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This year’s Winter Olympic Games had their share of exciting moments, but the story of a Canadian figure skater is nothing short of amazing. Her name is Joannie Rochette, the world’s amazement was not because she’s a discipline and accomplished skater on the world stage. And, yes, she skated well, possibly her best, at these Olympic games, but you might expect that – the Olympics bring out the best, of course, so that, in itself, was not the amazing part of the story. As a Canadian, she was the darling daughter of the host country, but that has happened before. Her performance was called “amazing” because of the tragic circumstance that preceded it: her 55-year-old mother died just two days before she took the ice for her first program. Rochett’es performance was electric, if not perfect, and while she received a high score, many of us watching gave her a medal for competing at all. As she went onto the ice, she gave her coach a hand slap and a smile; when she finished, her tears fell in earnest. And at the end of competition, she had earned both a bronze Olympic medal and the admiration of a sympathetic public.

Her story strikes a chord because it is our story, too. Soon or late, life deals everyone difficult blows; none is spared challenging circumstances. Your child is born with a life-changing illness; someone you love faces and addiction; your job ends abruptly after five years or after two decades; your biopsy results are not good; your partner decides its time to move on; your friend moves across the country; your dad can’t remember your name; the person you count on to be there all the time suddenly dies. And the challenges can be less personal: the economy sours; a storm cancels travel plans; the politician you trusted publicly self-destructs; a war takes your friend’s daughter, or your own son; your daughter leaves her husband; your adolescent child is diagnosed with bipolar disorder. And that litany of living pain could go on, of course. As Job famously noted, “[People are] born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.” (Job 5:7, New Revised Standard Version) And that verse has a parallel modern mantra that I misquote for obvious reasons: “Things happen.” Such “things” we sometimes refer to as our crosses and every life is marked by their pain. Yes, every life faces difficult days.

So it’s fortunate when our faith reminds us that following Christ means carrying on. We carry our crosses, our injuries, our losses, our shattered dreams and lost hopes, just as He carries his. Every Lent we’re invited to make a symbolic journey with Christ Jesus through everyday life toward its inevitable end. Beginning with Ash Wednesday, Lent reminds us that there’s death at the end of this journey for us, even as it was for Jesus. Remember Ash Wednesday’s hard injunction: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Face life’s difficulties, Christ reminds the faithful through this Lenten cross-carrying. Remember that life ends; and remember, also, this abiding grace: “in life, in death, in life beyond death, God is with us. We are not alone.” (From the statement of Faith of the United Church of Canada.) In the gloom of these lingering winter day, and nights that still seem too long, God’s light peeks through. Though life’s crosses are real, we follow a Christ who embodies an eternal love of God that supports us all. As Joannie Rochette showed us last week, if skating is our calling, there come times when we must skate with a broken heart.

If you’re skating with a broken heart today, you’re not alone. And whether the pain is new or dull, it’s real, but so is the affirmation that you might have caught a moment ago as we read the Psalm together:
“The Lord is my light and my salvation;
whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the strength of my life;
of whom shall I be afraid?” (Psalm 27:1, New Revised Standard Version)
Those words remind us that our trust in God isn’t born in our heads – with what we think or even in concepts of divine dogma. Rather, trust in God – the essence of what we call “faith” – is a product of our shaping life with this fundamental understanding: God walks with us every step of the journey. Another preacher says it this way: “faith is not about doctrine at all. It is about the truth of what we have known. … it is about the real mystery, awe, pain, and grace that we know.” (“Pastoral Perspective” for Lent 2 in Feasting on the Word, Year C, Volume 2, ed. Taylor and Bartlett.) And Princeton Bible scholar James May notes the same core faith: “Psalm 27 is a favorite of many because it expresses the central impulse of biblical religion, trust in the Lord….” (May, Psalms, page 130.) The psalm reminds us that God is with us, no matter what life’s challenges may be for us, or when.

The reminder of God’s presence, God’s power, and God’s grace is a helpful antidote to our own culture’s gospel of independence, self-sufficiency, and self help. In the darkness of illness, the health care system may help or it may not, but “The Lord is my light….” When I face the limits of my own capacity for control or for change, self-help books offer some solace, perhaps, but when they also fall short, I may lose my way, but “The Lord is my light…” When the job ends, or the marriage fails, or someone I love dies, “The Lord is my light.…” And remember that the psalmist’s bold affirmation in even the worst distress: “When evildoers assail me … though war arise against me … The Lord will hide me in his shelter … and I will sing … to the Lord.”

The Psalmist sings of God’s steadfast love, reminding all God’s people of light in the darkest of days. Though life has its challenges, it has a champion as well: Christ our Lord. This is such a core principle of our faith that it’s no surprise that Paul the apostle picks it up to encourage the fledgling Philippian church. Their struggles are real, but so is their hope: “For many live as enemies of the cross of Christ,” he tells them, “But our citizenship is in heaven….” (Philippians 3:18 and 20)

So, you citizens of heaven, come to the table of our Lord this day, a table set as refreshment in the journey of Lent and the journey of our lives. It’s a reminder that God has a place prepared for us in every gloom. And, as “citizens of heaven,” we live with hope. After all, the Psalmist sings of boldly and clearly about the bedrock of our faith, in every moment of our lives: “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom, then, shall I be afraid?”

Amen.

Mamaroneck United Methodist, February 28, 2010.
 

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