1 Pet 4:8). The love of Christ is the premise, the front porch, to all else that needs to be dealt with. And Christ will take us into those things in his own way and time.
Miss you all very much and can’t wait for that moment when we’re back together. God be with you.