“Good News and Great Joy”.  That’s been the title for December’s sermon series at our church.

Through a series of unfortunate events our family missed last week’s church service.  The focus, I was told, was tilted toward the joy aspect.

This week we did not miss church and when the pastor said something about this week’s message honing in on when joy and suffering meet, he mentioned how last week’s sermon was heavier on the joy and this week’s sermon was heavier on the suffering.  A statement that caused me to lean over to Hilary, seated to my left, and whisper in her ear, “Well good.  I’m much more acquainted with the one than with the other.”

Early on we sang the lyrics to the song “You Never Let Go” by Matt Redman.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
Your perfect love is casting out fear
And even when I’m caught in the middle of the storms of this life
I won’t turn back
I know You are near

And I will fear no evil
For my God is with me
And if my God is with me
Whom then shall I fear?
Whom then shall I fear?

Oh no, You never let go
Through the calm and through the storm
Oh no, You never let go
In every high and every low
Oh no, You never let go
Lord, You never let go of me

And I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
A glorious light beyond all compare
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
We’ll live to know You here on the earth

Yes, I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
Still I will praise You, still I will praise You

I was already a little undone by then, honestly.

Because, within the lyrics of this song, I see both who God is and who I want to be.

The truths that there is a God presiding.  That there is an end to these troubles.  That I can praise God in the storm that is the now because of the hope that is the later.

I want to have the heart that holds on.  That praises until that day comes.

I literally got out my little notebook that I keep with me always and wrote down the song’s title.  “You Never Let Go”.  And I wrote a note to myself.  Or to whomever, I guess.  “Play this song at my funeral,” I wrote down.  Not because I’m morbid or I think death is imminent.  More because I write everything down.  All the time.  But I want my children to hear those words and to know that I believed them.  That I think they are true.  That they have always been true.

The speaker, Ryan, talked about how our views of the future will absolutely dictate our view on our current suffering.

It was both a new and an old thought for me.  A reminder of what I have professed to be true.  And what I sometimes forget is true.

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.  For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
– II Corinthians 4:16-18

And Ryan reminded me – if I believe what I say I believe, then this verse is true.  Then my sufferings here are indeed light and momentary in comparison with what is to come.  (In comparison, of course.  Not that our sufferings, mine or yours, feel light or short lived here, but IN COMPARISON with heaven, they feel that way.)

Ryan was even so bold as to call out several people (such as myself) by name (in a really large congregation too, you guys) and to remind them, verbally, by first name and with direct eye contact, that we are called to believe this together.  That we say we believe this.  We profess that we believe this verse is true.

And when we do profess to such things, then our view of the future should dictate our view of our current suffering.

It was a pretty big deal to my heart.

And I was even more grateful that my day had been regular and that no series of unfortunate events had kept us from church that particular evening.

Because I needed every one of those reminders.  Of a heart that holds on.  Of not losing heart.  Of comparing my suffering to the eternal glory it is working out.  Of living in the beliefs I already have.

There’s a heavy sigh that is accompanying this entire post for me.  A heavy sigh, but a lightness of spirit too.  (That right now and forever dichotomy that has become so familiar to me.)

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