We need you.
We need something or someone to anchor us.
We need something or someone to steady us.
We need something or someone to stop changing all the time.
Because everyone and everything is changing all the time.
We are fretting. On account of evil doers.
And we aren’t sure who the evil doers are anymore.
Because the people we thought we should trust, those in charge, those who you gave charge to, are fully human.
Are they scheming or are they planning?
Are they serving us or you or themselves?
Are they in love with you or with the idea of love?
Are they we?
We confess that we are timid.
We confess that we respond more to public opinions than to your clear simple invitations.
We confess that we worry more about how things will turn out than we remember your clear simple declarations: “our Saviour, Christ Jesus, who has destroyed death and has brought life and immortality to light through the gospel.”
We confess that we don’t always understand that clarity, and we don’t always believe that death has been destroyed, and we don’t always see life and light.
And we confess that we really don’t understand the Gospel,
Not in its richness and abundance and power.
But, we confess, we really want to.
May we know your forgiveness.
May we know your salvation.
May we know your calling.
May we know your power and love and self-control.
May we know you,
Even in the rubble.
Even in the pain.
Even in the present.
Through Christ our Lord, we ask.
Psalm 37; Lamentations 1:1-6; 2 Timothy 1:1-14.
I wrote this in April, 2020. It’s part of God. We Still Need You.
“This Is Hard” is what I say to people often when we’re talking about the death of a loved one. People I’m just meeting at work, and people I know in the real world. That’s why I have a supply of my own on hand. It may help you to have one or two, too. Because we don’t know when we’ll need to find words for those hardest moments.