I Will Not Leave You Orphaned

Scripture Lessons: 1 Peter 3: 13-22 and John 14: 15-21 Sermon title: I Will Not Leave You Orphaned Preached on May 17, 2020 A formative moment in my life happened during the Great Recession of 2008. I was serving my first church in Lilburn, as an associate pastor. The senior pastor had just left for a church in Florida, so attendance was already dropping as were the finances. Certainly, the economic forecast didn’t help the financial situation, so the Session met and one of the first things they did was allowed the interim pastor’s contract to expire. They didn’t renew it. They couldn’t afford to. And that meant suddenly I was the only pastor at that church. This was a problem, because I didn’t know what I was doing. When the Finance Committee reported how bad they projected the budget deficit to be I was certainly terrified. I don’t remember sleeping much the night after that meeting. The next day I went to the Presbytery Office. In a sense, that’s the church’s governing body, and there I spoke with the Executive Presbyter. An impressive title for an impressive man. I didn’t have an appointment, but he saw me anyway. Perhaps the receptionist could see the terror on my face. I told him how bad the projected budget deficit was, and that I feared this church might close her doors. “What should I do?” I asked him. He took the situation seriously, then he took me seriously asking, “How much do you know about finances Joe?” I told him that I’d never successfully managed my checkbook. Then he said, “What makes you think that you’re the one to do anything?” This was one of the most important questions I’ve ever been asked. “What makes you think that you’re the one to do anything?” “What makes me think that I’m the one to do anything? Well, who else is there?” I didn’t ask him that out loud, but that’s what I was thinking. Before I had a chance to ask, he said, “Are there business owners in the congregation? Bankers? Accountants? Get them together and make sure they know the situation. Ask them for help.” As he gave me this advice, he didn’t use Jesus’ words exactly, but it was close enough. Through this man I could hear Christ saying to me as he said to his disciples so long ago: “I will not leave you orphaned.” You are not all on your own. When you pass through the waters, they may rise, but I will be with you. And through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you. When you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. Such are the promises of Scripture and this is the story of my life as a pastor. Every time I was brave enough to ask for help, my shepherd has supplied my need. Every time I boldly took inventory of the limit of my ability, he stood beside me in the breach. Every time I faced what seemed insurmountable, every time I rely on my own strength, every time I wondered, “But how will I find the words?” “How will I do it?” “How will I face the grief or the terror or the death again,” a touch of the hand or a word spoken in love reminded me that I am not alone. Coleen and Cheryl sang it, didn’t they? I believe in the sun even when it’s not shining. I believe in love even when I don’t feel it. I believe in God even when God is silent. “I will not leave you orphaned,” Jesus promised. And maybe he didn’t promise that it would be easy. Maybe he didn’t promise that we’d always sleep through the night. But what he did promise was that he’d be there even when the world can’t see him. “You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.” Now that’s a promise. It’s a promise like the one in the song, which was written during the holocaust and was found after, on a slip of paper. Who wrote it? And how did she become so enlightened? I don’t know, but I do know that she was right. The sun is there even when it’s not shining. Love is real, even when I don’t feel it. God is here even if we can’t hear him, and sometimes it takes a concentration camp to teach us such a lesson. Or sometimes it takes a viral pandemic. This is a time when many are reaching the end of their rope. Isolation is getting the best of some of us. Fear is wearing us down. Paranoia is creeping into our minds, prompting us to ask hard questions in a time without easy answers. I’ve felt fear, worry, frustration and anger, only who should I be angry with? We look for a villain, someone to blame, yet perhaps the thing that will bring us hope is looking, not for the villains, but for the helpers. One of the great Presbyterian ministers of history, Mr. Rogers, was bold to confess: When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of “disaster,” I always remember my mother’s words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.” He’s right. There are, but can you see them? Christ promised, “I will not leave your orphaned,” but do you perceive it? I was reminded this week of a story I’ve told you before of a woman I went to visit. She was upset with the church. Upset with life, really, and