Faith on the other side
We have been exploring the story of Exodus over the past several weeks. It is the story of the Israelites leaving behind the only life they had ever known and heading toward an uncertain future. Once they passed through the Red Sea, reality set in. What they once had was gone. They felt unsure of where they belonged and uncertain about what would come next.
In uncertain times, we naturally look back and convince ourselves that what we had was better. But often what we are really longing for isn't necessarily something better—it is something familiar. We knew what to expect.
There are many sayings that capture this: “Better the devil you know than the devil you don't,” or “Sometimes the biggest barrier to change isn't what we might lose—it's not knowing what we might find.” This reminded me of another saying: sometimes it is better to rip the Band-Aid off than to keep pulling it off slowly, prolonging the pain. But even that makes change sound easier than it really is. Because ripping off the Band-Aid doesn't mean the wound underneath has disappeared. Maybe that is why change can be so complicated.
We live in a world that is changing incredibly quickly. Technology, communities, churches, relationships, our bodies, our families, even our expectations of what life would look like—nothing stays exactly the same. And when the present feels uncertain, the past can start looking pretty attractive. But here's something I'm learning: We can miss something without wanting it back. We can miss when our children were little without wanting to raise them all over again. We can miss people who are no longer sitting at our table. We can miss what our bodies once allowed us to do. We can miss the way our communities or churches once felt. We can even miss an earlier version of ourselves. Missing something doesn't necessarily mean we are supposed to go back.
Perhaps that is what a “leap of faith” really is. Not blindly jumping and believing everything will work out, but trusting that something good can still exist on the other side of what has changed.
We can honour what was without needing to recreate it. We can carry forward what gave us life and let go of what no longer does. We can grieve and still be hopeful. We can be uncertain and still move forward.
Maybe faith is trusting that just because something good is behind us doesn't mean there isn't still goodness ahead. So perhaps the question isn't, “How do I get back to where I was?”
Maybe it is: “What might become possible if I stop trying to go back?”
I hope that this prayer might help us all in these uncertain times:
God of what has been and what is still becoming, help us cherish what has shaped us without being afraid to let it go. When the way ahead feels uncertain, give us courage to take the next step. Remind us that we can grieve what was, be grateful for what is, and remain open to what might yet be. Help us trust that there is still goodness ahead. Amen.
I send you blessings for the coming week. Rev. Karen