Where are you, God?

[00:00:00] Speaker A: Please pray with me, O Lord our God, your word is a lamp to our feet and a light to our path. Give us grace to receive your truth in faith and love, so that we may be obedient to your will and live forever for your glory through Jesus Christ our Savior. Amen. A reading From Matthew, chapter 1, verses 18 to 23. Now, the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way when his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph. But before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, who was a righteous man and, and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins. All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet. Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Immanuel, which means God is with us. This is the word of the Lord. Thanks be to God. [00:01:40] Speaker B: Morning, friends. So about four years ago, when I was pregnant with our son Levi, we were finally ready to start looking for a home. And with the help of everybody's favorite real estate agents, Jason and Laura Burns, we started looking at places and we found our home. And one of the major selling points to me was the view from our master bedroom was the 210 freeway. But also right behind it is the famous Lake Avenue white cross. And behind that, the beautiful San Gabriel foothills. One of my favorite times is a time like this where right after the winter rains you have that beautiful snow capped mountains to look out on. Or then during the summer is when you have those famous Southern California sunsets when the sky turns pink and orange. And then you have those purpl purple mountains majesties that we sing about. That view became a symbol of stability and reassurance for me. A daily reminder of God's presence and peace to see that cross in front of the beauty of God's creation. But all of that was shaken that Tuesday night. Like many of you, we were holed up at home waiting out the windstorm, praying for minimal damage. Our curtains were still drawn in the bedroom when I brought our son Levi up to get ready for bed. And that's when I saw it. There behind that beautiful cross was a wildfire beginning to rage in the mountains. The scene that I used to turn to, to ground me in the presence of God was within minutes and hours, a scene of total and complete destruction and devastation. Like so many of you, the following hours and days were filled with texts and calls of friends and loved ones evacuating, of finding out their homes were lost, of discovering some of our favorite places were burned to the ground. I was so mad and confused. What a contrast that cross was that day to the mountain and the community that lay beneath it. Where are you, God? That night marked the beginning of a long season of grief for so many in our community. Some lost homes, schools, cherished memories and places that grounded you. Others of us lost intangible things, our sense of safety and stability and familiarity. And for many, the fear and uncertainty linger, whether about the future or about rebuilding or simply finding hope in the midst of it all. And yet, this isn't the only grief we carry. Even beyond the fire, we bear the weight of so many fears and anxieties about our families, about our futures and our divisions as a nation. All of us, in our own ways are left wondering, where are you, God? In our grief, fear and suffering, we often feel like we are stuck in a tunnel with no way out, overwhelmed by the darkness. The chaos is so consuming that it feels as if God is absent, silent or unreachable. It reminds me of the scene from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory where a boat ride starts out innocent and sweet, going through this magical land of super sized candy. But as they enter a dark tunnel, the ride quickly turns terrifying and disorienting. The boat speeds up and these horrifying images flash up on the walls. The passengers feel trapped and panicked with no idea where they're going. The lyrics of the poem Wonka recites to the passengers that seems to chillingly reflect the helplessness and panic that they're feeling. He says, there's no earthly way of knowing which direction we are going. There's no knowing where we're rowing or which way the river's flowing. Is it raining? Is it snowing? Is a hurricane a blowing? Not a speck of light is showing? So the danger must be growing. Are the fires of hell a glowing? Is the grizzly reaper mowing? Yes, the danger must be growing, for the rowers keep on rowing and they're certainly not showing any signs that they are slowing. In our own grief, anxiety or suffering, it can feel like we too are trapped, helpless on this ride in the darkness, desperately searching for a way out, but only finding more confusion we shout, like Veruca Salt did on that ride, I don't like this ride, God. And yet it often feels like God is silent. C.S. lewis wrote in his infamous book A Grief Observed, a book born out of his own grief and loss about this silence from God. Meanwhile, where is God? When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing him, you will be welcomed with open arms. But go to him when your need is desperate, when all other help is in vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. And after that, silence. Why is he so present a commander in our time of prosperity and so very absent a help in a time of trouble? Many of us feel that silence, that absence in the darkest moments. We don't have answers and we don't know where to go to find God. In it all. What is the first thing that people say whenever you can't find something? Where did you last have it? So what do we do when we can't find God? We instinctively go back to where we last had him, in the good, in the happy. We tend to think that if grief and suffering is right here, we need to get away from here and over there to the good and the joy, because that's