This blog is the second in a series titled: “It’s Time to Tell Our Story”
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When we say, “God is faithful,” it doesn’t mean that we get what we want. I used to think faithfulness meant things would work out “right.” But, what God has taught me during this season of my life is that faithfulness means He is constant; He is here with me…no matter the chaos.
A little over two months after Ron lost his job, in early October, he and I had a pretty serious discussion. I was feeling lost and overwhelmed, so I went up to my room to sit on a cedar chest at the end of our bed. From there I could see the beautiful landscape Vermont has to offer, and I would sit there to pray. I remember that day, just putting my hands out, face up, and saying, “I don’t have anything, God. I don’t even know what to say. Please help me.”
I looked up, over the tree, in red foliage, and saw a full moon. I was a little surprised because it was about 11:30 in the morning, but there it was. God often uses nature to communicate with me, and I knew what the message was, “I am constant. I am here.” Just like the constancy of the moon through the ages of all kinds of human struggle, God was with me in mine. The moon wanes and waxes, but I saw it that day in its fullness. I understood. God wasn’t giving me answers; He was giving me a symbol of His presence.
The day before Thanksgiving was a pretty terrible one, and I found myself dealing with a circumstance I never would’ve imagined could happen to my family, to me. I cannot share the details, but, it threw me for a loop. I felt like any shred of dignity I had left was gone. That same day, I needed to take my son to meet his cousin, and I ended up watching a movie with them because I just needed to do something “normal.” When I got in the van, alone, to drive home at 5:30 p.m., I remember feeling lost again. Bereft. As I began to pray, I looked up into the sky and saw a full moon. There it was again. God’s presence. I knew it would get me through even though life, at that moment, was hard.
Life is difficult at times. Have you ever imagined how Joseph must have felt when he was stripped of his clothing, thrown into the darkness of a pit and then hauled out, to his horror, to be sold as a slave? His brothers stood by and did nothing. His screams couldn’t reach his father. And God, too, was silent. I imagine he felt alone, afraid, almost as if what was happening just couldn’t be real. Where was God? Why wasn’t He answering, intervening?
The Scriptures give us a hint that Joseph too had a personal sign of God’s presence with him, even in his deepest, darkest time. Genesis 37:26 tells us the slave traders that bought Joseph were carrying fragrant spices. Why do the Scriptures bother to tell us this. I mean, who really cares what they were carrying? Yet, the Bible never gives us information without a purpose. We are meant to dig and figure out why it mattered then, why it matters now.
The writers of a midrash (a creative story, like a parable, a fanciful account with a moral lesson that is connected to a Biblical passage) created a story about why the Bible includes this information. Slave traders usually carried stinky stuff with them, but not this time. The spices were meant to accompany Joseph down to Egypt. It wasn’t much consolation, considering what was happening to him, but a symbol of God’s presence none the less. Perhaps the spices carried with them a message like this, “I’m right here with you, in the darkest of times. I cannot answer your prayers the way you want them to be answered right now. But, here’s what I can give you. A little incense. A fragrant smell. You aren’t alone. If I can’t offer you what you want, at least I can offer you my presence.” (1)
God offered us a constant symbol of His presence in the Tabernacle / Temple: the menorah. The windows of the Temple were built not to let light in, as in our houses; they were built to let the light of God out to a world that so desperately needs His presence. The menorah was to be lit continuously because light draws us in. It is warm, comforting, constant, beautiful.
In the days of the Maccabees, about 140 years before Messiah was born, the light of the Temple had been silenced by the Greeks who sought to take away not human life, but the life of God in His people. The Maccabees fought an un-winable war, but God allowed them to succeed. Immediately they went to the Temple to clean it up and restore it. Only one day’s supply of oil for the menorah could be found, and it would take eight days to make more. But, they decided to light it anyway.
God kept those lights burning for eight days. It was their moon, their spice, their tap on the shoulder that God was right there with them. It happened during the darkest time of year, the cold, winter season. It was one of the darkest times in Jewish history. And, it was a small miracle, not a big one.
We like the big miracles. We like big numbers to fight wars. We like God’s intervention. But, often God chooses the small, inconsequential things. He chooses the few, not the many. He chooses the spices. The moon. The oil. The feeble things. Will we stop and look?
If the moon and the spices and the lights of the menorah all mean, “I’m not alone,” it is enough. I confess, I wanted a big miracle. I even prayed for one. But, God chose the normal, the mundane during this season of my life. Seeing a full moon, smelling spices, seeing a light burn, all of these things seem kind of ridiculous in the face of human distress, and yet, they aren’t. One of my current teachers, Rabbi Foreman, said it best: “There is a kind of miracle whose main purpose is simply to drive away the dark, even for an instant, to give you the comfort of accompaniment in your darkest hour. A comfort that means hope for a better future is not absurd, but is to be firmly grasped because your God has not, has never, abandoned you.” (2)
These are the things I’ve learned in this part of our story. They are precious to me. The God, Who was with me then, will be with me in the future. I didn’t get everything I wanted. (3) I still don’t understand everything, but God is faithful to me. Like the moon, He is here. He is constant. His presence means everything.
• When you feel like you are alone and the doors are all closed, do you see any incense, any moon, any light, any symbol of His presence?
• If God were to give you a “small” miracle, would you be too busy, too distressed or too distracted to see it?
• What are some other examples of God choosing the few, the small, the inconsequential?
2. Ibid.
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