Ephesians 2:12-18, 31 In those days you were living apart from Christ . . . But now you have been united with Christ Jesus . . . For Christ himself has brought peace to us . . . he broke down the wall of hostility that separated us . . . He made peace between Jews and Gentiles by creating in himself one new people from the two groups. Together as one body, Christ reconciled both groups to God by means of his death on the cross, and our hostility toward each other was put to death . . . Now all of us can come to the Father through the same Holy Spirit because of what Christ has done for us. . . We are carefully joined together in him, becoming a holy temple for the Lord.

Perhaps, like me, you’ve been dismayed by reports of people slurring racial groups over the coronavirus pandemic. This behavior may be par for the course for people who don’t know Jesus, but for us who want to follow him, it indicate basic misunderstanding of the Gospel: Jesus’ love for the world—for all people everywhere—and the role of the cross in breaking down racial hostility.

I love Jesus and have been adopted into his big family (Eph 1:5). Anyone anywhere who loves Jesus is my adopted brother or sister. Jesus tells us over and over to love each other. As John records it, I count nine times Jesus said this in his last few days on earth.

In case that’s not enough, Jesus also tells us to love those we consider “enemies”: But I say, love your enemies! (Matthew 5:44); Love your enemies! Do good to them . . . Then you will truly be acting as children of the Most High (Luke 6:35).

So, any time we think, speak, or act in racially prejudicial ways, we are acting AGAINST Jesus, rather than for him.

Why am I making such a point about something so obvious? The church has a horrible history of hate and hurt rather than love. And it can be subtle. Someone makes a racial slur as a joke. We laugh because we want to be accepted in our crowd. And because it got a laugh, we repeat it somewhere else . . . It can be as contagious as the virus.

Let’s so anchor ourselves to Jesus and let our roots grow down deep into his love (Ephesians 3:17-19) that we can help heal the harm that has been done in God’s name, rather than adding to it. COVID-19 offers us one more opportunity to do just that. Let’s make love contagious!

One organization seeking to heal the wounds: bethebridge.com

Proverbs 16:1-9, 16, 32 We can make our own plans, but the Lord gives the right answer. People may be pure in their own eyes, but the Lord examines their motives. Commit your actions to the Lord, and your plans will succeed. . . We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps.

Like everyone, literally, around the world, Dave and I have been caught off guard by the sudden changes to our plans: events canceled, travel disrupted, churches, schools, libraries and businesses closed . . . with no certainty of how long this will last, or what the final costs will be in terms of lives and livelihoods.

So, chapter 16 of Proverbs, scheduled for today in the Anglican lectionary, feels timely, especially coming as it does in the middle of Lent. The Message translates verse 1 this way: Mortals make elaborate plans, but God has the last word. Dave usually makes his schedule a year ahead of time. He had no idea, of course, that COVID-19 would be part of the picture for 2020. But God knew, and I can imagine him smiling as we innocently (“pure in our own eyes”) made our “elaborate plans” for this year.

I’m NOT saying God made the coronavirus and unleashed it on the world! But I do think God has purposes he wants to accomplish in me, in us as a couple, during this time. He can use the frustrations and limitations to focus our attention and help us to hear him. Curious, I’m thinking about other proverbs in this chapter, asking God to show me where he wants me to grow. The one that stands out to me today is verse 20, Those who trust the Lord will be joyful.

If you’ve tracked with me for a while, you know that trust is not easy for me. Where the rubber hits the road for me today is the difficulty of trusting God with the lives of the people I love in Venezuela. Here in Pittsburgh, I’ve seen friends become anxious about the coronavirus. But we have food, clean water, warm houses, medical care, gas for our cars, electricity, internet . . . Imagine facing into the virus being able to count on none of these things. Imagine a population that has been in survival mode for years already being hit with yet this.

Yesterday, when President Duque of Colombia took the logical step of closing his border with Venezuela to protect his own people, I felt panic. That sense of fear is right below the surface for me. I face a huge temptation to give in to anxiety, rather than learning to trust the Lord in this situation. The fear fritzes my mind. I don’t know yet how to pray for Venezuela and specifically, for our dear ones there, with faith. That’s what I’ll be asking God to show me as I walk through this day. “Help, Lord!” is as far as I’ve gotten.