where God is. And there's certainly some truth in that. God has so clearly been in the love shared between neighbors, friends and strangers through the gofundmes, the donations, the opening of homes, the offers of support, both big and small. It is a gift of hope to see God present in these spaces. But I don't believe that we need to leave our suffering to find God somewhere else. I believe that it is precisely in the silence, in the suffering that the true promise of Emmanuel, God with us, takes on its deepest meaning. Friends, God is not absent in our pain. In fact, I would say that God is most present in the midst of our grief. You see, woven throughout Scripture is this promise that was spoken to Abraham, Isaac, Moses, Joshua, Gideon, and the people of Israel. I will be with you. That assurance carried God's people through wildernesses, exiles, wars, both in feast and in famine. But then this promise reaches its ultimate fulfillment when God was made known in Jesus Christ. As Matthew writes, look, the virgins shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means God is with us. Emmanuel. God with us. It's not just a name, it's a profound declaration of God's character. The story of Jesus birth, his ministry and his death is the story of how the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords, who, worthy of all the glory that heaven and earth has to offer, humbled himself, sending his Son to endure temptation, insecurity, hunger, thirst, homelessness, loneliness, fear and grief. And then that Son of God was nailed to the cross, from which he cried out the prayer that has been on so many tongues. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Through the incarnation and Christ's death, suffering ceased to be only a human experience. Suffering and grief became God's dimension also. And thus the cross became not just the symbol of our salvation, but also the symbol of this promise woven through Scripture that God is with us in all of it. In the Old Testament, God's presence was symbolized as being housed in the holy of holies within the temple, a sacred space that was separated by a thick curtain. This curtain wasn't just a physical barrier. It symbolized the distance between a holy God and a sinful humanity. Only the high Priest once a year could pass through that curtain to offer atonement for the people's sins. But when Jesus cried out and breathed his last on the cross, something extraordinary happened. The curtain of the temple was torn in two from top, bottom. This was no random act of destruction. It was a powerful symbol that God, in the person of Jesus, tore that curtain. In doing so, God eliminated the barrier between God and us, making God's presence no longer confined to one sacred space or limited to one person. Through Christ's sacrifice, the very presence of God is now available to everyone, no longer reserved for priests or once a year rituals in Christ. The way to God is open and we are invited to draw near to God in every moment of our lives, whether in joy or in sorrow. The cross does not just open the way for us to salvation. It opens the way to our intimate relationship with a God who understands. The tearing of the curtain reminds us that because of Jesus, we can now approach this throne of grace with confidence, knowing that God is with us always. This is the promise that Jesus left us with in the Great Commission. I will be with you always until the very end of the age. It is not just a distant theological truth. It's a present and living reality. I look out my window now and I see the cross in front of a barren mountain and the destruction that lay beneath it. And I hear these words of Matthew 1:23. They shall name him Emmanuel. God with us. At first it felt like the cross stood in stark contrast to the suffering around it. But as I sat with that name, I realized it's Precisely in the suffering where the cross speaks the loudest. That same cross, standing amidst the ashes of our grief, reminds us of this truth. God does not shy away from our pain. God is here in the midst of the rubble, walking with us through the loss and holding us in the silence. Because of Emmanuel, God with us, the cross invites us to rest not just in what we've lost and not in what we might rebuild, but in God's unshakable presence right here, right now. And even when so many around us are also grieving, the complexities and uniqueness of grief and anxiety make it feel inherently lonely. It is magnified by the difficulty for us to even put it to words, what we're feeling. But friends, wherever you find yourself this morning, whether in the depths of grief, fear or uncertainty, remember this. You are not alone. The promise of Emmanuel God with us is the assurance that God made grief and suffering. God's dimension also. God is with you in it, in a grief observed. CS Lewis wrestled with these same questions of God's presence in the silence of suffering. And he came to this conclusion. When I lay these questions before God, I get no answer, but rather a special sort of no answer. It's not a locked door. It's more like silent, certainly not uncompassionate gaze. The cross of Jesus Christ is a reminder of that gaze, that God's gaze is not indifferent or far off. It's the gaze of Emmanuel, God with us, who suffers for us and suffers with us and ultimately redeems us in the cross. We do not have to leave our pain to find God. God meets us right here in the middle of it, for nothing can separate us from the love of God. He is with us, sitting beside us in our mourning, walking with us in our questions and holding us in his compassionate gaze. So as you go from this place today, take heart. The God who promised, I will never leave you nor forsake you, is the same God who walks with you now. He is Emmanuel God with us yesterday, today, and forever. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, Amen.