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September 2016

Last Sunday morning, the world before me was shinning in a silver glow.  Every blade, every leaf, every up-turned surface sparkled in delight as I drove east of Emily into the morning.  There were all shades of green from tree and bush. Wild flowers shown red, yellow, blue, purple.  The small lake ahead reflected the blue of a rain washed sky.  It was the same road I had traveled a few days earlier, but a strange quantum leap different. On that day, dead branches had risen from the trees.  The ditches were filled with swamp water.  The shoulders of the road needed mowing.  The lake was clogged with weeds. It was the same road.  Was it the time of day?  Dull afternoon rather than glorious morning?  I had cleaned my wind shield.  Was that it?No, I think not.  It was my interior landscape that had changed.  All my life I have carried my father’s longing to find the brokenness of the world around him fixable.  When those brief moments of success occur, I am elated, but they are fleeting.  In spite of my clinging to the memories, the weight of the world presses down.  There is too much to unravel, too much depth to fathom, I can’t even read all my emails.  I used to have trouble catching snail mail.  Now there’s Face Book, twitter, blogs, U tube, voice mail, Link something or other, Apps without measure and time moves on without my permission.My garden is filled with weeds, what little lawn I have needs mowing, I have cords and cords of uncut and unsplit wood for the winter, and I have not been able to stop the globe from warming nor the political scene from self destructing.  It has always been so in my life.  I see the problems.  The solutions elude me, and now I am old.  Saturday afternoon, this weight of the world had finally weighed me down.  Last Sunday’s sermon had been a bust, and the one coming up was still a mystery.  I gave up and retreated to the couch and spoke into the void, “I cannot see the ‘Good News’ in these words I have been reading all week, in these thoughts I have been mulling in my mind.  God help me.”  Then in the silence it came as it always does when I give up my illusion of omnipotence and listen.Last Sunday morning, as I drove East of Emily into the morning sun, I carried with me once more the Good News.  We are not alone, I am not alone.  As the writer of Hebrews wrote so beautifully, we are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses cheering us on.  The light always emerges from the darkest night.  I don’t have to make it happen.  I only have to let it happen.    ~ Rev. Roger Lynn