JR. Forasteros - January 5, 2014
Red Sea
How many times have you wrestled with doubt? With the frustration of not having all the answers? Then you hear a story from the Bible - like the parting of the Red Sea - and think, "That must have been nice. If I could see something like that, I'd never doubt." The problem is, according to those same stories, the Big Events don't actually shape anyone's faith. There's something more going on, something small and steady. Something beyond the big events.
From Series: "Ordinary Phenomenon"
How many times have you heard about one of those spectacular events in the Old Testament and thought, "It must be nice!" If only I had seen the Red Sea part, or Elijah's showdown on Mt. Carmel. Then it'd be so easy to trust God! But apparently that's not true. We see again and again that the big events aren't what transform us into God's people. Rather, we find God in the ordinary phenomena we see every day. Join us in January as we explore these Big Events to find what God was calling his people to then - and now: an ordinary, every day relationship that's nothing short of phenomenal.
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In the years after Hurricane Katrina devastated the city of New Orleans, I went to the city to do relief work several times. It was during those trips I learned that what victims of disasters want most isn’t necessarily the relief work. Every trip went more-or-less the same:
A big group of us would show up and get to work. Maybe we were gutting a home so it could be cleansed of mold and rebuilt. Maybe we were cleaning up vacant lots to beautify a city block for the other residents. Mostly we were gutting homes – tearing out sheetrock and ripping up flooring. It was brutal, exhausting work, particularly in the New Orleans summers.
The residents would always be nearby, helping if they could or in their FEMA trailers making lemonade for us workers.
And inevitably, over the three or four days we were there, each of us would end up just sitting and talking with that resident. Despite the fact that we were on a schedule. Even though we were working hard to get their home finished.
What they needed most wasn’t a new home (though, obviously, that was important).
What they needed most wasn’t our strong backs and hard work. What they needed most, every time, was human interaction. They needed to tell their story, to be seen and heard, to know they’re not alone in their grief.
Again and again, what gave them hope was not the pounding hammers and loaded wheelbarrows, but a person sitting with them, being present with them.
What does it means to be WITH someone in times of grief? The final movement of Lament is hope, an anticipation that grief is not the final word.