Though I’ll celebrate with my husband his 67^th birthday (also my dear Venezuelan friend Idagly’s 40^th birthday), thanking God for his faithfulness to us, another part of me will be listening, trying to understand how to grow in trust, and in joy.

And though I don’t have words of my own to pray, I can turn to the great prayer book of the Psalms and use those ancient prayers to be my own:

Bend down, O Lord, and hear my prayer. Answer [the prayers of those who love you in Venezuela] for they need your help. Protect them, for they are devoted to you. Save them, for they serve and trust you. You are their God. Be merciful to them, O Lord, for they are calling on you constantly. Give [Idagly] happiness [today on her birthday], for she gives herself to you. . . Listen closely to my prayer O Lord; hear my urgent cry. . . For you are great and perform wonderful deeds. You alone are God (Psalm 86:1-6, 10).

Psalm 66:16-20 Come and listen, all you who fear God, and I will tell you what he did for me. For I cried out to him for help, praising him as I spoke. If I had not confessed the sin in my heart, the Lord would not have listened. But God did listen! He paid attention to my prayer. Praise God, who did not ignore my prayer or withdraw his unfailing love from me.

I grew up feeling that when I did something wrong, my parents’ love was withdrawn from me. It was painful. It taught me two things: 1) I must try to be perfect. 2) When I’m not, I must hide it. I became a skilled wearer of masks. People in general, but especially my family, seldom knew what was going on inside me. I was too afraid of their judgment and abandonment.

One time, for example, I went on a bike ride with my older brother. We had two bikes for our family of eight children, one regular-size and one small. I don’t remember how old I was, but young enough to use the small bike. My brother chose the road climbing steeply, around hairpin turns, up the mountain leading out of our village in Guatemala. “It’ll be worth it,” he promised me.

Climbing was exhausting. Flying back down was terrifying! I wiped out on one of those hairpin turns, soaring over my bike to land in a heap on the dirt road. My whole body, it seemed, was scraped and bleeding. “We can’t let Mom and Dad know,” my brother cautioned. “We’ll get in such big trouble.”

I didn’t need the caution. As I walked my bike down the hill and back home, my mind was busy calculating how I could keep my injuries covered and secret. We were able to sneak into our house without attracting notice. I scrubbed the blood from my dress (yes—in those days we girls wore dresses), hung it to dry in the kids’ shared closet, and wore a dress of my older sister’s, with long sleeves and long enough to cover my knees. I had a pair of knee socks, so they became part of my outfit. I came up with a story to explain the scrapes and bruises on my face, in case anyone noticed and asked (no one did).

My whole body ached, but my parents never knew about my mountain mishap. For some reason, years later in Brazil, I told this story to a friend. She laughed and recounted her own story. As a child, she climbed onto her barn roof, certain she could fly. She suffered a broken rib and toe. Like me, afraid of the consequences, she kept her pain secret from her parents. She discovered the breaks when as an adult a doctor asked, looking at x-rays, when she had broken a rib and a toe. She could only account for it with the barn roof-flying incident.

Our Father/Mother God is different, radically so. He cares about what’s going on with us, not to punish, but to forgive and restore us if that is needed. Even when we have done wrong, he does not withdraw his love from us. Instead, he helps us deal with the pain we suffer from our choices. We can trust his unfailing love.

This is a great thing to remember as we walk with Jesus toward Jerusalem this Lent and share intimate conversations along the way. We don’t need to pretend with him. He sees through our masks anyway, so why bother. He cleanses, comforts, counsels, binds up our soul-wounds, and even laughs with us when we’re ready to see humor in what we do. [The Lord says] I will comfort you as a mother comforts her child (Isaiah 66:13).

Psalm 50:7-10, 14 I am God, your God! I have no complaint about your sacrifices or the burnt offerings you constantly offer. But I do not need the bulls from your barns or the goats from your pens. For all the animals of the forest are mine, and I own the cattle on a thousand hills. . . Make thankfulness your sacrifice to God and keep the vows you made to the Most High.

