Standing Vigil

For the Lord, that was a night of intent watching, to bring them out of the land of Egypt. For all Israelites in every generation, this same night is a time of intent watching to honor the Lord. (Exodus 12:42) 

A friend of mine who was also moved to a new appointment this year, one where he is not the only pastor on staff and the other pastor has been there much longer just as in my case, was excited to share that he had finally been invited to be part of one of the graveside services we hold in lieu of funerals in this moment. Excited for him, I asked what his part was. “I am overseeing the livestream.”

He, like the role I play in these moments right now, is tech support.

I have been in that exact same posture more than once since starting my new role. Standing as a tripod, carefully holding a phone, making sure the signal holds, and aiming the camera so the moment that this family needs reaches out to the ones that cannot be there. I have never felt as though it was a lesser role. It is holy ground to stand with a family in that moment, to be present at that point of transition, to offer them whatever love and care they need. It does not matter that, when I was in seminary, I never envisioned this would be the ministry of presence I would one day be called to. But that does not make it any less important.

And then I thought about the posture itself.

That moment of loss is often described by those of us in this work as one of those moments where the thin space gets especially thin. Where the life of now and life to come touch, and while it is a moment of deep grief, it is also a moment of great hope.

That is where your pastors stand. Now more than ever.

The church is in that thin space right now. If you go out there and read the predictions, we are in a moment of great loss. It is loss we will be reckoning with for years to come. The tsunami of death was hastened along by the arrival of a pandemic. Not just literal death, which has certainly been overwhelming as we have lost one congregant after another after another, but also the loss of people who have now removed church from the habit of their lives.

But also there is tremendous new life ahead. I have remarked often in these days that I have seen the biggest miracle I will ever see in my lifetime in these months. Overnight, the church moved from the 20th to the 21st century.  Honestly, I had resigned myself, a pastor who has at least 20 years of service left in her, to the fact that I would probably spend the entirety of my ministry serving a church of the past 100 years. And then, all of a sudden, that is not what it is. I do not belittle the loss that people are experiencing, but I also cannot ignore the hope for what is yet to come, for what is unfolding. We are finally cultivating the language of generations we had no hope of engaging because we didn’t even exist on the same planet. We may think we missed Pentecost last year because we weren’t in the church buildings when it happened, but Pentecost was never about staying huddled in the Upper Room. It was always about equipping disciples with the language to reach the world. And we are in the middle of the biggest language lesson we have ever had. 

And right now, every pastor who is currently serving and who plans to continue to serve, is standing in the thin space in between. Fully present with those in mourning. But also casting hope for the life that is yet to come. And I cannot think of a more appropriate posture than standing, holding an iPhone, livestreaming a graveside service, a steady posture with one foot in the now, and one foot in the yet-to-come.

And no matter how different our ministries look in logistics of practice, that posture of presence, in the now and the yet, is what we have always been called to. Our call has not changed. How we live it out has shifted dramatically. The transcendent reality of what it is, though, that has never, and will never, change. We are always the people of death and new birth.

The passage opening this blog today is that moment when the Israelites are getting ready to leave Egypt.  They are on the precipice of the Exodus.  They have faced down Pharaoh, but there has been loss. There has been death and destruction. And they will leave a way of life that they have known for hundreds of years. That will be tremendously hard. But Sabbath is coming. And manna from heaven. And freedom. And a continuation of their faith. And an identity as the family of God. All of that is coming.

But they aren’t there yet. They are in the night of intent watching. They are holding vigil. They are standing in that in between space. To mourn, but also to marvel. And to see God in all of it.

So, stand vigil in this moment, my friends. Stand in the loss and the hope. It is what we are called to do as the people of the cross and the resurrection. Stand vigil. The yet to come is coming.  And what life it will be!

Photo by Roman Skrypnyk on Unsplash