I get a weekly communication from Renovare and the letter this week from Brian Morykon was deeply moving. I couldn’t find an online version to link to, so I am just cutting and pasting, hoping I’m not violating any copyright laws in the process.

It’s a strange thought. 

When Jesus was here on earth working a miracle in one place, some atrocity was unfolding in another. 

In Cana he made wine from water to keep a party going. Somewhere at that same moment some child was being used as a slave.

He healed a woman crippled for 18 years when 18 people had just died from a tower collapsing. 

He made no attempt to explain away the tension of tragedy. 

He gave no apologies for making a world with such staggering possibilities for suffering.

He offered no tidy explanation for the problem of pain. 

Instead, he gave us himself. And he showed us a life.

He carried in his earthly body the weight of the world, yet on a day-to-day basis it did not crush him. He cried for Lazarus. He lamented for Jerusalem. He cared about everything and everyone more than anyone could ever care. And he could still take a nap.

Jesus embodied a present life. He was with people—rejoicing with those who rejoiced, weeping with those who wept. With, with, with. 

His parting words were Behold, I will be with you always. With us in joy, with us in sorrow. The invitation is there: to be with him. 

Will we find answers there with him? Unlikely. But we will find in his company something to sustain us—the hard-won hope of someone who’s known all the trouble the world can dish out but has still overcome.

I won’t always get answers. There aren’t very many “snap” solutions. We will deal with prideful leaders and corrupt governments. Disease may still attack our bodies. But in it all, we can find his company. His presence.

This is our hope and strength.