I feel better today! Not great yet, but clearly better! I have hope that I’ll be well and freed from my self-imposed quarantine (do NOT want to give this to anyone else!) by the time Rachel goes into labor (she’s due next week). That one tops my list this windy, rainy day. I won’t bore you with all my thankfulnesses this morning, but here are a few:

**My husband is home! And as far as we know, he successfully protected himself from dengue fever-bearing mosquitoes while in Paraguay. I’m thankful for what God is doing in that country.

**Talita Lucy is doing well. I’m thankful for this even though I can’t see or hold her right now.

**My niece gave birth safely to Bronwyn Faye, after a somewhat worrisome pregnancy. (Bronwyn is the third of five little girls being added to our family between Dec. 28 and May 10! Rachel and Brian’s baby is next.)

**I have food, clean water, electricity, a warm house, medical care available if I need it, and gas in our car (not things many people in Venezuela have today). I’m thankful for the faithfulness of our Venezuelan friends and the Lord sustaining them through so many basic, daily hardships, with no end yet in sight.

**I’m reading a great book, The Bible and the Ballot, Using Scripture in Political Decisions, by Tremper Longman III, Eerdmans, 2020—I highly recommend this book (thank you, Susan, for this gift). I’ve read almost the whole thing in two days.

**I had the privilege of watching the memorial service of a precious missionary friend in Brazil, who loved her Lord and cared for others to the end of her four-year battle with brain cancer. I am humbled and moved by Cindy’s and her family’s choice of thankfulness instead of bitterness.

**I’ve had time to research Ignace Jan Paderewski and Olga Wisinger-Florian for the historical novel I’m writing (Horse Thief 1898), and now starting on John Woolman. I’m learning so much from them!

**A friend gave me enthusiastic feedback on my “Gladness Book” manuscript—she read through it three times! SO encouraging.

**I’m discovering an approach to book marketing that actually feels accessible to me, not based in hours and hours on social media. For me, this feels like a miracle!

Like I said, just a few from my thankfulness list this morning.

Thou that has given so much to me, give one thing more, a grateful heart (George Herbert).

Do yourself a favor and look for it to be posted in a day or two at https://www.ascensionpittsburgh.org/sermons/

Jonathan Warren, March 8.

In case you’re wondering, yes, I did feel well enough to go to church. But to keep any lingering germs to myself, I snuck in late, sat by myself on the back row, and left after the sermon. I’m so glad I went!

Matthew 16:15-16, 21-23 Then Jesus asked them, “But who do you say I am?” Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” . . . From then on Jesus began to tell his disciples plainly that it was necessary for him to go to Jerusalem, and that he would suffer many terrible things at the hands of the elders, the leading priests, and the teachers of religious law. He would be killed, but on the third day he would be raised from the dead.

But Peter took him aside and began to reprimand him for saying such things. “Heaven forbid, Lord,” he said. “This will never happen to you!” Jesus turned to Peter and said, “Get away from me, Satan! You are a dangerous trap to me. You are seeing things merely from a human point of view, not from God’s.”

At the family orientation to intestinal transplant, we went through classes called “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.” There was enough Bad and Ugly that I wanted to walk out of that room, out of that hospital, out of that city, and never look back. Peter’s sentiment was mine: “Heaven forbid, Karis! This will never happen to you!” Like him, I didn’t even hear the Good.

Karis, sitting in the same classes, reacted differently. She heard the Bad and the Ugly, but she also heard the Good. She heard the possibility of new life, of the end of the suffering she had already experienced for so many years. She heard a chance of recovery from the many losses she had known. She felt hope. She said yes to a high-risk gamble. “Mom, even without eating, I’m sick all the time now. Since my intestine is no longer working, my life is measured by how long my central line lasts. If I do transplant and things go well, I’ll have a whole life ahead of me!”

Later, Karis went through her own Gethsemane. The first time she was offered an organ for transplant, terror flooded her, and she said no. But as she shared her agony with her Father, he gave her both peace and courage. The next time an organ became available, she was ready to say yes.

And she lived happily ever after. Um, no. Actually, everything went wrong. But she survived severe rejection and severe infection, when humanly the chances of doing so were zero. That fact grounded her in a different kind of hope—not the hope of a second transplant, since she knew now how fragile that hope was, but hope in the confidence of new life no matter what happened. Even death could not destroy that hope. Death would be the doorway into a brand new life, free from all suffering and loss. That was the hope that carried her through the craziness of the next nine years until God did take her Home.