because I was there, she let me have it. “At that church of yours pastor, no one speaks to me. I’ve been gone for four weeks and no one has noticed.” I hate hearing that kind of thing. It breaks my heart, because I know it’s true. It happens. Sometimes the church isn’t there when we need our family of faith the most, only in that moment her phone rang. It was Gloria from the church, calling just to say to this woman, “I haven’t seen you and I’ve missed you. How have you been?” The conversation lasted just a few seconds. The woman I was visiting said something like, “Gloria, thank you for calling. But Joe, our pastor is here, and I was just telling him something. Thank you for calling. Goodbye.” Then she looked to me, “Where was I? Oh yes, no one from that church ever calls me!” What is it that clouds our vision to the helpers, even when they are there, right before our eyes? “I will not leave you orphaned” he said to the disciples. Only like this woman, they couldn’t see it always. Peter didn’t believe anyone could save him once Christ was arrested, so rather than call for help or react in faith, out of self-reliance and self-preservation he denied him three times. Or consider Judas who betrayed him. A wise man once asked me, “Would Christ have forgiven Juda had he repented?” Of course. He forgave everyone, all of humanity, hanging there on the cross saying, “Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do.” Still, consider how often we focus on what is broken within us, rather than the grace he provides. How often do we focus on what is broken in the world, rather than His love at work in helpers great and small? How often do we depend on ourselves, not believing in forgiveness really, just holding it in. Letting the darkness in our hearts fester rather than inviting love’s light to cast it out. Of course, asking for this kind of help is hard to do so. Seeing it is hard to do. Faith is required. It reminds me of the third Indiana Jones movie, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Apparently, Indiana Jones 5 is coming out in 2022. I heard that in this one, instead of a whip, Harrison Ford has a walker. I’m just kidding. Even if it’s bad I’ll probably still go see it. All through fourth and fifth grade I wore a fedora to school I was such a big fan of Indiana Jones. And the greatest of the series is the third movie: Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. In that one there’s this incredible scene. A deep chasm stands in the hero’s way. It’s so deep he can’t see the bottom. It’s too wide to jump. There’s nothing for him to catch with his whip to swing across. The ancient manuscript tells him the only thing he can do is take a step into the nothing with enough faith to know that he won’t fall. That’s what he does. With a sweaty forehead and a body trembling he steps out and his foot finds a bridge. He couldn’t see the bridge, but it was there. He took the first step then kept going and reaching the other side he looked back and it was clear that an invisible bridge had been there the whole time. We can’t always see to know that “he will not leave [us] orphaned,” but I tell you this, once this is all over, we will be able to look back on this time knowing that his hand has been moving all along. We just couldn’t see it. I know that, because that’s how it is. Faith is easier in retrospect, just as our hindsight is twenty-twenty. So, as I look back on the years of my life, I see it, while in the moment I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know that the church I served in Lilburn would go from a projected budget deficit to end the year with a surplus. The first time someone asked me how I did it sarcastically I said, “Well, I’m a financial genius.” Sarcastically, because that wasn’t true. God’s hand was at work, and while I wasn’t always sure where we were going or whether or not we were doing the right thing, He was leading us, nonetheless. Likewise, it was a strange thing to ask of you about two years ago to invest in new cameras so that we could worship over the internet. Can you imagine where we’d be had wise leaders in our church not encouraged us in this direction? Then, about three years ago today I was telling the church I served in Tennessee that I’d accepted a call to serve a church in Marietta, GA. I uprooted my family. We left people we love. While today I see His hand guiding us, in the moment, I felt like Indiana Jones, stepping into the great unknown. Of course, it was not unknown. It never is. And I was not alone, because we never are. Open your eyes to see that he is with you where you are today, at work in your life, changing things for the better. And be prepared to reach out for help. There is no need to rely on yourself, for he has not left you, he has not left me, orphaned. So, let us step into our unknown future with faith, trusting His promise that He will be with us always, even to the end of the age. Amen.

How Can We Know the Way?

