Hallelujah out of the Heart-Hurt

I had a somewhat startling and uncomfortable epiphany of sorts this week: I get most inspired to write (and to blog) about things that hurt, especially recently. The last 3+ years have been full of joys and hurts, mountain top highs and deep, deep lows. Many of the events of my life in the last few years have to be described as having dual-identities, dual-meanings, and dual-convictions.

Here's where my Lutheran heritage and theological roots come in to play in a helpful and comforting, yet also frustrating and irksome, way. One of the pillars of Lutheran theology is this idea of the now and not yet, death and Life, Good Friday and Easter; in essence living in the in-between. I have hope that the Kingdom of God will be fully and absolutely realized one day; but today I see pain and fear and death. But, as I've said before on this blog, I am an Easter man. I refuse to stay in the presence of death but force myself to move forward in the Hope of Life.

Back to my recent revelation. I wrote a lot, more than I shared, when my buddy from camp died mysteriously and unexpectedly. I wrote a lot, more than I realized, when my Papa died of old age, cancer, and at rest in his home with his wife and daughter just a few feet away. I wrote, more than I wanted to, when one of the youth I work with took his own life this past May. I am writing, here and now, in the wake of senseless devastation of people I never met in a Colorado movie theater.

However, this time my inspiration comes second-hand, from a mother who lost her son in May to suicide. She posted on Facebook a sermon from a Denver-based Lutheran pastor from the Sunday after the theater shooting. Here is the link to the pastor's blog, which contains the text and audio of her sermon. It's a good read. It's a better listen. Listen first, read the text, listen again. Honestly, I've listened to this sermon almost a dozen times today.

I sing Hallelujah in the midst of tears. I celebrate the promise of Christ in the face of the evils of this world, minor and major. I hope and love and pray for my niece from states away. Heck, I'm dating a girl 2,000 miles away! If there is a way to explain my life right now, it is this eschatological, stuck in the in-between, now and not yet, looking for Easter in the midst of Holy Week, kind of way.

I live for the someday. I live in the today. And through it all, I must sing Hallelujah, because if I have no hope, I have nothing. Thanks be to God for the Hallelujahs of my mouth and the silence of my heart. Thanks be to God for showing up: in people, situations, Facebook posts, and sermons from states away. Thanks be to God. There is peace to be found in this.

May you see Jesus where he shows up. And may you be Jesus to others by just showing up. Amen.