It's common this time of year to encourage each other to think of the things we are thankful for. There's always a reason to be grateful, the thinking goes. And it's true. We can always count our blessings. But sometimes there are losses so huge they make what's left behind hard to see. The blessings that remain seem washed out and hollow in the face of unimaginable grief. I'm finding it harder these days to announce praises for God's protection and provision. It's not because I don't believe that He does provide, protect, and heal. It just seems perhaps a little insensitive to loudly celebrate how the Lord has spared my family when others are wondering why theirs weren't so spared. If you have yet to struggle, like Job, with why God has allowed tragedy to touch you and the ones you love, well, that is something to be truly grateful for. But perhaps, you could rejoice a little more modestly out of respect for those who are in a much more painful place.
One of the observations I've made about the difficult story of Job, is how God addressed Job and how God addressed Job's friends. Job spent the bulk of thirty-seven chapters complaining about the injustice of what had happened to him. While God did remind Job that there was a bigger picture he couldn't hope to understand, God defended Job to his sanctimonious friends. He said to them "You have not spoken accurately about Me, as My servant Job has." This should give pause to those of us who would consider coming to God's defense in the face of those who cry out in pain: "Why God? Why did you do this? I don't deserve this." God in essence said, Job's not wrong to protest, to rage at the cruelty life can mete. Without any help from us, He Himself can deliver the message to his hurting followers that He is in control. God doesn't need defenders. But His children often need our compassion, our gentleness, our love as they face the very worst life can bring.
November has proven to be a hell of a month in recent years. I lost one of my dearest friends, Chandra Maloney Rudisaile, just a few days ago. My grandmother Enid Thomson, died on November 5, 2014 and my father-in-law, William Leen, passed away unexpectedly three weeks later, exactly six years ago today, on Wednesday, November 26, 2014--the day before Thanksgiving. The family, was of course, already gathered, expecting to celebrate both the holiday and Ezra's birthday, but instead we found ourselves gathered for grieving. There was no party for Ezra and I can tell you that year we didn't have the heart for the usual Thanksgiving spread. No one had much of an appetite and we spent the day poring over picture albums and planning Dad's memorial. No doubt a similar scene has unfolded today for Chandra's parents and brothers, husband and daughters. Of course we are not alone. My colleague Pat Fountain lost her baby grandson. My principal Evelyn Goodman lost her daughter's godmother a few weeks ago, a woman who had been like a mother to Mrs. Goodman. My superintendent, Dr. Violet Cox, was devastated by the death of her sister. Another colleague, Larry Brooks, lost his cousin without warning near the beginning of the month (after losing both his father and uncle in the last weeks of October). And of course this is just the tip of death's iceberg as so many thousands have suffered losses from the virus and other causes this month. Death almost seems mundane, except for when it comes to knock on the door of the people we love. Then it feels like the world stops turning. The axis shifts and nothing is ever the same again.
When I was a senior in high school, I went through a period of depression. At the time there was a popular song on the radio that really resonated with me. It's grand (some might say grandiose) musical ambitions and pensive lyrics were the perfect fit for my melancholy mood. Yet, despite it's somber, weepy vibe, there was hope hidden in those lyrics. "Nothing lasts forever, even cold November rain," Axl Rose would sing in his signature whine. I held on to that theme, choosing to believe no matter how bleak things looked in the moment, nothing lasts ever. Eventually the rains would pass and the sun would shine again. And indeed, that proved to be the case. But as I've grown older, I've noticed Rose's rock opera promise that nothing lasts forever applies to the sunny days as well as the cold rains. And I've learned those rains might merely get your shoulders wet as you dash inside, but for others the same downpour may be a deluge that leaves them feeling about to drown, a storm that forever changes the contours of their lives. We live in a world where nothing lasts forever, both the evil and the good. And that leaves us hoping for a Home, where the very best of life does last forever.
On this holiday, if you can't muster Happy, that's okay. If you can't think of anything to be grateful for that is equal the gaping hole death has left in your life, I weep with you. I wish you peace, comfort, strength to keep going, joy that remains despite the pain. And most of all, I wish you a Hopeful Thanksgiving. Because after all, among the things that do not last forever is death. And there are things that will last through eternity--faith, hope, and most of all, love.
Who's to say where the wind will take you
Who's to say what it is will break you
I don't know which way the wind will blow
Who's to know when the time's come around
Don't want to see you cry
I know that this is not goodbye
--U2, "Kite"
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