Two and a Half Walls, March 9

Wednesday, March 9

Luke 12:32: Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.

I worshiped with the folks of St. Andrew Lutheran Church on a sunny Sunday in September of 1992. It was muggy that day in Homestead, Florida. But there were no air conditioners whirring away or cars rushing by on their way to the beach. And as yet, there were no generators grinding or helicopters clattering. The silence was unsettling.

At church, we greeted each other with hugs and smiles. And we looked up and around us at the two and a half walls that were still standing. They seemed taller than usual among the destruction that Hurricane Andrew had left behind after its hideous journey through South Florida 13 days earlier.

We worshiped sitting on the odd collection of chairs that people had brought with them. Their clothing was odd, too, salvaged from the rubble around them, and their feet were bruised and bleeding from trying to walk on broken glass and twisted metal. They were still living in homes that were about to be condemned, as was their church.

When we reached the time in the service for prayers, news of another hurricane stunned the worshippers. Hurricane Iniki was about to slam into Hawaii. St. Andrew’s folks didn’t hesitate. They immediately took up a collection for the people of Kauai, promising more when they could find their checkbooks.

That’s what it looks like when we choose love and hope, even when only two and a half walls are standing. I’m guessing that you’ve gone through times when you realized that only two and a half walls were protecting you from fire, loss of what had been home, covid, children in trouble, job loss, divorce, fear of what’s next, hopelessness, depression, chronic illness, or death. We’re in the season of Lent. The truth is spoken. We are dust and to dust we will return.

But Lent’s 40 days carry us to a larger, more overwhelming Truth. We make our way out of the rubble of Good Friday and the eerie silence of Holy Saturday and walk with Jesus out of his tomb and ours. Our feet, like his, may be bruised and even bleeding, but we are alive. Alive with love and hope that swirl in and among and around us as it did that day in Homestead, Florida. The way forward wasn’t easy for the parishioners of St. Andrew. When electricity lit up their homes again three months later, it shone on families in trouble in so many ways. It also illuminated the faces of the people like us, people from all over who wouldn’t leave these ravaged people alone. Their persistent love and hope, food and water, comfort and compassion, and hammers and saws, helped lead the bruised and bleeding victims of Hurricane Andrew to green pastures, still waters, and restored souls.

Don’t be afraid, little flock. God is here. We are here. We can choose love. We can choose hope. Thank you, holy God, for your never-failing presence in our lives, no matter what. Amen

Susie Gamelin