O Love...

I long for Easter in the broadest possible sense of the word. I really want God to usher in God's Kingdom and end the endless discussions about what we can't do to make a more just world. We can't possibly solve all the world's problems; we can't even solve our own. We can't raise the minimum wage, provide health care, stop abortion, get out of wars, effectively teach our children.....the can'ts just go on and on and on. There's a reason, always, why we can't. Just heard this morning that we can't get worker's comp insurance (as a church) unless we also have terrorism insurance. (Believe me, many think there are terrorists in every church, but it usually involves the color of the hymnals or the placement of the candles!)

I long for Easter. I ache for a time when seminary classes on grief and struggle doesn't have to be offered. I yearn for a time that families aren't so busy and stressed that they feel they can't worship because one more thing will push them over the edge. I long for nations that work for the good of their people, all their people, instead of their leader's own political power. I want schools in which all children are well fed, well loved, and well supported. I long for Easter, for that time when "justice will roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream." (Amos 5:24)

The season of Lent just intensifies the longing. Holy Week, this year seems to remind me again and again that we can't...we. just. can't. The world, offered God's Kingdom in service, healing, and wholeness in Jesus, said, "We can't."  "You can't." The end. Giving up whatever little piece of power we held in the first century, whether it was religious power or political power, social power or even just our place in the family...it was too different, too radical. We can't.  Our unwillingness to "can" ended in the cross, then and now. We can't give up more of our hard-earned dollars to support other people. We can't give up our place in the world power structure, even if it bankrupts us economically or morally. We, the people of God, still crucify God's Kingdom on the crosses of our can'ts...every. single. day.

It's a quite a wonder that God didn't just decide "I can't." Can't save these people. Can't love them. Can't encourage them to turn away from their bad choices, or the not so bad choices that still separate them from living in my Kingdom. I still make the case every year that when Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane "Take this cup from me..." that God said OK...come on home, and we'll leave this mess to those who made it.  But that's not the story, and the one thing we can't do, no matter how hard we try, is change the story of God's deep and transforming love. That we can't escape, no matter what.

A visceral reminder of this "can't" surfaced yesterday as I listened to a choral rendition of an old hymn...one of those hymns that, some will tell you, holds no message or meaning for the modern church.   But in all the can'ts that slow the Kingdom from coming...this message is one we can't ignore.  Hear it sung if you want, but pay attention to the words comparing God's work to ours...they will get you through the mess of Holy Week and anchor your joy in the promise of Easter.

O love that wilt not let me go, I rest my weary soul in Thee; I give Thee back the life I owe, that in Thine ocean depths its flow may richer, fuller be. 

O light that followest all my way, I yield my flickering torch to Thee; My heart restores its borrowed ray, that in Thy sunshine's blaze its day may brighter, fairer be.

O joy that seekest me through pain, I cannot close my heart to Thee; I trace the rainbow through the rain, and feel the promise is not vain, that morn shall fearless be.

O cross that liftest up my head, I dare not ask to fly from Thee; I lay in dust, life's glory dead, and from the ground there blossoms red, life that shall endless be.