Hold Hands

A couple Sundays ago I had to cancel the meeting of The Little White Church. Winter will have his reckoning. Technology may well do us all in, but she allowed me to preach a sermon on the Facebook Live for all my snowed in beloved and bedraggled saints. They need Good News, see. We all need some Good News proclaimed. We need to hear the words of Jesus jumping off the page in the voice of flesh and blood.

We need to see forgiveness dancing before us all the way Home.

So, I preached a sermon to empty pews in the 107 year old former Baptist Church building. Rachel and an apple phone bore witness.

My new wife Rachel braved the Blizzard by my side.

Perhaps God gives us snow days as Sabbath. Bonus Sabbaths. I think Rachel would have enjoyed a bonus Sabbath. A Holy Snow Day: but Rachel smiles at my stubborn streak. She walks with me. I have spent years alone. I don’t know that being alone is so bad. Sometimes being alone is God’s kindness to us. But I’ve spent harrowing winters alone, and I thank the Crucified Carpenter King that He hoisted the sun to shine forth on this arctic prairie once more.

Life, death, widowerhood, Resurrection, are all swirling in my life.

Wrestling, if you like.

If two broken people want to break bread together they must learn to put down their burdens, every occasionally, and hold hands.

Come, let us parlay.

Open wide the blinds and see the glory of the Winter Sun shining forth on these frozen hills and hollows.

The past is sacred, the past anchors, the past is foundational.

The past haunts.

Remember beloved, it’s hard to hold the hands of Love when you’re straining to juggle heavy burdens.

There’s so much life blooming

If only we’d have eyes to see.

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