New Mercies In The Morning
Sharon At Canlis
Allow me a little personal note to explain why I am so filled with joy this morning. Wait a minute, filled with joy? Isn’t this the season of Lent, a time to ponder the death of our Lord, a time to recognize sorrow and suffering and sadness that courses through our lives and our world? We’ve got a valley of darkness to wade through before we can once again see sunrise on Easter morning. Resurrection can seem so far away at times.
Well, just look at Sharon’s face in this picture. That’s what got me riding such waves of joy this morning. She’s so radiant, don’t you think? She’s back. She’s alive. In this picture we’re celebrating the chance we’ve been given for new chapter. It’s like coming back to life. It’s like coming home again.
Here we are in this picture, in Seattle, our home for some twenty-five years, at one of our favorite restaurants, Canlis, where we have celebrated so many things over the years. I confess, we sort of snuck away, a bit guiltily, from all the activities and dinners and lunches we had been enjoying at the marvelous inauguration events for Dr. Deana Porterfield, the new President at Seattle Pacific University.
Through the weekend a palpable sense of new beginnings filled the air. Dr. Porterfield’s strong message of grace-filled community and winsome engagement for Seattle and beyond, all carried by a vibrant, unapologetic Christian identity—well, we were riding that joy at Canlis too. I was practically in tears through this weekend. And then, just imagine, our dear granddaughter Esmée told us she’s going to SPU next year.
I sat on that stage for the main installation beaming with new hope and renewed energy for our beloved university. It was as if we were witnessing a community coming back to life. I sort of lost it as we sang “morning by morning new mercies I see.” I had sung these words maybe a thousand times, in this very room, with these dear people. Yes, yes, “great is thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!” There we were in our community, singing together, “all I have needed, Thy hand hath provided.” I felt aligned once more. Here we were, coming home, coming back to life.
This morning I read another of those passages we read as Christians preparing for the dark Friday that clouds the way toward sunrise. We all know those dark valleys. We focus these weeks on Jesus who knows in spades what it means to anticipate suffering. Seems sometimes like darkness and death rule the day.
1 SIX days before the Passover festival Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus whom he had raised from the dead. 2 They gave a supper in his honour, at which Martha served, and Lazarus was among the guests with Jesus. 3 Then Mary brought a pound of very costly perfume, pure oil of nard, and anointed Jesus’s feet and wiped them with her hair, till the house was filled with the fragrance. John 12:1-3
There is plenty of darkness in this passage. Lazarus makes an appearance. Isn’t he supposed to be dead? Then there are those old tensions as Mary of Magdelene receives all the paise from Jesus while Martha labors over setting the supper and doing the dishes. Of course, there is the betraying Judas, soon to make his appearance, casting a foreboding presence. Is death so prominent we have a hard time claiming the joy of coming to life?
But read it again. This passage is also filled with the fragrance of new life. There is Mary’s tender anointing, her costly gift, her willingness to kneel before her Lord. There is also Lasarus joining the party, once dead, now vibrant and alive.
And then there is Jesus at the center, offering his presence, allowing himself to be loved as he readies for the dark hours ahead. When the darkness looms heavy, that’s when love comes to conquer. Even in the thick of fear and sorrow, that’s when we can know joy once again.
Am I making too much of Sharon’s radiant face? Or perhaps I’m overconfident that SPU can see God about to do something new? In both cases, and in this Lenten moment of darkness, we hear Isaiah calling us to keep watching, new life is on it’s way, don’t you see it? I think I’ve caught a glimpse of it. I find myself this morning counting new mercies.