What We Rub Into Our Grief

In the sermon he preached on the Sunday following September 11th, Pastor Tim Keller said the following: “The love and hope of God and one another has to be rubbed into our grief the way you rub salt into meat or it will go bad. Your grief is either going to make you bleaker and weaker, or it could make you far wiser and good and tender, depending on what you rub into it. That’s what we’re here to do. We are here not just to weep but to rub hope and love into our weeping.”
This sermon has come to me again and again over the years, and not only because I attended Redeemer Presbyterian for many years and this particular Sunday, when so many New Yorkers showed up on the church’s doorstep for the very first time that extra services had to be added, had quickly become part of the church’s lore. For me, it resurfaced during the early days of the pandemic, when life in New York City felt so fragile; when a move to a new city profoundly felt like the wrong choice; when my dad died; and again, just recently, as I’ve watched the events unfold in our country and around the world.

For me — and maybe for you, too — these hinge moments have brought with them a choice. A choice about how to respond; how to interpret specific circumstances; how to change (or not) my understanding of God and His love for me; how to let my grief open to those around me. Each of these moments calls on our brains to reorient themselves to new realities (unsettling in itself, as research demonstrates) and, even more profoundly, asks us “do you still believe God is on his throne?”

Sometimes the yes comes quickly. Other times? Not so much. My mind goes more often than I’d like to a sense that somehow this moment is a surprise to God and that this moment is the one God is not powerful enough to see me (us) through.

And yet. It’s not. And He is. And thank goodness. If you, too, find yourself occasionally wondering “Is God still on his throne?”, perhaps you’ll find the kind of encouragement the moment needs in this sermon, too.
Dear Lord, for me and for all who are reading along right now, I pray for a fresh reminder of you — of your omnipotence, of your omniscience, and of your extraordinary love. Where there is grief, rub in hope. Where there is anger, rub in forgiveness. Where there is fear, rub in comfort. Where there is worry, rub in peace. Where there is division, rub in unity. Remind us, Lord, of your promise to be with us in all things. Remind us, Lord, of your righteous right hand. Remind us, Lord, of that You are our living hope. Remind us, Lord, that you are on your heavenly throne, now and forevermore. Amen.