Moving Day

Tomorrow is our first worship service in our new church building. All week, Things Have Been Happening there: chairs unboxed, tables placed in Sunday School rooms, hymnals transferred from pew to chair-rack, etc. I haven't been involved, by choice.

This morning is the (un)dress rehearsal for tomorrow's service. Afterwards, for the remainder of the day, there will be a regular convoy of trucks to and from the old building, moving more stuff. I will be at the rehearsal acting as go-fer. That's my plan for tomorrow as well, to a certain extent. I'll be at the sunrise service and then back and forth between buildings as the need arises.


Tenebrae last night was...interesting. It was done differently than we've done it in the past, and I found it rather difficult to get invested, except....

This hymn, sung by the congregation, brought on the tears and nearly drove me to my knees (we're Presbyterian, we don't do knees!):

Jesus walked this lonesome valley.
He had to walk it by Himself;
O, nobody else could walk it for Him,
He had to walk it by Himself.

We must walk this lonesome valley,
We have to walk it by ourselves;
O, nobody else can walk it for us,
We have to walk it by ourselves.

You must go and stand your trial,
You have to stand it by yourself,
O, nobody else can stand it for you,
You have to stand it by yourself.

It has been a hard year, and I've failed in so many ways, and fear what I would have to do if brought to trial on any of it. But I don't have to worry about a trial: Jesus walked that valley for me, and he walks with me through the trials of everyday life. Wish I could remember that more often.

Then at the end, the words of Mary Magdalene as she was comforted by Jesus' mother:

Why? How could you let this happen, Jesus? I'm so angry, so filled with hate at everyone who had a part in your death. Why didn't you stop them? You had a choice! And you chose to die!

And then the lights were all put out, the Christmas candle went behind the cross, and we sat in darkness and despair and fear and terrifying hopelessness but for the flickering of that single, obscured candle.

What now, O Lord, what now?