Lead Me to the Rock

It’s been a weird year.

We’re in the midst of a global pandemic, and towards the end of March, I started seeing memes that read, “I’d like to cancel my subscription to 2020.” I giggled when I saw it, but really…if this year was a product, I’d be returning it.

Don’t get me wrong. My year hasn’t been terrible, but y’all. This isn’t what we signed up for. (Does anyone ever really sign up for a global pandemic and astronomical loss?)

Easter happened outside the walls of the church buildings. We didn’t get to wear our new Easter dresses out in public. We didn't get to do eggs hunts in the traditional sense. We mourned the loss of our “normal.” But maybe that was a good thing.

As we approached Easter, on Palm Sunday actually, I found myself reflecting on this tangible brokenness. I felt weak. Helpless. Out of control. Weary.

“For God alone my soul waits in silence; from him comes my salvation.

He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be greatly shaken.”

Psalm 62:1-2

We live in a broken, fallen world. We have a desperate need for a Savior, and our only defense is to wait on Him. He is the only source of any hope, encouragement, motivation, rest. And, sometimes, as we wait, we have no words, but He knows our hearts. He knows that we are crying out for relief. He knows that we are desperate to see healing, a return to “normal,” hope, peace, certainty. And He gives it to us in our salvation. Because of Christ’s death and resurrection we have hope, peace, certainty, healing beyond this world. It is found in Him alone, our rock.

I love that word, rock. It’s the perfect description of what we need when the illusion of us being in control is shattered. He alone is the immovable foundation that we can stand on, certain. That doesn’t mean we have all the answers; it means we know He does. Because of that we can rest in Him, our fortress, our refuge, our safe place. In that place, we can stand firm in peace, knowing that He is steadfast. He is immovable. We have nothing to fear. We may be a bit rattled, gathering our bearings, rooting ourselves in truth, but we are not destroyed. We are not shattered. The boat is simply a bit rocked.

This is our chance! It’s our chance to practice a quiet faith, a faith that rests in the promises of God when everything around us is shouting that we should be doubting, we should be striving to control this, we should be panicking. It’s our chance to be still, and let God be God. Our only job is to be faithful, standing firm in who He says He is.

While that may not be our gut instinct, it’s not weird at all.