Scripture Lessons: 1 Peter 2: 2-10 and John 14: 1-14 Sermon Title: How Can We Know the Way? Preached on May 10, 2020 Last week I was listening to a radio show that comes on National Public Radio called This American Life. The show reports on the lives of Americans, 10 to 12 minutes each. In recent weeks the stories have mostly been from people in New York City: sick parents trying to care for their children in the confines of their apartments or overwhelmed ambulance drivers, sometimes able to do little more than nothing for the dying and always afraid that they themselves will contract the virus. Last week the subject was lighter, but still COVID 19 related. In honor of all those high school seniors who are having to miss their Senior Prom or settle for a virtual prom, This American Life spent the entire hour celebrating what for many is an important milestone, what for others is a source of dread or embarrassment. This Prom themed episode included stories from tuxedo rental staff who reported on the state of returned tuxedo rentals. There was one story of a high school class in the Midwest who safely danced in the basement of the school gym while a tornado swept through town, others of young men stood up by their dates, mothers who made their daughters uncomfortable with their advice, and post-prom high school seniors who had spent all this time and effort looking forward to a night that failed to meet their expectations. The whole show brought back memories for me of my own senior prom. I remember the weeks leading up to it. How daunting it seemed. I had to rent a tuxedo, make dinner reservations at Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse, buy tickets, order a corsage, and most nerve-racking of all, find a date. Remembering my personal experience with prom, I realized how I would feel if my Senior Prom were canceled due to a global pandemic: relived. I would have felt completely and dramatically relieved to not have to go through the dauntingly vulnerable process which leads up to a night that I’ll always remember, not because it was particularly magical, but because it stretched me in ways that the academics of high school never could. My prom memories include how I finally asked a girl on a date I had been wanting to ask on a date for years. We danced and we talked. I almost kissed her but lost my nerve. Why? Because going into uncharted territory without knowing what’s going to happen next is terrifying, especially if you’re the kind of person who’s afraid to ask for advice or directions. That’s why I admire Thomas. He’s pretty much my favorite disciple, because he is always brave enough to ask. In that passage I just read he says to Jesus, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” I’ve never heard of that being a memory verse, but it ought to be. With life always stretching us and pushing us into the unknown, asking for directions is absolutely imperative. I’ve said it before, we call him Doubting Thomas, but truly, he’s just the one who is brave enough to speak his doubts out loud. Every one of them was thinking or feeling the same thing, they just weren’t willing to say it. Had the Disciples been driving in a car, lost at night on the highway, Thomas would have been the one who walked into the dimly lit gas station to ask for directions. Had the Disciples been students all lost in Spanish Class, Thomas would have been the one to ask the teacher to go over the verbs she’d just conjugated a second time. Had the Disciples all been young high school seniors, nervous about asking a girl to the senior prom, Thomas would have been the one who called his older brother to say, “There’s a girl I really want to ask, but where do I even start?” Some of us pretend that we’re doing fine or that we know our way through unchartered waters but take note of Thomas’ example: it’s ok to ask for directions. It’s ok. For the truth is, no one makes it though unchartered waters without help. A pastor named Shannon Michael Pater wrote about our passage from the Gospel of John saying that the role Jesus plays and which he calls all his disciples to play in moments such as this one is like that of a midwife and a hospice chaplain. Both of these roles stand in between two very different realities. Both these roles perform a pivotal task during a dramatic transition. Both these roles boldly proclaim maybe there is pain right now, but it’s the pain of in-between. Something is happening now. Something is changing. One chapter will come to an end, but another will begin. Just relax if you can and wait. That’s not easy to do. What’s easier is just to do something. Anything. One of the most stressful feelings I can think of is that of being late for a meeting or appointment. That feeling that comes from knowing that I’m supposed to be somewhere, only I’m not there. I’m stuck in traffic, I’m lost, or I’m trying to politely exit a conversation. Worse, is that feeling of knowing I’m supposed to be somewhere only I can’t remember where. Whatever it is, there’s severe anxiety that comes with knowing that I’m in the wrong place. That I’m supposed to be some place other than where I am. Do you know the feeling? Today, that’s the feeling that I pretty much feel all the time. I always feel like there’s something happening that I’m supposed to be at. I wake up already feeling like I’m running behind. I have to constantly remind myself that still, most things are closed and besides that, this is a time for waiting, only waiting is uncomfortable and it’s hard. I’d much rather have a timeline or a road map so I could know where it is that we’re going and how long it’s going to take to get there. Do you know what I mean? The shelter in place orders are lifting, but to what are we returning to? Some hope we’re getting back to normal, only sitting in a restaurant with half the tables roped off doesn’t seem normal. Waiting