Named: Hope in Pandemonium
I find it hard to write posts amid the chaos in the world. I am burdened by the uncertainty, grief and horror that too often today corresponds with school-aged kids, bankers, church congregations, next door neighbors, friends and families, immigrants and refugees, and the casualties of war. After carrying this burden for a long time, I have come to realize that this heightened-awareness is God’s way of prompting me to pray—often in the middle of the night— for the people behind the faces I see pictured on news-feeds or my TV screen.
The Bible reminds us over and over again that God hears and answers our prayers, and demonstrates for us from Genesis to Revelation that He is actively involved in His created world.
As followers of Jesus, we need regular reminders that there’s another narrative, another story that brings meaning to even the ugliest circumstances and light to the darkest soul—the true story. Remarkably, the triune God knows our name, loves us, and promises us that God will one day wipe away every tear from our eyes and death will vanquished (Rev 21:1–4). The world’s pandemonium is unsettling for all of us, and these reminders that provide us a Lifeline, might very well encourage a coworker, neighbor, or friend, let’s not hold back!
This poem by George Hopson, for me today, cuts through the pandemonium and reminds us of the Truth. I hope it encourages you too.
When, saddened by our human plight
(We trust not God or men, from fear
Of death and time’s unravelling spool),
I stand, O Lord, beneath your night
And hear the grass and tired trees
Stirring in their sleep, I feel a fool
To fret that our inveterate sin,
Yielding such disloyalty, might shake
The structures of your faithfulness.
When lightning rends the dark, and din
Of thunder claps in cloud-quake
That makes the poor heart tremble,
The breadth of your great power, Lord,
Your sway and glory, strikes my soul;
Sin’s citadels encroaching on our race,
Issue of our disgrace, then cease to tower
In my mind, and fear, faith’s enemy,
Is toppled from its throne and trampled down.
Yet under the turn of constellations,
The Dippers, Taurus, the precious stars
That stud the White Way’s lustrous hoop,
What prompts my heart to adoration
Is not the splendour of those heavenly flames,
Not night’s sweep nor the galaxy’s loop
In space, but wind in the dark leaves,
Breathing on the furrowed earth, breathing
On my furrowed brow, the still voice
In the breeze whispering under the eaves
Of the universe, calling the heart harrowed
By love’s impossibility, to rejoice.
Oh, not the call’s content but the fact
Of it, first is wonderful – I am named!
And if named, then known, wanted, claimed.
The call itself – the Word – is the act.
Found – loved! – I stand enthralled
To hear on the night wind my name called.
Reprinted from: The Kirby Laing Centre, The Big Picture Magazine, Issue 5, November, 2022, https://kirbylaingcentre.co.uk/the-big-picture/online-magazine/issue-05/named/.
