Warm Thoughts (I Hope)

A Simple Prayer

1 Chronicles 4:10

During the “interesting times” of the last few days with ice coating and knocking us all for a loop, Jabez’s simple prayer offers a hopeful way of engaging in our chaotic world by doing a couple of things—Jabez centers on God, and then centers on God’s providence. His entrance into God’s presence has been grievously misinterpreted as an affirmation of a materialistic approach to faith, but the last few days have done nothing else if not reorient us to what truly matters for us—the presence of those who love us, the surety of the most basic necessities for livable existence, and the further hope that only God is eternal.

My house came through the storm relatively unscathed—our pine trees shed limbs like our dogs shed fur in summer; one hardwood split apart, sending tree-sized limbs smashing to earth, and a beloved holly tree completely came apart under the weight of ice—nothing hit the house. Our electric went out, but for an embarrassingly short time (about 19 hours) compared to neighbors and church friends who have shot past 30 hours or more with no power, some with no water, and some with trees crashing into their homes. 

Some folks have taken refuge with family who did not get hammered, others among us turned their homes into hostels, opening up to anyone who needed a warm place to stay, our church valiantly housed homeless families until it simply became unlivable. We have tried to be good neighbors to one another. At least where I have been, folks have been extremely patient with each other. Panera Bread has become a hostel for folks seeking warm food and a place to sit, as has my beloved Starbucks just down the aisle. Shoot—I think some folks have decided the days have been great for smartphone shopping, strolling through the lobbies of the ATT and Sprint stores where there is warmth and power. 

The point is that people are connecting to each other, helping as they can, and doing what they need to do to get through the moment.

That is the essence of love as Christ defined it for us. 

As we pay attention to one another, we realize we can make it through the ordeal. That is the foundation of God’s presence with creation—God promises to abide. Alison and I walked through Psalm 117 together and both of us were struck by the phrase midway through the prayer that God abides with us with “merciful kindness.” When we are suffering, such an assurance seems completely ridiculous. Yet, as we suffer and as we find ears, eyes, and arms open to us, we can begin to believe that such a promise is real.

One of the hardest recognitions to make is that God chooses not to make dramatic, holy-fireworks interventions into the world, but rather calls us and quickens us to become the instruments of redeeming grace. God’s omnicompetence is revealed in the fact that God can take most whatever human resource presented and transcend and transform us into miraculous workers of love. We see it in marriages that truly work, wherein one person loses themselves in another. We see it in the moments of crisis when ordinary people do extraordinary things to help someone else find help. We see it when we ourselves rise to a moment and do something we might not normally do, but are able to do because it needs to be done. We persevere and endure to be sure someone else knows they are not alone or on their own as they seek to muddle through whatever chaos descends. But what happens is that we become more and more in the truth that with God, all things are indeed possible—the good things, the right things, and the true things that embody God’s love for all, extending that merciful kindness to anyone who happens to be in front of us. 

Ergo, Jabez prayed for God’s presence with the understanding of what’s God’s providence truly entails—all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well—even when ice renders a community a scrap heap of pine boughs.

Now to reflect for a bit on the assurance that only God is eternal.

When the lights go out, time stops. We lose all touch with the things that usually provide us a map through the day or night. I did not realize it, but I use the automatic clock on the cable box a lot more than I thought. With it dark, I lost a sense of the day as I sat and read in the sunlight coming through the windows. My normal day is so electronically determined—mornings are for study, Sunday prep, and office work, but with no internet, limited computing, afternoons for visiting, getting ready for whatever meetings the night brings, and evenings for meetings—that when the power fails, I am lost. None of those blocks works the way I count on them to work. Time becomes ridiculously fluid. An hour may pass like a few moments, a few moments may drag interminably with nothing there. When the lights go out, at our house, the thermostats stubbornly continue to offer data on the house, and we can watch the temperature fall hour into hour, helpless to do anything but pull comforters from the blanket chest, tending the feeble fire in the grate. It all seems like an endless ordeal.

But it isn’t.

This crisis will pass. The sun returned, erasing the ice from the trees. Power crews from all over the Southeast work continuously to reconnect our world. Tree companies are sawing and chipping the refuse. Groceries are bought and eaten. Today slides into tomorrow. Recovery comes.

In July when we are basting in our 90-something degrees with matching humidity, a few of us might actually recall being cold, not with fear, but with envy, completely forgetting the misery that came with it—I did say “a few,” please note. 

The point is, all things pass. Moments come, moments go; intense suffering rises, reclamation comes. We find Qoholeth, preacher of Ecclesiastes, to be extremely wise—there really is a season for everything, and everything is limited in its scope. 

Except God.

God is eternal. God has no beginning and no end. God is the Alpha and the Omega. Thanks be to God, for God is good and grace abounds. If God is eternal, then so, too, is the love that is God. God never stops being God. Psalm 121 stridently affirms this point—

God neither slumbers nor sleeps;

He who keeps Israel will not sleep…

There is never a moment when God goes off duty or offline. God always abides. God always listens for the cries of the needy, the oppressed, the cold, the homeless, and the hungry. Always. God quickens hearts to respond, to hear, and to watch for those who need help. There is never a moment when God does not wait with redeeming grace. 

This storm will pass into memory. It will become something we share with one another, remembering. Heck—it might even become one of those moments when a little one who suffered through it uses it far later in life when her grandkids complain about being without some ready gratification—“Why I remember the ice storm of ’14—you kids want to talk about being cold? being scared? Let me tell you something….”

God is good, all the time, always. 

Seek the Lord, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.