In “Last Scraps of Color in Missouri,” poet Karen Craigo writes about her desire for a flash of color amid a cold, wet landscape in late fall. After gazing at a sea of bare trees, she found that if she shifted her gaze from the tops of the forest towards the ground, there were smaller trees with golden leaves nearly glowing. “Some blessings find us when we move to them — they’re waiting only to be seen,” she reflects. In other words, a lot can change when we shift our perspective, sometimes only by a couple degrees. Anger as an act of faithRachel Wrenn notes in her Working Preacher commentary on Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4 that Habakkuk never addresses the listener — the book is a conversation between God and a prophet. And an angry prophet, at that. His cry is raw: “O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, / and you will not listen?” Violence surrounds the prophet, and God seems unaware or indifferent. Perhaps this thought resonates.What’s remarkable in Habakkuk is not the prophet’s anger, but God’s response. There is no rebuke. No shame. Only generosity. God listens and offers a vision to the prophet (which readers do not see), then tells the prophet – and us – to wait. Who stands by you?When I read the divine invitation to hope in Habakkuk, my mind’s eye goes back to the prophet on the rampart, a solitary shadow on a barren landscape (Habakkuk 2:1). This is our work — to watch for God’s action, to trust in God’s goodness. But as I dwell on the passage this week, I find that this image is incomplete, for Habakkuk is alone on the bulwark.Who taught you to wait for the Lord? A grandfather setting up church chairs? A felt-board-loving Sunday School teacher? A high school friend who invited you to youth group? A stranger who stopped when you were stranded? This year, the 21st Sunday after Pentecost falls right after All Saints’ Day, where Christians remember all those, known and unknown, who have handed down faith. All those who have loved the Lord and worked to love their neighbor. The horizon may look barren, but when we turn our heads, who stands beside us? Who braces us from behind? Who lays a kind hand on our shoulders? In my mind, part of the miracle of Scripture is that it has a marvelous way of shifting our perceptions — of turning our heads from the barren branches touching the sky to the colorful forest floor. ... Read the rest of the commentary by Rose Schrott Taylor at pres-outlook.org. |
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