I’m asking myself this morning, do I see things merely from a human point of view, or from God’s? And I have to say, my first instincts are definitely human. Gut-twisting anxious. I know things can go really, really wrong. I’ve experienced life getting really, really messy, out of control, perplexing, and unimaginably painful.

But as I walk with Jesus toward Jerusalem this Lent, I want to hear everything he is telling me. Like him, and unlike Peter and my own tendencies, I want to put my hope in the Good, even if there’s some Bad and Ugly on the way there.

Because of the joy awaiting him, Jesus endured the cross, disregarding its shame. Now he is seated in the place of honor beside God’s throne (Hebrews 12:2).

Exodus 13:17-18 When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them by way of the land of the Philistines, although that was near. For God said, “Lest the people change their minds when they see war and return to Egypt.”But God led the people around by the way of the wilderness.

I like efficiency. You too? I like linear progress, from A to B to C . . . I value reaching the end of a day knowing what I have accomplished.

This week has been the opposite of that. I’ve spent most of my time on the couch and in bed fighting a nasty cold. I’ve cancelled appointments and events I’m disappointed not to participate in. I’ve postponed lunches and dinners. I haven’t held my newborn granddaughter or played with my two-year-old grandson. I think about tackling a project and instead end up back on the couch for another nap. I’ve accomplished hardly anything from my long to-do list. You’ve been here, right?

I have just enough energy to be frustrated by all this. I’m doing everything “right,” (lots of vitamin C, etc.) yet I keep on hacking and sneezing, and now the virus has gone to my eyes. I woke up with my eyes matted shut. Conjunctivitis or “pinkeye,” doubtless from the same virus as my cold.

Could God be leading me into and through this type of “wilderness”? Doesn’t he like me to be productive and connected?

I don’t intend to imply through that question that God gave me this cold. I know I caught one of the zillion viruses that inhabit our world all the time. But I know God can accomplish something in me while I’m slowed down, “off my game.” He can teach me things I’m usually too busy to contemplate.

One thing I’m doing is spending more time with the Litany of Penitence our church uses in Lent. Just in case I’m tempted to think I’m “doing pretty well, maybe better than most people,” here are phrases that catch me up:

For all our unfaithfulness and disobedience; for the pride, vanity, and hypocrisy of our lives

Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have sinned against you.

For our self-pity and impatience, and our envy of those we think more fortunate than ourselves

Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have sinned against you.

For our unrighteous anger, bitterness and resentment; for all lies, gossip, and slander against our neighbors

Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have sinned against you.

For our sexual impurity, our exploitation of other people, and our failure to give of ourselves in love

Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have sinned against you.

For our self-indulgent appetites and ways, and our intemperate pursuit of worldly goods and comforts

Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have sinned against you.

For our dishonesty in daily life and work, our ingratitude for your gifts, and our failure to heed your call

Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have sinned against you.

For our blindness to human need and suffering, and our indifference to injustice and cruelty

Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have sinned against you.

For our wastefulness and misuse of your creation, and our lack of concern for those who come after us

Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have sinned against you.

For all false judgments, for prejudice and contempt of others, and for all uncharitable thoughts and actions toward our neighbors

Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have sinned against you.

For our negligence in prayer and worship, for our presumption and abuse of your means of grace

Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have sinned against you.

For seeking the praise of others rather than the approval of God

Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have sinned against you.

For our failure to commend the faith that is in us

Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have sinned against you.

Show favor to your people, O Lord, who turn to you in weeping, fasting, and prayer. For you are a merciful God, full of compassion, long-suffering, and abounding in steadfast love. You spare when we deserve punishment, and in your wrath you remember mercy. Spare your people, good Lord, spare us; in the multitude of your mercies, look upon us and forgive us; through the merits and mediation of your blessed Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Psalm 3:1-3 Lord, how they are increased who trouble me; many are those who rise against me. Many there are who say of my soul, “There is no help for him in his God.” But you, O Lord, are my defender; you are my glory, and the one who lifts up my head.