in line outside a Home Depot doesn’t seem normal. How long is all this going to last? What does the future hold? And how to do we get there? Those are the questions Thomas was asking. Again, I like Thomas. He’s always brave enough to ask the questions that everyone else is afraid to ask. Jesus tells his disciples, “don’t let your hearts be troubled… In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places” and I’m going there to prepare a place for you. “That sounds great Jesus,” Thomas says, “But how do we get there?” I love that. He just says it. “Actually, no, we have no idea where you are going. We barely understand what you’re talking about. How can we know the way?” It’s like Jesus assumes that we’re capable of remaining calm at a time like this. It’s like he thinks we ought to just be able to follow him as sheep follow a shepherd. Doesn’t he know how anxious and afraid we all are? I don’t like this. Do you? And I’ll gladly wear my cloth facemask to the grocery store for another month if it means I won’t have to wear it once June comes. The part that scares me now is the not knowing. What’s the world going to look like this Fall? What’s going to happen next? I know that ultimately there is a place prepared for you and me in the Kingdom of God, but there are a few steps to take between here and there so like Thomas, I’d like a slightly more detailed plan than the one Jesus has mapped out. Unfortunately, there’s no map in the Second Scripture Lesson. Instead, there’s this assurance: “Believe me because of the works themselves.” That’s what Jesus says in response to Phillip who wants to see the Father. Jesus says, “Who do you think I am?” Then to Thomas, as if to say, “I’ve been leading you by the hand this whole time. What makes you think I’m going to stop now?” I want you to know that your church is doing all kinds of things as we step into this unchartered territory. Your congregation’s elected representatives are meeting weekly, some nearly daily. Councils and committees are working together, they’re moving quickly, we’re learning from regional and national leaders in the Presbyterian Church, we’re meeting with other area church leaders comparing notes, we’re reading what the governor and school system are thinking, but what I believe is most helpful which only a church, a church like this one can do is to remember that he hasn’t failed us yet, so why be afraid that he’s going to fail us now? “Believe me, because of the works themselves,” He said, and what were those works? He healed the sick. He fed the hungry. He encouraged the hopeless. He relieved heavy burdens. He gave us his very body and blood. He was the incarnation of the Living God who, when the Hebrew people heard the Egyptian horde behind them and saw the sea before them, divided the water on each side giving Moses and the people a dry path to deliver them. When they reached the other side Moses’ sister Miriam sang, “Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously. Horse and rides he has thrown into the sea.” Those words were sung and repeated then written down. Why? Because there have been other seas to cross, other hopeless situations to be delivered from, so we must remember that he has been leading us through the unknown since the dawn of time with no intention of relenting until we reach the promised land. He said to the disciples: “In my father’s house, there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you.” “How can we know that we’ll get there?” we all ask. Therefore, we must remember, it’s because he’s led us this far. He knit us together in our mother’s womb when the womb was all we knew. In our mother’s arms He filled our lungs with breath, knowing already the number of hairs on our heads. He watched as we stood and took our first steps. He heard us cry as we fell. He wiped those tears from our eyes. Not far, but close, as one chapter closed and the next one began. On this Mother’s Day we give thanks to God for our mothers, and we rejoice that like a mother our God has been our ever-present help in times of transition, promising that he will not drop us and will be waiting for us on the other side of everything. It reminds me of my own mother. She didn’t go to her senior prom. She considered herself too mature at the time, and she insisted that I go to mine. But who will I ask? What will I say? Those were my questions, but I’m not sure I had to ask them. She was there to help me. One thing I remember her saying is, “If I had any idea how scared 18-year-old boys were of 18-year-old girls I would have been a much more confident 18-year-old girl.” Through every transition of my life, from birth to high school graduation, marriage and our first and second child, I’ve been blessed to benefit from those who have been through it already and holding my hand have testified that it’s going to be OK. Certainly, we are in the midst of another terrifying transition, but who is with us in it? Miriam, who pointed to God’s hand dividing the sea. Thomas, who knew who to ask for directions. This month I’ve been reading about Churchill who faced the blitz. That when German bombers flew over London in the middle of the night, he’d go to the roof, still in his nightgown, helmet on his head, believing death was better than surrender. Then I consider the history of this church, with the likes of Pastor Palmer who returned to our sanctuary seeing a floor covered in the blood of wounded confederates and union soldiers alike, the pews burned to fuel fires, and the congregation terrified, isolated, and not knowing where to go next. To whom did he testify? To whom did he ask for directions? Our church came back from that and we will make it through this too. Step by step we will do it, following Christ who leads from where we are now to where we will be, the Father’s House with a place for you, a place for me. Alleluia. Amen.

The Lord is my Shepherd

Scripture Lessons: 1 Peter 2: 19-25 and John 10: 1-10 Sermon Title: The Lord is My Shepherd Preached on May 3, 2020 Hearing Jesus talk about sheepfolds, gates, gatekeepers, and sheep stuck behind a wall hits a little close to home this morning. I wonder, have the walls of your house started to feel like the walls of a prison? Have the locks that were installed to keep you safe started to feel like locks that keep you trapped inside? Have you been dying to get out despite the dangers which lurk beyond the walls? I’ve never thought much about getting a tattoo before, nor have I been much of a bowling enthusiast, but knowing that the Governor has opened these places of business as well as nail salons and barber shops has made me excited about getting outside to do anything. Our kids on the other hand. I don’t know about yours, but our kids are happy just staying at home. Of course, our kids are also perfect. Maybe that’s what’s different about them. No, they’re not. Not hardly, or they’re not any more or less perfect than your kids are, though maybe your kids are happy too. I’ve been hearing stories from parents of kids who act like they’re living their best life, which has made me wonder about all kinds of things. Ours have been playing outside in this dinkey tree house I made them. Eating lunch up there. Acting like it’s the coolest thing ever. They’ve also been going on walks with us and asking us to go with them when they ride their bikes. They’ve even been getting along with each other. All of this has made me wonder about the importance of all the junk which we’ve been filling their lives with. In an effort to get the results that we’re getting now, we signed them up for Cub Scouts, basketball, and softball. We sent them to camps and we drove them to lessons. We took them to movies, and we bought them expensive toys. So, why is it that they’re so happy with a platform made from scrap lumber, no more than two feet wide and four feet long which I nailed up into a tree? Why is it that they’re so happy making brownies with their mom in the kitchen? Why is it that they look forward to Friday nights when all we do is eat dinner while watching two episodes of the Gilmore Girls together? Could it be that what matters most to them is not what they get to do, but who they are doing these things with? Could it be that more important than being entertained is feeling safe and heard and loved? I’m coming to a realization in these days of quarantine. Who is with us matters far more than what we’re doing, even more than where we are. The Proverbs speak to this truth. Proverbs 21: 9: It is better to live on the roof than in the house shared by a contentious wife. Do you know that one? I hope you’re not living it. I pray that your homelife is safe and happy. If it’s not than truly you are trapped, and many are. But if your kids are happy now then take a lesson from them. I’m trying to. I’m trying to learn that what’s beyond the gate is not as important as the one who stands guard over it. I’m trying to learn that there’s a good reason to be wary of opening the gate too quickly, and we don’t need to rush if we’re rushing just to get out there, for now is the time to notice who is here. There is one who watches over me and every member of this flock. There is comfort which he brings in walking beside us all that must not be taken for granted, though that’s what I too often do. Our Second Scripture Lesson from the Gospel of John speaks of one who is at the gate and who himself is the gate. It is Jesus Christ, the Good Shepherd, who promises to supply our every need. If you haven’t missed a paycheck, then he’s done it, and if you haven’t given him thanks for such a miracle, then what have you been busy paying attention to? That’s what I want to preach about this morning. The fact that I’ve been looking over the gate, longing to be some place other than where I am, longing to do some things that I’m not yet allowed to do to such a degree that I’ve been failing to notice the miracle of right here and right now. Do you know what I’m talking about? I’ll give you an example: Last Tuesday was our Lily’s 11th birthday. That seems kind of sad, or it did seem sad to me. What does it mean to turn 11 if you can’t have a party with your friends or even go out to your favorite restaurant? Knowing it would be different, my wife Sara their mother worked hard to make the day special. She knew Lily wanted her bedroom redone. So, Sara bought cute things to hang on the wall, a new bedspread and posters. Lily wanted all that to be a surprise. Subsequently she volunteered to sleep in the guest room while we worked on it. She asked us how long it would take to get her new room ready. We told her, “not too long.” “But aren’t you taking down any walls?” she asked. She’s been watching a lot of Fixer-upper. Because of that, we worried her expectations