Sitting in Saturday
On the night of the 21st, our church held what is called "The Longest Night" which is a service designed specifically with those for whom this time of year is most difficult. Not a 'high attendance' service by any means, but it did what it was supposed to do, which is to offer what I would call 'tidings of comfort.'
When I was in seminary, I was in a class called "Pastoral Care" which, I have to admit, I didn't care for at all. Not because of the subject matter, but largely because of the teacher and the attitude of the class. It would take a long time to explain all that, but perhaps this example shows how we were at odds.
One of the questions we were asked to respond to hypothetically was with someone who was suffering at the death of a loved one. One particular small group responded with the rhetoric, "Friday is here, but Sunday is coming!" The 'Friday' being Good Friday - the day that commemorates the death of Christ and 'Sunday' being Easter. The point of that statement was to offer hope, to say that it may be dark but there is hope to be had.
I responded by saying, "No." All I felt one could hope to offer is to acknowledge the 'Friday' of the moment and to also recognize that while Sunday may be coming, it isn't here yet and there is a very empty Saturday between the two that has to be endured. As a pastor, all we can offer is to sit with people in that Friday and rejoice when Sunday does arrive - whenever that might be.
So on Sunday night, in the service of the Longest Night, I found that I was in far more need of it than I thought. How much? It actually wouldn't be until Tuesday that I figured it out. Tuesday morning I sent one of those terrible Linkedin requests. I thought I had, but in trying to access my account, I sent out the requests for people to link up again. Sometimes those technological wonders are a real pain in the ass.
Anyway, I realized almost immediately that some of the people to whom that request had been sent were people I didn't really want to invite into my life in any way, shape, or form. That had to do with the fact that they were persons with whom I had shared a terrible moment at a church - based largely around a decision I made. Their response was to leave the church and, in the case of one of those I invited to join me online, left with a whole lot of hostility.
As I saw the invitation had been sent, I realize that my own heart was still wounded from that encounter which is now a few years old. I still had anger, pain, and several emotions under the surface that made me realize how long it sometimes takes to get from Friday to Sunday. Given the nature of the service on Sunday night and the feeling I had in my stomach after that e-mail went out, I had to come to the conclusion that while it is my responsibility to proclaim Sunday is coming, I have to take my own advice and recognize that all we can see sometimes is Friday.
So where am I? I thought I had gotten to Sunday. It seems I might only be in the hazy day of Saturday. And until Sunday arrives, I may need to stay here a while.
When I was in seminary, I was in a class called "Pastoral Care" which, I have to admit, I didn't care for at all. Not because of the subject matter, but largely because of the teacher and the attitude of the class. It would take a long time to explain all that, but perhaps this example shows how we were at odds.
One of the questions we were asked to respond to hypothetically was with someone who was suffering at the death of a loved one. One particular small group responded with the rhetoric, "Friday is here, but Sunday is coming!" The 'Friday' being Good Friday - the day that commemorates the death of Christ and 'Sunday' being Easter. The point of that statement was to offer hope, to say that it may be dark but there is hope to be had.
I responded by saying, "No." All I felt one could hope to offer is to acknowledge the 'Friday' of the moment and to also recognize that while Sunday may be coming, it isn't here yet and there is a very empty Saturday between the two that has to be endured. As a pastor, all we can offer is to sit with people in that Friday and rejoice when Sunday does arrive - whenever that might be.
So on Sunday night, in the service of the Longest Night, I found that I was in far more need of it than I thought. How much? It actually wouldn't be until Tuesday that I figured it out. Tuesday morning I sent one of those terrible Linkedin requests. I thought I had, but in trying to access my account, I sent out the requests for people to link up again. Sometimes those technological wonders are a real pain in the ass.
Anyway, I realized almost immediately that some of the people to whom that request had been sent were people I didn't really want to invite into my life in any way, shape, or form. That had to do with the fact that they were persons with whom I had shared a terrible moment at a church - based largely around a decision I made. Their response was to leave the church and, in the case of one of those I invited to join me online, left with a whole lot of hostility.
As I saw the invitation had been sent, I realize that my own heart was still wounded from that encounter which is now a few years old. I still had anger, pain, and several emotions under the surface that made me realize how long it sometimes takes to get from Friday to Sunday. Given the nature of the service on Sunday night and the feeling I had in my stomach after that e-mail went out, I had to come to the conclusion that while it is my responsibility to proclaim Sunday is coming, I have to take my own advice and recognize that all we can see sometimes is Friday.
So where am I? I thought I had gotten to Sunday. It seems I might only be in the hazy day of Saturday. And until Sunday arrives, I may need to stay here a while.
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