Since we are in Lent, I will make a confession. I often am my own chief critic, the one who says, “What’s the use? I’m stuck. This will never change. Because of what my past did to me, I’m a hopeless case.” When I’m in that mode, I don’t usually connect the dots to what I’m actually saying, that even God, Father, Son, and Spirit, can’t transform me into the person he wants me to be. Yikes!!

As part of my confession, I will say that this is a major area I’ve been working on with my spiritual director.

But you, O Lord, are my defender—defending me even against myself, against old “tapes” and habits of viewing myself and the world that don’t express faith and instead play into what the Enemy, the accuser, is trying to get me to believe. About myself. But more importantly, about God: his power, his mercy, and the worth of what Jesus did when he sacrificed himself for me, for you, for the world he loves so much.

During these weeks of Lent, I want to share with you some of the Scriptures and prayers that God is bringing to my attention as I open myself to him. In this one, notice the verb tenses:

1 Cor 6:9-11 Don’t you realize that those who do wrong will not inherit the Kingdom of God? [There follows a long list of what doing wrong can include.] Some of you WERE once like that. But you WERE cleansed; you WERE made holy; you WERE made right with God by calling on the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God. This is one of the Trinity passages—it’s so important that Father, Son, and Spirit all get into the act.

And I’m convicted by God’s voice saying, “Do not call something unclean if God has made it clean” (Acts 10:15).

So there’s the past, and there’s the present. First John 1:8-9 confirms what we all know, yes, we do still sin. But there’s a way forward to return to our “new normal”: cleansed, holy, right with God. But if we confess our sins to him, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all wickedness.

When God forgives us, he’s not keeping a list to hold over our heads or to beat us into the ground the next time we fail. He’s all about picking us up, dusting us off, and setting us back on our feet. He has absolutely NOTHING vested in keeping us groveling. He wants us to live in freedom, joy, and thankfulness. He’s our chief advocate, our cheerleader; our mama bear defending us cubs against attacks from the enemy who does want to destroy us and knows exactly where we’re vulnerable.

Luke 19:37-44 All of Jesus’ followers began to shout and sing as they walked along, praising God for all the wonderful miracles they had seen . . . But some of the Pharisees among the crowd said, “Teacher, rebuke your followers for saying things like that!” He replied, “If they kept quiet, the stones along the road would burst into cheers!” But as he came closer to Jerusalem and saw the city ahead, Jesus began to weep. “How I wish today that you of all people would understand the way to peace. . . you did not accept your opportunity for salvation.”

Today, Ash Wednesday, we begin to walk with Jesus toward Jerusalem. In the liturgical tradition, Lent is a penitential season, a time when we join Jesus in weeping over our own lost opportunities, all the ways we have turned away from the peace he offers us.

At our church today, we will be encouraged to observe a “holy Lent.” That means, in part, that we will set aside time in the weeks before Easter to sit before God and allow him to show us what is true in our lives that grieves him, because it hurts us and others. To the degree we enter into his grief, we have an opportunity for confession, forgiveness, and transformation. A new beginning.

The challenge of Lent is to embrace disciplines that can encourage us in this Spirit-guided self-reflection, that break into our routines and disequilibrate our status quo. Fasting is one of those disciplines that can impact us at gut level (pun intended). “I’m hungry. Oh yeah. Instead of eating today, I’m using that time to be quiet and still before God, with no distracting screens, so that I can hear him speak to me.”

I can’t think about fasting without thinking of the many, many, many days of her life Karis spent feeling hungry, often desperately so. For her, those were imposed fasts because she simply couldn’t eat. But I’ve often wondered how much her spiritual maturity was nourished during those times of physical malnourishment. Day after day, night after night, she had to fight through to peace, baring herself completely in the presence of her Father. As a young teen, Twila Paris’s “The Warrior Is a Child” was one of her favorite songs. I just listened to it again, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dkQhGSBXsHI

Lately I’ve been winning
Battles left and right
But even winners can get
Wounded in the fight
People say that I’m amazing
Strong beyond my years
But they don’t see inside of me
I’m hiding all the tears

They don’t know that
I go running home when I fall down
They don’t know Who picks me
Up when no one is around
I drop my sword and cry for just a while
‘Cause deep inside this armor
The warrior is a child

Unafraid because His armor is the best
But even soldiers need a quiet place to rest
People say that I’m amazing
Never face retreat
But they don’t see the enemies
That lay me at His feet

They don’t know that I go
Running home when I fall down
They don’t know Who picks me
Up when no one is around
I drop my sword and cry for just a while

‘Cause deep inside this armor

The warrior is a child

Will you join me in letting Karis’s courage encourage me to observe a holy Lent?

Matthew 17:5-7 But even as Peter spoke [at the Transfiguration of Jesus], a bright cloud overshadowed them, and a voice from the cloud said, “This is my dearly loved Son, who brings me great joy. Listen to him.” The disciples were terrified and fell face down on the ground. But Jesus came over and touched them. “Get up,” he said. “Don’t be afraid.”

Last week at dinner with a friend, I found myself telling her a story I’ve seldom shared with anyone, about Jesus touching me at a time when I was deeply discouraged and afraid. A gorgeous blue butterfly figured prominently in this vision. I thought about that butterfly again while absorbing our pastor Jonathan Warren’s thoughts about Jesus’ transfiguration yesterday morning. The whole sermon is worth your time; you can listen here as soon as it’s posted under 02.23.20: https://www.ascensionpittsburgh.org/sermons/

Why a butterfly? The Greek word used in Matthew 17:2, usually translated “transfigured” or “transformed,” is metamorphoo, from which our word metamorphosis is derived. Pastor Jonathan pointed out that Paul used the same word in Romans 12:2, “let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect.”

In the spectacular moment of Jesus’ transfiguration, the revelation of his glory, he cared about and cared for his disciples. Jesus lives in that glory, yet he thinks about us in all our grubbiness, and reaches out to heal, restore, and free us. Have you felt his touch? Sometimes I’m so preoccupied with my own stress, anxiety, or angst that I don’t notice him reaching out to me. When I’m still and pay attention, though, I am overwhelmed by his love. I’m taken right back to the time he played with me and the gorgeous blue butterfly.

I think our transformation starts there, with his healing touch, with feeling his love, not just saying “yeah, yeah” in our heads. We hear all the time that Jesus loves us. But that phrase can be sterile and empty until we feel his touch. That’s what enables and energizes us to stand up and walk forward with him again after we’ve been knocked down by our own fear. It changes the way we think, because compared to his love, the imperfections of other people’s love, and our own, and the world we live in, don’t really matter so very much.

The definition of metamorphosis is “the process of transformation from an immature form to an adult form.” Indeed, “transform” in Rom 12:2 is in present continuous tense, indicating a process (the same is true in 2 Corinthians 3:18). We are in a process of transformation of the way we think. And when Paul says God’s will for us is good and pleasing and perfect, the focus is on how pleased God is with the direction of our lives, not necessarily how we interpret our circumstances through our childish shortsighted self-centered desire for what feels good. The word translated perfect, teleios, means complete or mature. God wants us to grow up!

The Phillips translation captures this:

Don’t let the world around you squeeze you into its own mold, but let God re-mold your minds from within, so that you may prove in practice that the plan of God for you is good, meets all his demands and moves towards the goal of true maturity.

This challenge faces me today. Will I be willing for Jesus’ love to mature me, showing me how my life can please him? Will I be still long enough to feel his touch? And will I pay attention to his showing me how to pass his love on to others, to the specific people God brings into my life?

Interesting: the expression Jesus used to tell the disciples to get up in Mt 17:7 (“arise,” in the KJV) is the same in Mark 5:41 when he tells the little girl (Talita, in Portuguese) to get up after he touched her! I’ll have many opportunities to remember, through our new little granddaughter Talita, God’s love for me. His loving touch that doesn’t leave me stuck, but invites me to arise and walk forward with him.

Any family gaining a second child is amazed at how big and competent their older child suddenly becomes, compared to the new baby. Two-year-old maturity is impressive–but we wouldn’t want even Caleb to stay where he is!

Lord Jesus, in your amazing love, please touch each one of us, today, in our places of fear and wounding and brokenness and loss. Reveal to us your light, your glory. And transform us to be like you.