might be a little too high, only when she saw her room, she acted like we’d added her a swimming pool or something. She smiled ear to ear as though her bedroom had been completely renovated. Then a neighbor brought by coffee cake for her breakfast. Another brought by cupcakes. She opened birthday cards and received phone calls. With chalk, the kids across the street wrote, “Happy Birthday Lily” in the middle of the road. Friends from school drove by in a birthday parade. Then, right around lunch a man walked by, noticed the chalk writing in the road, and asked Lily if she would like for him to come by later and play “happy birthday” on his trombone. That was funny, when she walked inside and said, “Mama, some man just offered to come by later and play happy birthday on the trombone.” We didn’t know whether to be excited or suspicious, only then it turned out to be Bob Scarr, who many of you know. Right at 5:30, after she had talked with all her grandparents, Bob Scarr drove over with his wife and played our Lily happy birthday in the middle of the road. After that, some cake, and a small-scale fireworks display, Lily told us it was the best birthday she’d ever had. Why? Because within these gates she’s loved, and she knows it. Within these gates, she’s cared for. Within these gates she knows she’s precious, and the difference between children like her and too many of their parents is that they still know that’s all anyone needs. The rest of us are thinking: But, there’s bigger and better! For your birthday we can take you to White Water or Six Flags. What’s so funny is that I’ve seen kids have more fun in puddles lately than they ever would have at White Water, so the question becomes, who have we been taking them there for? Who convinced us that we need so much more than what we have already? There is only one Good Shepherd, but so many try to lead us, don’t they? Yet, we don’t have to work as hard as they say we do to find joy, do we? For when the dust settles from our busy lives, are there not blue skies to be seen overhead? When we can’t go anywhere, don’t we realize that we have so much of what we’ve been looking for? Sometimes it’s only after I’ve grown exhausted looking for answers and fulfilment that I look up to see that he’s always been right there. I just keep looking past him. While I’ve been searching him out, he’s been waiting for me to notice that he’s always been there, right by my side. The Lord is my shepherd, and even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil. Why? For He is with me. We have to get better at noticing that. We must all get better at seeing him as he stands at the gate, as he watches over his sheep, and as he leads the flock. And to do that I must stop looking over the hills into tomorrow, because God is present to us here today. It’s like we’re waiting for something to happen, without realizing what’s actually happening. We must stop waiting for things to change back to normal, to notice that even if normal never comes, the Lord has not abandoned us. It’s in a moment such as this one when we can open our eyes to see that still, mercy follows me. Still, he anoints my head with oil. Still, my cup overflows. Our own Chick Freud sent us pastors a TED talk, a speech, given by a National Geographic photographer and he described his job like this: I always knew that just beyond the rat race was incredible beauty. My job was to see that, to take a picture of that. To not fail to see the beauty that is always there. What I want you to hear today are the words of the Apostle Paul: that with our current suffering is glory being revealed to us. That in the midst of all this loss are gifts we are fools to take for granted. That even in the presence of death and trauma are moments of undeniable beauty. Something that has brought tears to my eyes every time I’ve thought about it, is how many are having to say goodbye to their grandmothers, fathers, or mothers through a mask in the best circumstances and over the phone in the worst. Death still comes in many forms while all our attention is on one particular virus. Matt Burnham’s father was rushed to Emory hospital after a major stroke. He was then transferred to hospice. While the family waited, they played his favorite hymn, “It is well with my soul.” I won’t sing it for you, but I want to just read you the second verse: Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blest assurance control, That Christ has regarded my helpless estate, and hath shed his own blood for my soul. My friends, there have been many tribulations and trials though the eras of human history, and faith will sustain us through this one. Remember that there are many highs and lows in this life, and through all the lows He’s walked beside us. Know it now as it’s always been. In this moment, in this time, it is well, because He is with us, just as he promised he would be. Amen.