A future not our own

My theodicy includes dancing

It helps now and then to step back and take a long view.

The Kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,

it is beyond our vision.

We accomplish in our lifetime only a fraction

of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work.

Nothing we do is complete, which is another way of

saying that the kingdom always lies beyond us.

No statement says all that could be said.

No prayer fully expresses our faith. No confession

brings perfection, no pastoral visit brings wholeness.

No program accomplishes the Church's mission.

No set of goals and objectives include everything.

This is what we are about. We plant the seeds that one

day will grow. We water the seeds already planted

knowing that they hold future promise.

We lay foundations that will need further development.

We provide yeast that produces effects

far beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of

liberation in realising this.

This enables us to do something, and to do it very well.

It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning,

a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord's

grace to enter and do the rest.

We may never see the end results, but that is the

difference between the master builder and the worker.

We are workers, not master builders, ministers, not

messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own.

~ From the biography of Oscar Romero (1917–1980)

I was reminded of this refreshing and reassuring poem, as once again, everything changes and I am reminded that I am not in control. After a month of celebrating what I felt God was doing, I have to give it back to God, surrender my Isaac. I am disappointed again, not understanding. But as this has happened many times in the last months, I'm noticing a small, but precious change in my response. My theodicy is emerging.

Theodicy is the defense of God's goodness and omnipotence in view of the existence of evil and suffering. In my painting, the rain is discomfort, disappointment, dashed plans. I want to escape it, protect myself from it with my umbrella. Yet now, in the shock of change and crisis, I am reminded of God's faithfulness in previous crises, and I can be comforted... I look up and see that the raindrops are shining. There's gold in the pain. I look up and look back and see how God has shone through the difficult times. Through the pain, He has refined me, drawn me to Himself. His golden goodness and glory have shone in the rain more than the sunny spring days. So I dance. I can rejoice in the knowledge that it's going to be okay. God is still in control. And He is still my perfect Father.