But you are always the same
This psalm is a litany of sadness. My days drift away like smoke, my bones are like hot like burning coals. I lie awake and groan. I wither like grass. Woe is me. I appreciate these lamenting psalms. They feel genuine and heartfelt. The fact that these raw emotions are in our Scripture give permission for me to lament. Some days indeed, I lie awake and groan. I know that I’m not alone. The psalmist, and people throughout time and space lament. It’s part of our human experience. And in the midst of our lamentations, God is present always. As the psalmist says, You are always the same. God will hear our groans, and be with us as we weep and wither. Like a good good friend, God will sit with us in our pain, sometimes able to speak to our sorrow, sometimes just being present, but unlike a good good friend, God is present at all times, in all places.
For me, this feels like a perfect psalm for now. I weep, or groan, and those are acceptable feelings. Between the continued pandemic, political strife, or illness, we have plenty to lament. It’s as if we’re in a season of lament. This contrasts starkly with the upcoming holiday season. Marketers are trying to convince us that the season of ho ho ho is upon us. The advertisements look more out of place and ridiculous. Just by this jewelry or those toys and all will be well. Other years we may buy that line, but this year, it seems patently impossible.
In my faith tradition, we celebrate a season of Advent, which is the time of preparation. We generally avoid “Christmas decorations” until the Christmas season, which begins on Christmas eve and continues through Epiphany, or the 12th day of Christmas. Advent is a time of stillness, darkness, quiet, preparation. This year, it feels like it could also be a time of lamenting. But that lamenting is not without resolution. Christmas comes. God is present. God is unchanging. In the midst of our emotional, societal and physical ups and downs, God remains constant.
This morning, I’m thinking about the volatility of our life, compared with the constancy of God’s presence and love. My loved one remains in the hospital, and while the doctors will assess our loved one’s health weekly, it’s very possible they’ll remain in the hospital through November.
Yesterday, we spoke to our loved one on the phone because they called and said they missed us. We talked about all sorts of normal things: the movies they’re watching, what’s for dinner, possible housing options upon their release. It was a delightful, and nearly normal conversation. The good call was the result of three weeks of hospital care and pharmacology, and distance between a young adult and their parents. (What child in their early 20’s would feel like they had to live with their parents?) The call left my husband and I with a reminder of why we’re doing this, and who we’re doing it for. Our loved one remains in that body, ravaged by this insidious disease.
That conversation contrasts starkly with the conversation we had after their previous 7 day hospitalization. Upon exiting the hospital, they demanded cigarettes, and when I asked them to drink their brimming cup of coffee down so they didn’t spill in the car, they poured the coffee on the car. On the ride home, they rode with their hand out of the window, flipping everyone the bird. But from their constant stream of vitriol, they weren’t flipping everyone else off, just my husband and me.
Supporting this child of God is not a sprint, but rather an ultra marathon. We cannot do it or justify it based on the sweet appreciation we hope to receive from our sick loved one. Often they lament, and they have definitely more to lament than I ever will. And their lamenting looks like anger. But at its core, it’s lamenting. For us, and for them, God’s love never changes. God remains the same. It’s that constancy I depend on, in the midst of all of life’s changes. I’m reminded of a beautiful prayer that is contained in our prayer service before bedtime.
Be present, O merciful God, and protect us through the hours of this night, so that we who are wearied by the changes and chances of this life may rest in your eternal changelessness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment