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Telling Time
Is it time to pray again?
Is it time to march again?
Is it once again time to grieve, time to rage, time to resist?
Is it ever not?
So long as we have breath, it is time.
Not because there is a cause.
Not because there is a moment.
Not because it’s never been like this, or it’s worse now, or it’s a critical tipping point.
Because we are part of all life.
Because we have this breath.
The big hand always points to kinship.
The little hand to humility, love, wonder.
Take away the hands and the face of the clock will still tell the time: mercy.
The sin is losing track of time.
The sin is forgetting we breathe.
My Deliverer Is Coming
The angel of the Lord appeared to the [wife of Manoah] and said to her, “You shall conceive and bear a son. It is he who shall begin to deliver Israel from the hand of the Philistines.” – Judges 13:3-5, excerpted (NRSV)
We all long for a deliverer, at least once in a while: someone to untangle a problem we cannot resolve, someone to provide a haven when we are weary, someone to tackle a mountain that threatens our wellbeing. The longing for deliverance is common, and it permeates our stories.
Fairy tales are full of deliverers, often armed with magic or cunning or righteousness. Political discourse rallies around deliverance, whether this country is vowing to “rescue” another country or a politician is promising to “save” voters from [insert scapegoat here]. Novels and movies love a redemption story with a victorious ending. Deliverance is also the overarching narrative of scripture.
“From whence will my help come?” we ask.
The ancient Israelites cried for relief from their ongoing conflict with the Philistines. God sent an angel to Manoah’s wife to advise her of the exceptional child she would deliver for the people’s deliverance. Her son, Samson, grew up to be a folk hero of the people—fighting Philistines with a donkey’s jawbone and killing lions with his bare hands.
“Deliver us!” we cry.
“Next-day delivery,” we specify.
Ah, but God is not Amazon Prime. God’s deliverance comes at the speed of a baby growing to adulthood: simultaneously endless and fleeting. God’s deliverance comes at the pace of a folktale, repeated and renewed over generations. God’s deliverance unfolds with the tempo of a song, with the seasons of an oak tree, with the hindsight of freedom, with the slow rise of yeast and the quick breaking of bread.
Prayer: Be our deliverer, O Holy Child, through the moments that feel like an eternity and in these lifetimes of ours that fade like grass.
cross-posted with the UCC Daily Devotional
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