And We Will Rise Up

What a year it has been, right? 

Incalculable loss. Never ending uncertainty. Political turmoil. Economic collapse. Social isolation. And, a global pandemic. 

As January drags on, I find myself continuously dwelling on all of it. And I find myself falling further and further into the gravitational pull of this black hole of worry, hopelessness, and despair. (My Seasonal Affective Disorder definitely doesn't help either). 

Maybe you also find yourself struggling to break free of this chain of thought. Maybe you too are simply feeling weary and can't wait for it all to end. Maybe you feel like you just can't...period. 

But, friends, we will rise up. 

This is not the end. We are not out of gas. We are not on empty. Time and time again the human spirit has overcome the challenges the world has presented. Time and time again we've seen individuals overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Time and time again we have seen ourselves persevere through difficult times. And in it all we are not alone. 

The Lord draws close to those who suffer. He himself became man and suffered. He is a God who personally knows our pain, our tragedy, our challenges. He lived them. And He lives them again with you and with me. 

But He doesn't just draw near as the God man, but He draws near as the Resurrected Lord who took on all the darkness of the world, descended into the dead, and then rose. He draws near to us in all His power and glory; He draws near to us with the power of the Resurrection offering it to us, giving it to us, if only we would receive it. 

This morning on my run, I thought of Peter, sinking after stepping off the boat. I imagined his head going below the surface, the water caving in on him, him momentarily forgetting how to swim out of fear. He can't breath. Maybe this is the end. But then he sees, breaking through the surface, an outstretched hand. Taking it, he is lifted out of the water, gasping for air, recovering himself, seeing clearly once again. 

Peter couldn't rise up out of the water on his own. 

I can't rise up out of the water on my own. I need the Lord to pull me up, to pick me up, to offer His hand, to save me. Always. It's when I start thrashing my arms trying to desperately take control that I sink further and further. But all I really need to do is the simplest thing - trust Him. 

Like Jasmine took Aladdin's hand and so began their epic carpet ride, Jesus reaches down into our darkness and turmoil and asks, "Do you trust me?" He wants to raise me and you up, not simply so we can breathe again and return to "normal". Rather He wants to raise us up to higher heights, to a new life, to a new normal that surpasses our wildest dreams. He came that we might have life and have it abundantly. (Or in the words of MIT's Tech Catholic Community: "Life just got better.") 

But even in these moments of great encouragement, where I remember Jesus is the Resurrection. I am always reminded of Jesus weeping at the tomb of His dear friend Lazarus. The losses, the confusion, the struggle. That's all real. Resurrection is not a removal of it, but rather a redeeming of those experiences. The Lord doesn't discard the hardship. He weeps with us. But when the time for weeping is done, He speaks declaratively: "Lazarus, come out!" Come. Out. 

What a year it has been. 

But what a year it will be. When we let Jesus raise us to new heights, when we accept His outstretched hand, and when we extend that hand to others, we all will rise up. 

Take courage, friend, and rise.