I wasn't prepared for this.
To varying degrees, this has been my mantra as of late.
If I'm honest, this has been my mantra for the past six or more years. But even more so during the past 2-3 weeks.
We went from making Holy Week and Easter plans at the church I lead, to figuring out how to make my guitar sound decent over a microphone plugged into my iphone that I brought 10 days ago when the entire model of my job shifted.
Just a few days ago I used to meet up with people every day, and dream about crafting meaningful worship gatherings for people to connect with God and others while curating small groups and pastoral counseling environments to help people along the Journey.
I left much of this behind two weeks ago when I began working overtime trying to keep people connected to God and others during the first major pandemic in our lifetimes.
I wasn't prepared for this.
As I've been checking in with myself, and with other pastors over the past two weeks, the common theme I'm sensing in myself, and hearing from others, is that of exhaustion, overwhelm, helplessness, and a loss of control.
We are scared.
We don't know if our churches can survive financially.
We don't know how to care for people without being in a room together.
We're doing our absolute best, but it never feels like enough.
(this is the weight most pastors carry most of the time)
But as I've read and reflected on all of this in my own heart, I think the deeper stream that needs to be tended to is grief.
We have all lost something meaningful to us in a matter of days.
We all have the potential of losing people we love, people we worship alongside and create a community with, over the course of the coming days and weeks.
We are all hurting.
We all feel disoriented.
We are all grieving.
And this has only just begun.
I wasn't prepared for this.
We don't yet know what life will look like on the other side of this pandemic.
People we love may get very sick.
People will die.
Jobs will be lost.
Our economy may be in shambles.
Some churches may have to close.
Some businesses too.
Everything may go back to normal in a few months.
But it may not.
And it's the unknown that feels overwhelming right now.
As my professor, Kyle Small has said in recent days, "I've never had my trust in chariots and horses challenged as much as it has been over the past few weeks."
I wasn't prepared for this.
We're all feeling a sense that things are out of our control. And when we lose that sense of control, we all respond differently.
I'm feeling anxious, and sad. I'm feeling uncertain about the coming weeks and months.
I'm feeling like I don't know how to be a pastor at this moment when I'm alone in my office all day, creating content for others to (hopefully) be encouraged by. Making phone calls to people in my community, hoping to give a word of encouragement. Working to keep my staff and elder teams connect over the phone and via zoom.
I wasn't prepared for this.
I don't know how to do this.
The end of our illusion of control is the beginning of our ability to receive and experience the grace and goodness of God.
Even as I type these words, I'm not sure I believe them.
But this is where I am.
God's grace is a gift.
A gift cannot be taken.
A gift is something we receive.
It's the same with God's goodness.
It shows up in surprising places, often when we least expect it.
I wasn't prepared for this.
I don't know how to do this.
I feel alone in my disorientation.
But I *know* I'm not alone.
"And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age."
-Matthew 28:20
We are not alone.
I am not alone.
You are not alone.
The God of All Things knows my name.
My family loves me and is here with me.
I have my life and my health and I'm able to read and write and make videos where I lead people in prayer, in worship, and in my favorite Gospel soaked sentence over the past year - Remember Who You Are.
I wasn't prepared for this.
I didn't choose this.
I don't want this.
But I am not alone.
YOU are not alone.
YOU are not forgotten.
YOUR pain is real.
YOUR grief is real
You are invited to bring that pain and that grief to the God of All Things.
Because that same God who holds the seas and heavens together knows your name and calls you his adopted daughter or son.
You are hairs to a kingdom, and you have a King as your Father.
Did you know?
I wasn't prepared for this.
I don't feel ready for this.
I *still* don't want this.
But God is with us.
And there is nothing to fear.
So may you KNOW the grace and goodness of God today.
May you reach out to those that you love, and stay connected to them in any way that you can.
May you cling to the God of All Things.
And in doing so, may you remember you are not forgotten,
you are not forsaken, and you are not alone.
May you remember who you are today.