72

I’m torn today… unsure which direction to go with this letter. Should I join the throng of fellow Philadelphians celebrating and anticipating? E-A-G-L-E-S! For the next two weeks, everything will be green in Philly, with people flapping their arms indiscriminately hoping to will our guys to victory over the Chiefs. I know when I stand to preach on Sunday, February 9 th, my sanctuary will be a sea of green. Lenape Valley has even been known to sing Fly Eagles, Fly as a Benediction response. The excitement that has been simmering all season has now reached a frenzied state. One has to wonder if Jesus himself would get a bigger response. I could write with a judgmental pen about how sports have become a national obsession, but I must admit I have been swept up in all the excitement. Last Sunday, I, too, sat in rapt attention, snacks at the ready, while our guys battled it out on the grid iron. From Saquon’s exhilarating runs, to the joy of Shipley’s first NFL touchdown, our victory over the Commanders kept me on the edge of my seat. There may have even been a few “Get ‘em” shouts coming from my corner of the couch. Yesterday, I sent Eagles Green to our newborn granddaughter. Though she be California-born, we want to be sure she knows her Philly roots. And the Bell family has already created the menu of Super Bowl snacks to carry us to victory in two weeks. Fly Eagles Fly!

Yet, even as those Eagles text messages pass between Bells in our family ‘chat’, I am haunted by the number 72. No, I am not talking about Darian Kinnard, the Eagles’ offensive tackle. And I am not talking about the 72 disciples that Jesus sent out as evangelists (Luke 10). Today, I am thinking about the 72 families in our daughter’s church in Pasadena who have lost their homes in the fire. 72 families… homeless… As a pastor, that number takes my breath away. How does a church help 72 families who have lost all their worldly possessions? Thankfully, none of their lives were lost. Surely that’s what matters. But imagine being one of those families. They have lost the practical and the irreplaceable. And today they have no home. Those 72 families are joined by countless others who cannot return to their homes because all they own is blanketed by toxic ash. Even the fruit that hangs in our daughter’s yard has been contaminated by what hangs in the air. The devastation is apocalyptic. Rebuilding will take a Herculean effort. Many wonder where those resources will come from. Some suggest that our national resources will be offered with political strings attached. Questions abound. Answers seem insufficient. None of the 72 are part of my Lenape Valley flock, yet my heart is heavy with their loss. So, I am praying… I remember years ago when terrorists flew plans into the twin towers in New York City. We watched in horror as those scenes replayed again and again on our TV screens. We bowed in prayer. We sent money to the Red Cross. We grieved for families we did not know as one story after the next played out in the news. Yet, while we heard the stories, my friend’s church lived the reality. 19 was the number for that church. 19 members. 19 friends. 19 funerals. Leaving 13 widows, and 1 orphan- who lost both her parents in the towers. Those numbers just hint at the pain that overwhelmed Liberty Corner Presbyterian Church. 19… I offered to come and help with the pastoral care, but they wanted Steve. So, their pastor went again and again, caring for those left behind. Helping them find a way forward. Even uniting a little girl with a new forever family. I felt helpless watching from the sidelines. I prayed. I know prayer is the best that we do, but in the shadow of 19, my prayer support seemed insufficient. And then I did what we often do, I got distracted. Life happened. And I moved on, even though they could not.

I find that the Eagles’ excitement of today offers the distraction my heart yearns for. I need a break from the pain that keeps coming in relentless waves, from natural disasters to national battles. The number of those swept up is incalculable. I know some of the wounded sit in my pews. Even more live in our neighborhood. Yet, I am unsure how to bring healing. I must admit that even though I am called to be a healer, sometimes I find myself among the wounded, caught up in the anger of the day. So, I don Eagles green and sing along. It feels good to flap my arms. The Super Bowl can’t come soon enough. Fly Eagles Fly, and maybe life will feel a bit lighter, more joyful, less contentious. But even if the Eagles distract us from all the awful, the awful still exists. And that awful is overwhelming. I have found myself walking with the disciples on the road to Emmaus. (Luke 24) Luke tells us that they left Jerusalem on Sunday, heartbroken, heads bowed, faith crushed. The cross cast a shadow that darkened their path. All hope was gone… until Jesus met them on the road. At first, their grief blinded them. They did not recognize the Savior who walked with them. Until they broke bread together, and their eyes were opened, and the celebration began. That day, Jesus was not the distraction but rather he was hope and healing, life and peace. He is the answer to all the brokenness of our day. I know that truth. I teach that truth. Today I need to own that truth. In Him is life, and that life is the light of all. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot overcome it. (John 1) Today, I chose to say AMEN!

With you, wearing green, but trusting the Savior,
Anita