Between the Cross and the Alleluia

O God of unchangeable power and eternal light: Look favorably on your whole Church, that wonderful and sacred mystery; by the effectual working of your providence, carry out in tranquility the plan of salvation; let the whole world see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

This prayer — one of the final prayers of the Good Friday liturgy and the very last prayer before the first Alleluia of Easter — was written to carry us from the silence and darkness of the cross into the light of resurrection.  From despair into hope.  From death into life.  It is meant to lift our eyes from the brokenness of this world to the redeeming work of Christ, reminding us that what is cast down is being raised up, what has grown old is being made new, and that all things are being perfected in God’s hands:

"Behold, I am making all things new" (Revelation 21:5).

If you feel like you cannot keep up with the tragedies, the chaos, the wars, the disasters, the failures of leadership, and the cruelty of human selfishness — let me say this with as much pastoral tenderness as I can: you were not designed for this.

We were never created to carry the whole weight of the world, every hour, every day, every breaking headline, every heartbreak, in real time.  We were not designed to absorb a constant barrage of violence, pain, betrayal, loss, and injustice without rest, without pause, without breathing space for grace.

Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber, a gifted Lutheran preacher and theologian from Denver, writes of her own sense of spiritual overload:

“I just do not think our psyches were developed to hold, feel and respond to everything coming at them right now; every tragedy, injustice, sorrow and natural disaster happening to every human across the entire planet, in real time every minute of every day.  The human heart and spirit were developed to be able to hold, feel and respond to any tragedy, injustice, sorrow or natural disaster that was happening IN OUR VILLAGE.”

She describes how her own emotional circuit breaker keeps tripping because, like an old building with outdated wiring, the system simply cannot handle the overload.

And yet, if you have a compassionate heart, if you love your neighbor, if you want to see the world healed, it can feel impossible to look away.  You might hear voices — both around you and inside you — insisting that unless you are actively doing something, talking about everything, taking a stand on everything, you are part of the problem.

But friends, that is not the voice of the Gospel.

As Christians, we are called to hope in a resurrected God.  A sovereign God.  A God who knows all things and who has promised that nothing — absolutely nothing — will escape his redeeming love:

"For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 8:38–39).

We cannot do it all.  We cannot fix it all.  That does not make us bad Christians, or bad citizens, or bad people.  It simply makes us human:

"For he knows how we were made; he remembers that we are dust" (Psalm 103:14).

So if you need to, turn it off.  Pause from the morning news.  Walk away from the conversations that incite panic or despair or a sense of helplessness.  It does not mean you do not care.  It means you are respecting the limits of what you can carry, and trusting the God who carries the world:

"Even to your old age I am he, and to gray hairs I will carry you.  I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save" (Isaiah 46:4).

It is enough to focus on your fire.  It is enough to do your part.  It is enough to say your word.

And for all that you cannot do, say, or care for — place it into the hands of the one who died and rose for the whole world.  Because the work of resurrection is God’s before it is ever ours.

On Sunday, you will find this prayer — this powerful prayer of lifting-up — printed on a card in your bulletin.  Take an extra for a friend or neighbor who needs this reminder: that God is already at work to bring all things to their perfection, even the things we cannot fix or even bear to name.

So pray this with me, whenever you feel overwhelmed.  Whenever the brokenness seems too great.  Whenever your circuits overload.  Pray it because it is the bridge between despair and Easter.  It is the last word of Good Friday before the Alleluia returns.  It is the prayer that dares to believe what the resurrection of Jesus proclaims:

O God of unchangeable power and eternal light: Look favorably on your whole Church, that wonderful and sacred mystery; by the effectual working of your providence, carry out in tranquility the plan of salvation; let the whole world see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Pax et Bonum!

Fr. Ben +