Tanuj "Rick" Guha '22

Letting Go, With Faith in God's Promises

by TANUJ "RICK" GUHA (’22)

“See, I will create new heavens and a new earth. The former things will not be remembered, nor will they come to mind.

“But be glad and rejoice forever in what I will create, for I will create Jerusalem to be a delight and its people a joy.” Isaiah 65:17-18

The theme of rebirth, growth, and overall newness is pretty apparent in these verses. Today, however, I will talk about what I believe precedes a rebirth and newness: death of what is familiar and current. I have this opinion that the belief in rebirth is meaningless for an infant, a new life, but is extremely important during one’s autumn years. To be able to share my viewpoint, and thus my opinion, let’s use the parable of the weather.

Outside it is fall, and the bare branches streak up to the heavens, like the life of summer grasping for one last exultant breath. What follows is the frozen earth, with rigor mortis for most, and hibernation for a lucky few. And while we stand oriented towards the cold, without any agency of our own, it is now that we need God’s covenants the most. See in spring, life will come around and we will be out and about. There will be no need for assurances, there will be no need for faith, and there will be empirical proof of God’s blessing. It is, however, in the moments preceding death, when we are entering the unknown, that we find comfort in God’s words. I will advocate for this controversial thought that life is man’s domain. We know what lies between birth and death, or at least know enough. Life is the time given to us by God, and despite his generosity, our lifetime is just a tiny flash when compared to eternity. What happens outside the domain of our life is up to God. And this is when God assures us: the new Jerusalem, that maybe heaven, or maybe another birth—whatever it is that follows—will be just as delightful, if not more than what we currently have. This death, I think, is the proverbial representation of letting go. It is only when we let go of what we currently hold that we can possess better things. And yet letting go is hard. Holding on is comfortable and predictable, and we don’t necessarily know that what follows will be better. This is when God’s promises work. They assure us that what follows after death will indeed be good. Let me supply an example here. Imagine a cozy kitchen – on the floor stands a toddler. He’s clutching a spoon he just licked peanut butter off of. His hands are full, but he likes the spoon because, well, peanut butter you know. His parents are trying to clean the spoon and give him another round of peanut butter, but he is apprehensive. He doesn’t know what happens after he lets go of the spoon, and his skepticism is understandably not unfounded. Eventually he chooses to trust his parent’s promises, lets the spoon go and after a few moments of nerve-wracking uncertainty, he has his spoon back again, with more peanut butter, and his treat is topped with sprinkles this time! Given the audience, I don’t think I’ll have to explain who the metaphorical toddler and the parents are in the story. So I’ll move on to the conclusion: you see that squirrel squirrelling nuts? You see that beaver building its dam? You see, from afar, that bear fattening up? They’re all hunkering down for the winter, for they have faith spring will follow. Even those little green saplings that shoot out after a forest fire have faith that they will flourish. So if a bear, a beaver, a squirrel and even a tree can have faith in God’s promise that better things will follow, why can’t we? OCTOBER 22, 2021

Tanuj "Rick" Guha