By Diana Hoke, First Church congregant & a leader of Adult Education
For most Americans there were too many paths to travel this past year, particularly the ones handing us burdens created by the implosion of our nation. For me, I had an additional rugged and immeasurably painful path to travel, pushing myself forward through the illness and death of my husband Max. Stumbling among so many paths, carrying the weight of so many burdens, I felt at times too near the edge of the cliff, only one more doom scroll away from going on over. The Way was weighing too much.
While planning lessons for our adult Lenten class based on The Way, I happened upon this scripture: “Our steps are made firm by the Lord when God delights in our way; though we stumble, we shall not fall headlong, for the Lord holds us by the hand” (Psalms 37:23-24).
I couldn’t help but notice the wording in this passage. God will hold our hands when we “delight” him. Here, it seems, is one of the covenants we agree to enter into with God. Doing as Jesus taught us to do honors God. We still might stumble, but God’s hand will help us from falling too hard.
As I thought about this, I realized how many such people are all around us. They are close by, not difficult to find. They exist as nearly five thousand Greater Lafayette marchers who peacefully protested against offenses that defy Jesus’s commandment. They are the hands of hundreds and hundreds of volunteers in our area meeting the needs of the victims of these injustices. They are kind, loving people of our church who support one another in times of need, who send cards and emails of blessings and encouragement when one of us is hurting. They are our pastors who seem to know exactly what is troubling us and target our worries and pain with powerful Sunday morning messages that might raise eyebrows in other churches but not here, messages that redirect us toward The Way. They are found leading prayers and music that stir the soul:
“We’re on a journey, children of the light, searching for the truth and what is right.” (Craig Colson. We’re On a Journey, performed by choir, Palm Sunday 2026).
And they deliver children’s messages for all ages as happened on the week before Palm Sunday. I was overcome when a little girl placed a small black stone in my hand, a reminder of heavy burdens we carry on sometimes treacherous paths, held back by God’s hands each time we are about to fall. The spiritual strength of that realization washed over me in silent tears. The stone in my hand held the weight of burdens I had carried with unsure steps for a long, long year. It was time to lay them down.
When worship service concluded, I clutched the tiny stone, rose from my seat, and walked out of the church towards the woods behind. Ahead lay a walkway, a path of sorts, graced by lovely daffodils framing the way to three white crosses rising above the resting place of Max and other beloved church family, a sacred space in the presence of nature to lay down one’s burdens. After some quiet moments, I looked up toward the center cross. Below its base where the beautiful stone frame of the columbarium stretches, I noticed lying atop it several other tiny stones, very much like the one in my hand, each bearing the weight of untold burdens that other pilgrims among us had chosen to lay down.
“Come to me,” said Jesus, “all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)
It was time. I opened my hand holding the little shiny black stone, touched it to my heart, reached up, and laid it atop the stone wall with the others and prayed.
“Dear Heavenly Father, I surrender to you the stress, worries, grief, and pain that have completely exhausted me. I humbly ask you for healing rest so that I may continue following you on The Way.”
I stepped back and looked up a few moments more at the white cross against a background of spring green pines and a pale blue sky. I touched Max’s plaque once more, turned, and walked back down the path lined with daffodils, and I did not stumble. Not once.
Amen.
0 Comments