Where Have You Gone, God? | A Virtual Pilgrimage of Incarnation Reflections for Advent - Week 3

Paula reflects on the Longest Night of the year, offering hope to those carrying grief and loss by reminding us that even in our darkest seasons, God has not forgotten us and holds us tenderly in love.

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Transcript

Advent blessings to you as we come close to December 21st — the longest night of the year. In many faith traditions — a Blue Christmas service, or Longest Night service, is held for those of us who have experienced grief, loss, suffering, and sadness during the year. These services can be especially poignant and meaningful. At this time of year, all around us we hear “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Holidays,” “Season’s Greetings” and “Glad Tidings.”

And often, when facing times of sorrow and sadness, these sayings really mean little to us, for our worlds are dark and bleak and cold — like a Chicago winter. There are so many losses in life we face: deaths of loved ones, persons who taught us things, with whom we made memories and shared traditions, persons who cried with us and made us laugh.

And when they die, a piece of our hearts dies too.

Broken relationships can bring sadness and anger and bitterness — whether with a family member or a friend. When a relationship ends, our hearts are ripped in two.

Facing an illness, or being a caregiver for someone who is ill, carries sadness and grief and even anger about what the future might have looked like, if only. The headlines are filled with stories — from within our own homes to the far corners of the world — stories of hunger and violence, and more heart-wrenching tales of darkness and tragedy.

And in our own country, we are the divided States of America — in our families, friendships, workplaces, and even our Church. The polarization we are facing is daunting and wide, like a great chasm.

Remembering those first days after my husband passed away, I wrote in my journal what so many through the ages have cried out, written about, and felt:

Why? Why him? Why me? Why my family?

In times of duress and stress, loss and grief, the cry — the scream — of why is common and deeply human, for we can’t make sense of what has happened. And unfortunately, there are often no real answers — none that satisfy in any way. Sometimes during these times, God seems absent, and we may feel abandoned.

Where have you gone, God?I’ve prayed to you.I’ve pleaded with you.I’ve called for you and looked for you, and you’re nowhere to be found.

And even Jesus, in his darkest hour, cried out, “My God, why have you forsaken and abandoned me?”

Our cries may become silence, like our voices have been taken from us. Our tears may seem like an endless fountain. Our grief may feel heavy — like a weight we carry on our backs. And the very ground beneath our feet may feel unsteady, as though there is no foundation upon which to stand. Everything is different. Everything feels unsafe and unsure.

There are many readings from the book of Isaiah during this time of year, and one of them says:

“But Zion said, ‘The Lord has forsaken me; the Lord has forgotten me.’ Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will never forget you. See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands, and your walls are ever before me.”

So in this dark time of the year, let us look to our merciful and loving God and pray.

In this season of rejoicing, we come to you weary and grieving. In this season of feasting, we hunger for healing and release. In the season of light, our hearts are veiled in sorrow and shadow.

Will this season of our lives ever end?

And we can hear from this loving God, who will never forget us and who has engraved us on the palms of God’s hands:

Yes — this season of our lives will end. Yes — there will be hope.

God bless you.