Third Sunday after Pentecost:
Grant, O Lord, that the course of this world may be peaceably governed by Your providence; and that Your Church may joyfully serve You in confidence and serenity; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with You and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
This prayer has some of the greatest modifiers the Church could ever hope to pray for. Imagine: us, Christ’s Body and Bride, His beloved people, … peaceably governed… joyfully serv[ing]… in confidence and serenity… Picture that Church!
That’s what the season of Pentecost is about. A season to remind us Who is Boss, and for us to rest in that knowledge; for us to put down our swords and pick up our plowshares, and to, side by side, hand in hand, “joyfully serve”.
I have nothing to add to this; I just want to draw your attention to that picture, that unity, that… rightness.
Our pastor here in La Paz, the guy who, along with his wife has been kind enough to do an English-Speaking service for a few Americans, a couple of New Zealanders and a British missionary all these months, had a story to share about God’s peaceable governing and the strange way it sometimes looks.
Upon returning to Bolivia from the States about 13 years ago, their first child, a son, was stillborn. In the aftermath, they waited for comfort and encouragement, but it didn’t seem like it was gonna come. Many well-meaning people said the usual stupid things.
Then, one day, shortly before the funeral, the pastor sensed a tiny voice telling him, “Your son has fulfilled his ministry”. This was, he thought, an outlandish thought; he hadn’t even had a chance to live, let alone minister!
But then, at the funeral, a man, a Baptist missionary, sat down beside him, put his arm around him…
… My friend the pastor thought another failed word of comfort was coming…
… And he said, “Your son has fulfilled his ministry.” He got up, and rejoined the others at the funeral.
Then my pastor’s eyes were opened; he looked around and realized what this had meant: pastors from the community, who for years had fought over doctrinal non-essentials, and who never spoke or fellowshipped, were hugging, praying, weeping together.
The death of this precious child had brought them together.
I don’t know that God took the child, but I know He used the tragedy to create something new. What happened was rather remarkable; this tragedy woke these clergy up to the realization that our petty squabbles, our doctrinal cold wars, our liberal or conservative fundamentalism, are blinding us to the things that really matter: bearing one another’s burdens, standing side by side, building up the Body of Christ.
Peaceably. Joyfully. In confidence and serenity.
Amen.
May 28, 2008 at 6:21 pm
What a moving story, thank you Tom.
I can’t get my head around God loving us in the way that he does, and at the same time causing the pain that some people credit him with. Those two sides just don’t come together for me. But like you, Tom, I absolutely believe that God can, and does, use and work through the bad times in our lives as well as the good times. And what he worked through that particular tragedy was, indeed, remarkable — it’s so good that they were listening!
May 28, 2008 at 6:51 pm
Amen.