O Coastlands!

Listen to me, O coastlands, pay attention, you peoples from far away! The LORD called me before I was born, while I was in my mother’s womb he named me. He made my mouth like a sharp sword, in the shadow of his hand he hid me; he made me a polished arrow, in his quiver he hid me away. And he said to me, “You are my servant, Israel, in whom I will be glorified.” But I said, “I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity; yet surely my cause is with the LORD, and my reward with my God.” And now the LORD says, who formed me in the womb to be his servant, to bring Jacob back to him, and that Israel might be gathered to him, for I am honored in the sight of the LORD, and my God has become my strength—he says, “It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the survivors of Israel; I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.” Isaiah 49:1-6 

Today is the last day of the church year, the end of the long season of Pentecost. We are on the edge between known and unknown, between completing to starting over. We are hovering on the coast of a new beginning. It is liminal space, despite the fact that the world around us has become fully on fire for Christmas. Folks ate their Thanksgiving turkeys and went outside and decorated. There was no caution, the world went full on without a care. Yet this is a moment to take care. We are on the verge of new life.

My prayer for today is that we will all be mindful of the portent and the hope that surrounds us. This edge of known and unknown, of mystery, danger and possibility is the germ of a whole new way of being. It is the invitation to listen more deeply, to dwell longer in discomfort, to stand in those awkward moments and places. God invites us to stillness and anticipation as we awat a new season of hope and love.