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² Corinthians 4:1-12
 

⁴Therefore, since through God’s mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart. ² Rather, we have renounced secret and shameful ways; we do not use deception, nor do we distort the word of God. On the contrary, by setting forth the truth plainly we commend ourselves to everyone’s conscience in the sight of God. ³ And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing. ⁴ The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers, so that they cannot see the light of the gospel that displays the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. ⁵ For what we preach is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. ⁶ For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,”^[a] made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ.

⁷ But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. ⁸ We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; ⁹ persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. ¹⁰ We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. ¹¹ For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. ¹² So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.

As I, and all of us, continue forth to the upcoming Holy Week, I am forced to think that this isn't what I imagined February 26 as Mother Sarah and I smudged crosses on each other's foreheads and on yours.  Each year we build on the previous, looking at what we have done, improving - thinking about what the experience will be for everyone and how we can get closer to Jesus, and yet now all is changed. As I prepare to enter into Holy Week, nothing seems familiar and I have to dig deep to re-imagine so much of these days ahead.  

My experience of the scriptures over these last two weeks in particular is also changed, having taken on new meaning and understanding - more urgency. Death is more present.  And this passage from 2 Corinthians reminds me that as death is more present, so too is life. 

Paul writes, "We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair;  persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.  We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body."

Am I not feeling at moments crushed, in despair, abandoned and on the brink of destruction? I am.  And yet I try hard not to stay in those moments - lifted out by my faith that Jesus' resurrection is my hope for today, tonight and tomorrow - and all the tomorrows to come.  Life is at work in us, all of us - and the closer presence of death paradoxically makes me feel more present in my life - makes me feel more alive and when I allow it, allows me to feel closer to God. Life is pulsating all around - my eyes and my heart are more open to it than ever before. Life feels more precious and glorious than ever before. That light of Christ is shining brighter and stronger. God feels closer and the emotions evoked in Lent and Holy Week have a clarity to them - even in advance of Holy Week.

Psalm 142 

¹ I cry to the Lord with my voice; *
to the Lord I make loud supplication.
² I pour out my complaint before him *
and tell him all my trouble.
³ When my spirit languishes within me, you know my path; *
in the way wherein I walk they have hidden a trap for me.
⁴ I look to my right hand and find no one who knows me; *
I have no place to flee to, and no one cares for me.
⁵ I cry out to you, O Lord; *
I say, "You are my refuge,
my portion in the land of the living."
⁶ Listen to my cry for help, for I have been brought very low; *
save me from those who pursue me,
for they are too strong for me.
⁷ Bring me out of prison, that I may give thanks to your Name; *
when you have dealt bountifully with me,
the righteous will gather around me.

My spirit languished today. My spirit wallowed. I was weighted with tears and sorrow. I’m not sure why today the anvil came back out and oxygen became tar because it had been a “good couple of days”  (those of us who suffer from depression may recognize that feeling, for the lay-person it means you “didn’t cry and actually showered”).  Then it hit me: I don’t have a job. My work, which I love, which defines most of who I am has ceased to exist. No one wants to buy sell, or rent a home right now. No one needs me to sponsor a concert or buy an ad. I haven’t had a meaningful conversation with my beloved team in days; I haven’t put new keys in a new lock for weeks. One thing is to fight feeling sad when things are ok but another is to fight sadness when there is death, illness, hatred, and lack of purpose. My right hand did not know me, as the psalm said. I had “no place to flee to and no one who cares for me” which meant, to me, there was no “work” no clients needing me.
 
The word “languish” means “to lose or lack vitality; grow weak or feeble” or/and “suffer from being forced to remain in an unpleasant situation” and this is exactly what was happening to me today. I was weak with being forced to remain in an unpleasant situation (as we all are). Then I was done with feeling sad because I genuinely and for real asked God to help me out of my prison and restore my faith, as I have done a number of times before during my depression. After that supplication I  felt His love and my faith, and somehow, I  physically got  out of bed and roasted a chicken for family which is truly my purpose. I went to put music on my phone and ‘siri’ decided to play Keepin’ The Faith by Billy Joel. I read a text from a client who is so excited to move into her first new home, asking me how I am.  And then there was email from Deacon John asking me to write a reflection about “bringing me out of prison” and giving thanks. So, yes, you can wallow and languish  and feel sad, but try to ask for help. You will be lifted out of the darkness--all you have to do is decide to ask.

Psalm 130

¹ Out of the depths have I called to you, O Lord;
Lord, hear my voice; *
let your ears consider well the voice of my supplication.
² If you, Lord, were to note what is done amiss, *
O Lord, who could stand?
³ For there is forgiveness with you; *
therefore you shall be feared.
⁴ I wait for the Lord; my soul waits for him; *
in his word is my hope.
⁵ My soul waits for the Lord,
more than watchmen for the morning, *
more than watchmen for the morning.
⁶ O Israel, wait for the Lord, *
for with the Lord there is mercy;
⁷ With him there is plenteous redemption, *
and he shall redeem Israel from all their sins.

“My soul waits for the Lord, more than watchmen for the morning.”   My understanding of this phrase is that night and morning are metaphors for fear and hope and I wonder if one really excludes the other.  We certainly find ourselves now beset by fear of an invisible, inexorable, terrible threat, but it doesn’t feel as if we are crouching behind the battlements, waiting and hoping that some day some dawn will shine and all will be different.  For me, faith in the Lord and his mercy is a source of strength and humility throughout this long night and to wait for the Lord is to be aware of the human struggle and suffering all around us and to believe that commitment to our fellow human beings has meaning.