Grace in the Depths

Me (Orientation)

Over the past nine months, I have stood with many of you in places of grief.

...at hospital bedsides...

...at homes...

...in my office...

I have listened to stories...

...of lives well lived...

...of laughter remembered...

...of faith carried quietly through many years...

...and again and again...

We have gathered to light candles, to speak names, to commend beloved ones into the hands of God.

...and I will admit to you…

There have been moments when I have wondered...

How does a community keep going when grief keeps coming?

How do we pray when loss feels heavy?

How do we keep showing up when sorrow lingers longer than expected?

Because grief has a way of settling into the corners of life...

...quietly...

...persistently...

...like shadows at dusk.

...and I suspect I am not alone in asking those questions.

We (Identification)

Because this past year has held many kinds of grief for our community.

Some of it we have spoken aloud.

We stood together at gravesides.

We gathered in the sanctuary.

We gathered in the gathering room. 

We lit candles and sang hymns through tears.

We have said goodbye to beloved members whose absence we still feel.

But grief does not only come with death...

...some grief comes with change.

...some grief comes with transition.

We have also walked through pastoral transition...

...saying goodbye to one chapter of leadership...

...and learning how to begin another.

We have watched our outreach ministries shift....

We have seen a change in our shared connections with other Methodist churches in the city...

We have witnessed parts of our shared life take new shape.

Some of these changes are good.

Some are hopeful.

Some are signs of new life.

...and still...

...even good changes carry grief.

...and now, we enter the fifth week of Lent…

...we find ourselves on a long road together.

For weeks now, we have been walking through this season of waiting.

Prayer by prayer.

Sunday by Sunday.

Candle by candle.

Easter is coming…

We can almost see it on the horizon.

But we are not there yet.

We are still walking in the dim light before dawn.

...and that is exactly where the psalmist meets us.

God (Illumination)

Psalm 130begins with words that feel honest enough to carry our prayers...

“Out of the depths

I cry to you, O Lord.”

Not from comfort...

Not from clarity...

From the depths.

From sorrow.

From waiting.

From uncertainty.

The psalmist does not pretend everything is fine.

The psalmist cries out.

...and then comes one of the most beautiful images in all Scripture...

“My soul waits for the Lord

more than those

who watch for the morning...

more than those

who watch for the morning.”

Not rushing.… but...

Watching...

...and waiting...

Trusting that morning will come.

Those who watch for the morning do not know exactly when light will come.

They simply keep watch.

Eyes fixed on the horizon....

Trusting that darkness does not last forever.

Then we turn to our gospel reading in John, where we find another community standing in grief.

Martha, Mary, and friends gathered around a tomb.

Tears are in the air....

Questions hanging like fog...

Before Jesus wept, Martha spoke words that many grieving people have spoken before...

“Lord, if you had been here...

my brother would not have died.”

It is a sentence filled with faith...

...and sorrow...

...and questions...

Not disbelief or rejection but longing....

The kind of longing that asks… Why?

Why now?

Why this?

Why not sooner?

Mary says the very same words… “Lord, if you had been here...”

Two sisters… Two voices… One grief.

...and perhaps we know that feeling.

The feeling that something should have been different.

That loss came too soon....

That change came too suddenly...

That grief arrived before we were ready.

...and into that moment...

...not with explanation...

...not with correction...

“Jesus wept.”

Jesus didn’t lecture, Jesus didn’t correct, Jesus didn’t rush past grief...

Jesus wept...

Before resurrection, there were tears.

Before Lazarus walked…

...Jesus stood at the tomb and shared the sorrow of those who mourned.

...and this is where our Wesleyan tradition gives us language for what we see unfolding here.

Not abstract theology… but lived faith.

In our tradition, we speak of something we rarely name…

...but we are going to name it today...

Glorifying grace.

In the Wesleyan tradition, we speak of many kinds of grace...

Prevenient grace… that grace that comes before us.

Justifying grace… that grace that forgives us.

Sanctifying grace… that grace that shapes our lives.

...and then there is glorifying grace...

Wesleyan theologian Kenneth Collins describes glorifying grace as...

“the final work of grace in which God completes what was begun in us…

...bringing believers into the fullness of life with God.”

When we listen to Psalm 130and when we watch Jesus standing at the tomb...

...we begin to see what glorifying grace looks like.

It looks like waiting when the night feels long.

It looks like trusting when answers do not come quickly.

It looks like Jesus standing at a grave...

...not avoiding sorrow...

...not rushing past tears...

...but entering fully into grief.

John Wesley once wrote...

“God gives to his servants grace to glorify him in life and in death.”

...in life...

...and in death...

Not only at the moment of resurrection...

...but in the waiting that comes before it.

That is glorifying grace.

Not grace that removes sorrow.

But grace that meets us in the depths.

Grace that stays with us in the darkness...

...until morning comes.

There was a phrase that early Methodists often used...

They would say… “Our people die well.”

Not because they were fearless...

Not because they were perfect...

But because they trusted that death did not have the final word.

Because they believed that even in grief...

God’s grace was still at work.

That is glorifying grace.

Grace...

...in the depths...

You (Application)

So what does glorifying grace mean for you and me?

Not in theory or someday, but this very week...

...as we march through this last week of Lent and into Holy Week…

If glorifying grace is the grace that holds us through grief...

...then perhaps our calling is not to rush past sorrow.

But to wait faithfully...

This week, when grief rises...

...name it to God in prayer.

Not polished words or perfect prayers...

...just honest ones.

Because the psalmist did not pray perfectly...

...the psalmist cried out from the depths.

When sorrow lingers...

Don’t hide it...

...bring it into the light of God’s presence.

You might light a candle at your kitchen table...

...or sit quietly for a moment...

...and speak the name of someone you miss.

Not because it fixes the grief...

...but because God meets us in the naming.

This past week, in one of our groups, we talked about the cross.

Why we wear it, why we carry it, and why Christians place it in their homes or wear it around their necks.

Not as decoration.

But as a reminder.

A reminder that God does not stand far away from suffering...

But… God enters into it.

So this week, you might take hold of a cross.

Maybe the one you wear around your neck.

Maybe one in your home.

...and as we move towards Holy Week...

...as we prepare to stand before the cross next Passion Sunday....

...hold that cross for a moment.

Not as magic or superstition...

But as prayer.

A silent prayer that says:

God, stay with me in this sorrow.

God, meet me in these depths.

God, walk with me until morning comes.

...and when someone near you is grieving...

Sit beside them…

...not with answers or solutions...

...but with presence.

...because sometimes… sometimes...

...the most faithful thing we can do is wait together for the morning.

We (Inspiration)

Imagine what kind of community we could become...

...if we trusted glorifying grace.

Imagine a church where grief is not hidden... but shared.

...where sorrow is not rushed… but honored.

...where waiting is not weakness… but faith.

Imagine a people who know how to stand in the depths...

...not alone… but together.

A people who trust that even in seasons of loss...

God is still at work.

...and as we march together....

Through this final stretch of Lent...

...as we walk toward the table...

...toward the garden...

...toward the cross...

...may we remember....

We are not alone in the depths.

We are held by grace.

Glorifying grace.

Grace that meets us in sorrow.

Grace that walks with us through change.

Grace that carries us through death.

Grace that leads us toward morning.

...and morning will come.

Not because we force it...

Not because we deserve it...

But because God is faithful.

Out of the depths we cry...

...and in God’s time...

Morning comes.

In the name of our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. Amen.