Three weeks ago, we took our Sunday worship out of the sanctuary and back to Zoom, because of the high Covid infection rate these days, due to the Omicron variant. I’m been heartened by, and so grateful for, the responses I’ve heard from some of you; your appreciation that we are taking precautions to keep folks safe. But I shouldn’t be surprised—all through this pandemic you have been good-hearted and courageous about facing what is, and trying to make the best of it.
To my mind, that’s what strength is: doing the best you can with what you’ve been given. There is so much we don’t have control over, but we do get to choose how we are going to respond to the challenges we face. In my sermon this morning, I talked about how this pandemic has shown us ways that we are stronger, and more resilient, and even more patient that we may have thought we are! You can find that sermon here.
This morning we heard our choir sing a beautiful anthem that’s feels so right for these January days. Dark of Winter is in our hymnal, with words and music by Shelley Jackson Denham. The choir sang an arrangement of Dark of Winter by my friend Rev. Jason Shelton, and you can listen to it at the link just below.
These words feel like a prayer for us in this winter season:
Darkness, soothe my weary eyes, that I may see more clearly.
When my heart with sorrow cries, comfort and caress me.
And then my soul may hear a voice, a still small voice of love eternal.
Darkness, when my fears arise, let your peace flow through me.
In this winter time of separation and uncertainty, don’t we all need some soothing and some comfort? The good news is that the dark and quiet of this season can also be a gift. It can put us in the place where we can touch that elusive Spirit which is hard to sense when we are too busy, or listening to too much noise. Could this winter be inviting you to slow down, so you can hear that still small voice of love eternal?
In these short and cold days I’m trying to just be here now. To not look forward to the warmer days that will eventually come; to try not to wonder when this pandemic might wane and we can gather together again. As T.S. Eliot wrote in “Four Quartets”:
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing;
wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing;
there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Can we abide in the waiting and the uncertainty, trusting that we are up to the task, trusting that this season has lessons to teach us, and blessings to impart?
As much as I appreciate some solitude and quiet, I’m so grateful for this faith community, and for the connections we share. We are offering some new ways to connect online in these days, which you’ll find on our website home page. And please don’t hesitate to be in touch with me if you’d like to connect. Here’s my email.
May this winter bring you moments of beauty and peace, opportunities for growth, and unexpected blessings!