"One of them, when he saw that He was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus' feet and thanked Him – and he was a Samaritan." (Luke 17:15-16 NIV)
It’s a new year and I’m glad of it. It’s time to lay 2023 to rest and go forward with God into whatever 2024 has to offer.
‘Tabernacle’ was my word for 2023 and it brings to mind a dusty image of God’s people, traipsing amidst the barren business between Egypt and Israel, traveling by cloud and fire. In hindsight, ‘Tabernacle’ has proven to be an accurate depiction of the last calendar year.
We spent this year without a single stitch of self-sufficiency, sense of direction or semblance of a plan. Additionally, we were utterly reliant on God’s provision. We started out in Weimar and wound up in San Antonio – a corner of the world where we’ve pitched our tent previously. We essentially made a giant loop in the last eight years. And perhaps the hardest aspect of 2023 was our full year without a church home. We pursued God’s presence alone.
Yesterday, in service, there was a holy lull between the singing and the speaking. A woman quietly uttered a word that I can’t unhear. I’m not sure the entire congregation caught it, but it snagged my soul and hasn’t let go.
“We will not go without thanking You, Lord.”
The unknown worshiper referenced the leper who had returned; the only one of ten who came back to bless his Healer. I could see it in my mind, a now-whole hand dropping bandages. I, too, entered 2023 wounded and at risk of infection, but God, in His mercy, has met me with healing.
The leper who came back was a Samaritan. An outsider. A reject. And the Savior still sought to heal him. For me, the past five years have been marked deeply by rejection. In a lot of ways I’ve felt like I’m standing at the perimeter of my previous life, wondering if I will ever belong again. But the lesson in Hagar, and maybe the leper, also, is that God goes after the one that others have rejected. We aren’t too far gone for fellowship with Him. And holy interaction almost always includes healing.
So this morning, while my household slept off last night’s festivities, I sat in the dregs of 2023, sludging for thanksgiving’s sake. Four treasures emerged from the muck.
First, Believers need the Body.
I’ve suspected this since childhood, but after a year without a church family, now I know it. Just as a severed finger or foot cannot survive for long removed from its frame, the believer suffers trauma apart from church community. (Granted, there’s injury within the walls of the church, but corporate healing still surpasses it’s wounding.)
Believers require the encouragement, edification, correction and accountability of congregational coexistence in order to fully flourish in spiritual growth. Apart from the body, believers digress; we become inward-focused, bitter and even belligerent. (Ask me how I know; it’s all been quite tempting.) The longer we worship alone, the higher the cost of re-engagement climbs. Community comes at a price. In spiritual isolation, we grow accustomed to spending that equity on self.
Second, God alone sustains in the wilderness.
When I sift through 2023 I see the generous hand of our Father laying manna on the ground for us to discover and devour each day. Rob and I have known God’s provision previously, but in 2023 we experienced it miraculously.
Before we resigned at Live Oak we had already halved our salary. By the time we said our goodbyes, we had drained our savings and had no idea how we’d make it to Christmas, let alone pay our mortgage in the coming year. We had two kids in college and pretty dim job prospects. Yet, day by day, month by month, manna came down. We never missed a payment, but far more than that, God did ludicrous things to express His love for us.
We were gifted with two tickets to Italy to visit friends for our 25th. Rob’s decades-old student loan was suddenly approved for Public Service Forgiveness. Our daughter’s remaining school balance was mysteriously taken care of. Our little yellow house sold despite sky-high interest rates. We didn’t just survive the wilderness, we very nearly thrived through it.
Moreover, Mid-life men and women can learn new things.
We’ve all heard the bit about old dogs and new tricks. And honestly, in adult ministry, I’ve witnessed the affects of such belief firsthand. We get to a certain amount of life experience and we just aren’t interested in trying new things. We know who we are and we know what we like. What lies beyond that, well, we haven’t required it yet so why would we now?
Turns out, middle-age doesn’t mean we can’t change. The empty nest is actually an amazing opportunity to take on fresh challenges and cultivate new skills. We can grow and change; our forties are the perfect time to figure that out!
In the last year I’ve learned so much! I’ve acquired new knowledge about education, sales, negotiation and risk management. I took a day course on reteaching middle school math, for pity’s sake! I closed a million dollars worth of deals during my four months at a car dealership. (My coworkers took to calling me Bad Anna; isn’t that a hoot?!) I received an education in ripping stitches and steaming gowns. I assisted brides in finding their dream dresses and groom’s mothers in letting go of their sons. You guys, I successfully made the switch from Mac to PC in my workplace and I DIDN’T DIE!!! 🙂 I also read forty books in the past 365 days; memoirs, christian-living, classics, fiction and non-fiction.
I say all this to say: I learned a lot in 2023. I rejected the lie that middle-age is too old to take on new challenges. If managing my parents estate in 2018 taught me anything, it’s that I can do hard things. 2023 taught me that I can even elect those hard things myself. I’ve already handpicked a few new mountains to scale in 2024 if the Lord allows.
Which brings me to my last take away:
God’s presence is still worth pursuing.
Even when He’s leading away from others, out of familiarity, beyond the sanctuary of fellow believers that has sheltered us from birth. The wilderness with Him educates us on the sufficiency of our God. Jesus had to grow into this knowledge and so did I. In the dregs of this last year, I’m grateful that He is still jealous for me and that we got this stretch alone together.
I don’t pretend to know what 2024 will hold. It’s a sheaf of blank paper with a couple ideas penciled on the first page. I do know that I have been drawn to a word for the last few months. ‘Communion’ keeps getting my attention and I’m ready to lean into it and learn whatever the Lord might have for me next.
“Jesus asked, “Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Has no one returned to give praise to God except for this foreigner? Then He said to him, “Rise and go; your faith has made you well.” (Luke 17:17 NIV)
Lord, we acknowledge that 2023 was not what we had hoped for when we first pushed off into it. And here we are on the far side of it, grateful to be through it. But Lord, we will not go into 2024 without first giving thanks. Help us today to uncover the treasures in the dark. May we receive them as such, with glad gratitude in our hearts. Meet us today and in the new year, too. Amen.