It’s been raining and raining and raining. The stream next to the rectory rose up and grabbed one of our new Holly trees and threw it into the river on the other side of town. And then the water went down again, like it never happened. But the tree remains gone.
And so I think of so many who have gone on their way to the next life in such a way, in waves of violence, waves of sickness, waves of war, waves of accidents, waves and waves. We can look to what would have been, what could have been. Or we can look to what might be, what may be, what we hope will be in heaven. Life is changed, not ended.
We are in exile here. Exile, I say. Far from home. So very far. And yet, God is with us, right with us, the indwelling it’s called, of the Most Holy Trinity, so that we are tabernacles of the Most High, the one thing that is important, and it cannot be ripped away from us by anything, by anyone. Jesus loves us.