A Meditation on Deliverance
O Come, O Come Emmanuel...
The words of a hymn embedded deep into my heart from rehearsals so many years ago, seemingly in a different lifetime.
And ransom captive Israel...
The plea embedded forever onto the walls of my heart. A fervent prayer, echoing into eternity from every direction.
That mourns in lonely exile here,
A refusal to succumb to the will of those who should've been trustworthy, and were not. Cleaving to the light of my own candle, whose shining into the darkness reveals and condemns it for what it is.
Until the Son of God appears.
I shall not walk in darkness because He is here. He is always here. He cannot be separated from me.
Rejoice...
My birth rite. My joy belongs to me, is mine to claim, no matter what happens.
Rejoice.
A commandment with a promise to me.
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
Forever.
It has been six weeks since my bishop of my current ward has removed access to the sacrament from me and my family. There was no disciplinary council, no judgment passed, no conditions of repentance extended. We were handed an ultimatum to come back to church in person, with the unvaccinated and unmasked, and told there would be no alternatives given. Expose yourself and those you love or go without. Those were the instructions given to me during tithing settlement.
Nothing has changed. No divine retribution given. No change of heart. The situation as it stood then remains the same. Every word of warning I gave to him about the perils of lifting restrictions too soon, of moral cowardice in the face of certain death, has come to pass. Omicron has revealed itself and will fell millions across the world like a scythe to a harvest.
That does not mean deliverance has not come for me.
My covenants remain. The clarity of vision of how to proceed has not faded from me. As Mary stealing into the night with the Son of God, fleeing to Egypt to spare his life from Herod, funded by the kindness of strangers. Step by step through an unforgiving desert, to greet an unknown future on the other side of Sinai.
She is a survivor. I will learn from her, placing my feet where she trod. The loneliest walk in human history because no one has ever born a grief greater than hers. No one has ever been responsible for so much. I am in good company with her.
Be the solid ground beneath my feet in the wilderness. Prepare for me a table in the presence of my enemies. Hide me in the pavilion and set me upon the rock. Strengthen my heart against all fear. Bring their malice to an expected end.
