2 December

On the Journey

              From the night of displacement to the dawn of anticipation—

              As I write this, I look down at my left hand and see a scar. A year ago, the scar did not appear on my hand. Yet, this scar is a reminder to me of everything that has transpired in the past year. You see the scar is an ever-present reminder that one year ago on Thursday, December 4, 2008, flames engulfed our beautiful sanctuary and drove us from our building.

              Alarmed by an odor that smelled like burning popcorn, I ran into the sanctuary to see flames running up the black curtains. I retreated to the hallway yelling for someone to call the fire department and for everyone to clear the building. I grabbed a fire extinguisher and returned to the sanctuary to find all the curtains ablaze. As I stood there, particles of the melting blue curtain showered down upon me, and one bubbling glob fell on my left hand. Several hours later, I became conscious of the burn on my hand.

              During those first few weeks after the fire, the burn was an ugly thing. It was ugly in the same way our burned and scorched sanctuary was ugly. At times, the burn broke open and bled, in much the same way our hearts were broken, and our souls convulsed in grief. In those days, I tended my wound applying ointment and wearing a bandage. With my bandaged hand, I worked hard along with many others to save and protect our building. As a staff and people, despite our shock, we refused to allow the fire to destroy our life together. We found our way to Tilghman High School, and we discovered the resilience of Immanuel and the power of our Lord’s sustaining presence as we worshipped together in both grief and hope in a strange place. We stumbled, but we did not fall. We wept, but we did not jettison our faith.

              As weeks became months, the scar on my hand moved through the stages of healing. The skin grew back over the wound to become a bright red spot on my hand no longer tender to touch. For months, clean up consumed the efforts of the workers in our building. They tore out burnt wood and furniture, washed the soot from walls, and covered every surface with a special sealant.  Our construction supervisor chased ever scent of smoke to locate its source, and drive it from our building. Finally, as summer arrived, the clean up phase was complete.

              As time moved on, my wound emerged as a scar on my hand. I was almost oblivious to this transformation. In the process of restoration, there were weeks when almost nothing appeared to be accomplished around the building. Yet, behind the scenes, hours and hours were spent in careful deliberation with our contractor and hundreds of significant decisions were made.

              Today, I have to look hard to identify the scar on my hand. Today, the restoration of our sanctuary is steadily underway. Daily, materials are unloaded. Construction sounds echo through the building. An orchestra of saws, drills, and hammers play a hopeful melody. As we approach the anniversary of the fire, grief and sorrow have given way to hope and anticipation. There is a day that is surely coming when we will worship again in the sanctuary. It will be made new, and we will find that we are transformed by our anticipation of that new day.

              Yes, a year later, the night of our displacement is giving way to a new day we anticipate with great joy. It seems to me that the gift of our season of displacement is an experience of the power of faithful waiting upon God. We have known our days of suffering. There were times when we may have walked dangerously close to the edge of despair. For some of us, the sky of this season has been exceedingly dark with no trace of the light of dawn upon the horizon. For others of us, we have wept and our tears sowed seeds of a hope that are now bearing fruit. Out of the smoke and ashes, we believe God has good plans for us. We are now open to receiving God’s vision of our future—a future that we would have never imagined without enduring this season of displacement and suffering.

              Yes, we have been learning to wait upon God. We have learned the limits of our powers. There have been days when we were impatient, but our impatience did not affect in any way what God planned to do for us. There have been moments when we thought our wounded hearts would not heal and our joy would not return. Yet, in the midst of our waiting, we have discovered a hope that calls us to trust in God’s goodness and mercy. We anticipate a day of joy.

              This is our season of anticipation. We know God’s ways are not our ways, and we give thanks for that reality. We know God’s thoughts are not our thoughts, and we seek to think God’s thoughts after Him. As this night of displacement gives way to a morning of anticipation, we realize anew—that yes, the Savior of the world may be born in a stable rude. A babe, who is the King of Kings, may be cradled in a manger of straw. Yes, the Savior of the world may suffer and die on a cross, for God alone possesses the power to save, redeem, and restore. Scars are a reminder of God’s redeeming love.

              There are days of waiting yet to be endured, but we know in whom we trust. God is faithful. The scar on our souls will only be a reminder of what God has done for us. Let us wait for Him, anticipating a new day—a day that will surely come! This day is closer than we think. Let us be alert and wait for God.jamie