Standing in a still life

Daily Devotion - April 17

I will send a brief message each day (except Mondays)
while we are pausing gathering in person.
- Kara

Today my daughter and I stopped by her school to get her things from her locker. Chances are good they won't be returning to school at all this year, and she wanted her things at home.
Plus, a reason to get out of the house.

We were buzzed into the building by an administrator wearing a mask. We mumbled greetings from underneath our own.  Across the lobby were two of Maisy's classmates, sitting 20 feet apart from each other. Neither one has a computer at home, so they come sit at school every day to do their online work.

We headed down the sunlit hallway.
I took in the silence.  Open doors, empty classrooms.
Boots and tennis shoes were still lined up on top of lockers; the work station in the hallway still piled with paperclips someone had been organizing when everything stopped.
"It's all exactly like it was," Maisy whispered.
When I saw the March calendar on the chalkboard, announcing "Bike Trip Orientation!" and "Final Draft Due" hot tears welled up and I had to stop and catch my breath.

Years ago our family visited Christchurch, New Zealand, a few short weeks after an earthquake had hit. One street was closed to cars, rubble from fallen walls still laying around.  Through the window of a cafe, I could see the tables tipped over, cups smashed on the floor, silverware scattered. But on the table right next to the glass, one perfectly set placemat with napkin and silverware remained.  I stood for a long time, looking through the window at the moment when Before became After.

Today, in the school hallway felt like that.  It was a scene frozen in time. I could almost hear their voices, see them slamming locker doors, greeting friends, grabbing books and heading off to class.  We were standing in a still-life.  Before, snapped like a photograph, was laid out on display all around us.

Right now the whole world is living in the unfathomable gap in-between Before and After.
Before is becoming After.  We have no way of even imagining what After will be; all we have are scenes from Before.

Last night in (zoom) Adult Confirmation we talked about how, rather than a deity outside of time, uninterested in human affairs, we have a God who created time, and then came into it with us.  Befores and Afters are the clay in God's hands, the paint and brush, the lumber and stone, the nothing that God forms into something.  But they're also the forces that act upon Jesus living in this life alongside us: joy and loss, routine and disruption, endings and beginnings, Befores and Afters.

In this season of resurrection, we are carving out a temporary existence in-between.
We can't move into After, and Before is gone and over.
But God brings life out of death. It's what God does.
There will be new life.
Life unexpected, and even beautiful.

When we finished filling Maisy's backpack with her magnets and locker shelves, we headed back to the car.  But instead of turning toward home, we drove the other way around the block, and pulled up into the school carpool lane.  There a sandwich board sign greeted us. "Text this number and pop the trunk when you arrive!"
I texted the new number I entered into my phone this morning,
"Chef Leah, School."

Every weekday, in the school kitchen, a team of people is preparing fresh meals for families who can pay for them, and for those who can't.  Folks are buying Chef Leah's Cauliflower Curry, homemade Mac & Cheese, cornbread and barbecued chicken, lunch packs, breakfast packs, and donating money for meals for other families.

A minute later someone came bouncing out of the school with a paper bag held flat in her gloved hands. Her cheerful eyes beaming from above her mask, she said, "Thanks for your support! Enjoy your dinner!" and into my car she a placed the bag containing a whole, roasted chicken, a tray of buttermilk mashed potatoes, and a green salad with homemade dressing. She closed my trunk door and waved. We waved back.

"Thank you so much!" I called back to her through passenger window. "Have a great rest of the day!"

She turned to walk back inside.  As I pulled away from the curb, in my rearview mirror another car was pulling up to the sign and popping their trunk.

I mourn Before. I await After.
In-between, I feel both the tension and the gifts.
And the presence of God too.


CONNECTING RITUAL:

Perhaps, tonight before we go to bed, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we might pause, reflect, and pray in this way, and so join our hearts:

What Befores are you mourning today?
Name them to God.

What was hard in-between today?
Name it to God.

What were today's gifts in-between?
Name them to God.

Close with this prayer:
God, bring us into your longings for us in After.
God, shape us into your people ready for After.
 God, release us from Before and prepare us for After.
Amen.