One way or another, we are always
remembering. There is no escaping it
even if we want to, or at least no escaping it for long. In one sense the past is dead and gone, never
to be repeated - over and done with, but in another sense, it is of course not
done with at all or at least not done with us.
Every person we have ever known, every place we have ever seen,
everything that has ever happened to us – it all lives and breathes deep in us
somewhere whether we like it or not, and sometimes it doesn't take much to
bring it back to the surface in bits and pieces. A scrap of some song, a book we read, a
stretch of road we used to travel, an old photo or letter… there’s no telling
what trivial thing may do it, and then suddenly, there it all is.
We are all such escape artists, you and I. We don’t like to get too serious about
things, especially about ourselves. When
we are with other people, we are apt to talk about almost anything under the sun
except what really matters to us, except our own lives, except what
is going on inside our own skins. We
pass the time of day. We chatter. We hold each other at bay, keep our distance
from each other even when God knows it is precisely each other that we
desperately need.
We cling to the surface out of fear of what lies
beneath it. And why not, after all? We get tired.
We get confused. We need such
escape as we can find. But there is a
deeper need I think, to enter that still room within us all where the past
lives on as a part of the present, where the dead are alive again, where we are
most alive to ourselves - to the long journeys of our lives with all their
twists and turns and to where our journeys have brought us. The name of the room is Remember – the room
where with patience, with charity, with quietness of heart, we consciously
remember the lives we have lived.
So much has happened to us, within us and through
us all over the years. We are to take
time to remember what we can about it and what we dare. That’s what entering the room means, I think. It means taking time to remember on
purpose. It means not picking up a book
for once or turning on the radio, but letting the mind journey gravely,
deliberately, back through the years that have gone by but are not gone. Nobody knows the trouble any of us have seen
– the hurt, the sadness, the bad mistakes, the crippling losses – but we know
it. We are to remember it.
We have survived, you and I. Maybe that is at the heart of our
remembering. We have made it to this
year, this day. We needn’t have made it. There were times we never thought we would
and nearly didn’t. There were times we
almost hoped we wouldn’t, were ready to give the whole thing up. I can say for myself that I have seen sorrow
and pain enough to turn the heart to stone.
Who hasn’t? Many times I have
chosen the wrong road, or the right road for the wrong reason. Many times I have loved the people I love too
much. I have followed too much the
devices and desires of my own heart, yet often when my heart called out to me
to be brave, kind, and honest; I have not followed at all.
To remember my life is to remember countless times
when I might have given up and gone under, when humanly speaking I might have
gotten lost beyond the power of any to find me.
But I didn’t. I have not given
up. And each of you, with all the
memories you have and the tales you could tell, you also have not given
up. You also are survivors and are
here. And what does that tell us, our
surviving? It tells us that weak as we
are, a Strength beyond our strength has pulled us through at least this far. Foolish as we are, a Wisdom beyond our wisdom
has flickered up just often enough to light us to the right path. Faint of heart as we are, a Love beyond our
power to love has kept our hearts alive.
So in the room called Remember, it is possible to
find peace that comes from looking back and remembering that though most of the
time we failed to see it, we were never really alone. We could never have made it this far if we
had had only each other to depend on, because nobody knows better than we do
ourselves the undependability and frailty of even the strongest of us.
King David cried out, “O give thanks to the Lord,
make known His deeds among the peoples!
Remember the wonderful works that he has done.” REMEMBER was the song David sang, and what a
life David had to remember! His failure
as a husband and a father, his lust for Bathsheba and the murder of her husband,
his crime against Naboth… all his failures, his betrayals, his hypocrisy. But “Tell of His salvation from day to day”,
his song continued nonetheless and continued all his life. I take him to mean not just that the telling
was to take place from day to day, but that salvation itself takes place from
day to day. Every day, as David
remembered, he had been somehow saved – saved enough to survive his own
darkness and lostness and folly, saved enough to go on through thick and thin
to the next day and the next day’s saving and the next.
It
is the Lord, it is God, who has been with us through all our days and years
whether we knew it or not, though more often than not we had forgotten his name.
To remember the past is to see that we are here
today by grace, that we have survived as a gift. “Remember the wonderful works that He has
done,” goes David’s song – remember what He has done in the lives of each of
us; and beyond that remember what he has done in the life of the world;
remember above all what he has done in Christ; remember those moments in our
own lives when with only the dullest understanding but with the sharpest
longing we have glimpsed that Christ’s kind of life is the only life that
matters and that all other kinds of life are riddled with death; remember those
moments in our lives when Christ came to us in countless disguises through
people who one way or another strengthened us, comforted, healed us by the
power of Christ alive within them. All
that is the past and what we remember.
And BECAUSE that is the past, BECAUSE we remember, we have this high and
holy hope: that what He has done, He will continue to do, that what He has
begun in us and our world, He will in unimaginable ways bring to fullness and
fruition.
“Let the sea roar, and all that fills it, let the
field exult, and everything in it! Then
shall the trees of the wood sing for joy,” says David. And SHALL is the verb of hope. Then death SHALL be no more, neither SHALL
there be mourning or crying. Then SHALL
my eyes behold him and not as a stranger.
Then His kingdom SHALL come at last and his will SHALL be done in us and
through us and for us.
Remember and hope.
Remember and wait. Wait for Him
whose face all of us know because somewhere in the past we have faintly seen
it, whose life all of us thirst for because somewhere in the past we have seen
it lived or have maybe even had moments of living it ourselves. Remember him who himself remembers us. To
have faith is to remember and wait, and to wait in hope is to have what we hope
for already begin to come true in us through our hoping. Praise Him.
- Frederick Buechner, Secrets in the Dark
Thanks Amy...I needed this reminder today!
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