Waiting for the sun to rise

And [Jesus] said to him, “Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.” (John 1:51)

I’m tired.

I’m weary of the hate and anger, bitterness and political division that is draining kindness, trust and hope from so many. I’m tired of the rage and mayhem piped into our consciousness through every digital device we own, tired of the shootings and burnings and destruction.

I am tired of the callous cruelty of masked brutes hunting down immigrants who are just working their jobs and caring for their families, treating them like rabid animals, unburdened by the humanity of those they abuse and the lives they destroy.

And I am heartsick that souls I once knew and served and loved now think of me as ‘the other,’ sick to death that they have become ‘the other’ in my heart, too. Once, they were human souls for whom I’d gladly rise in the wee hours had they any need of their pastor and friend.

I grieve the loss of what once was natural as breathing, tired of the passions of anger and resentment that imprison my heart. I fight them, but they are too strong.

The only thing that really helps is you, O Lord, seeing you, hearing you, singing about you so that the sorrow of my soul becomes prayer and my heart is restored, warmed in the rays of your goodness.

I wonder about the times when you were weary, not just tired, but soul-weary from the weight of loving the resistant, the rejecting and even the hateful, not to mention those who were just slow to understand.

You stepped away. You sat in the silent darkness waiting for the sun to rise, your heart turned to the Love who filled you … and who stirs in me, too.

Perhaps that is what I am doing here, fingers on these keys, sitting in the darkness, waiting for the sun to rise, refusing to deny how profoundly the darkness of these hateful, divisive times has darkened my heart, even as thoughts of my own end haunt me in the night, reminding me of decades I wasted and people I hurt, attempting to heal my own wounds and exorcise my demons by making a name for myself.

I cannot, of course. Only love casts this kind out, the Love ceaselessly streaming from the heart of your mercy, Jesus, to we who sit in the darkness. ‘Come to me all you who are weary,’ you say; you will see heaven opened.’

Indeed, I see you, even in my heavy heart, dear Friend. For what is this sorrow, if not your love within me, longing for a more gracious world? And what is this ache, if not a prayer for the freedom to love and laugh and embrace the world with a generous heart, your heart, Jesus?

So, I see, now; even this darkness is my friend, bearing me to your side that we may wait, together, for the sun to rise, as it will. It always does.