I hate New Year’s posts. Wasn’t gonna do one, but then this week happened and I kinda changed my mind.
“…you heard [the Gospel] and understood the charis of God in truth.” (Colossians 1:6b)
Charis. It’s a Greek word, found over one hundred fifty times in the New Testament. Strong’s defines charis as the divine influence on the human heart, and the response, especially thankfulness.
Charis. Grace. I don’t usually pick a “word for the year” or any other such trendy activity. But if I had, that would be the word of the year for 2020.
Charis. The divine influence on the human heart. It marks every moment, from the freshness and anticipation of the beginning, through the many tears and agonies of isolation, and the uncertainties and constant change of the pandemic response, all the way through to the end of the year and the many good and hard changes that continued there.
March brought the lockdown and agonies of loneliness such as I’ve never known before. Losing all social outlets AND church gatherings AND most of your work hours in one fell swoop is especially challenging for those who live alone. If not for a few faithful friends who welcomed me into their homes despite the yet-unknown risks, I’m not sure I would have come out of that with my sanity intact. They were God-with-skin-on to me in that time. Charis. Grace.
April continued and intensified the isolation and uncertainty. There was the felt betrayal from the church as all formal gatherings ceased just when I knew my need of them the most. As work hours continued to disappear, I wasn’t sure how I’d pay the rent. The isolation and fear got so bad I sometimes ended up curled in a corner of the sofa, as deep sobs tore through me. But. Charis. Grace found me again. Clandestine visits and quiet prayer meetings. Odd jobs provided income. Generous gifts paid the rent. I survived, and didn’t lose my apartment, and dared to hope that things might get better again and maybe we didn’t live in Communist America after all.
May brought some relief, as work hours picked up again, and even brought better conditions and new clients whom I grew to love dearly. Bits of normalcy came back. (Normalcy is a form of charis.)
Summer. Church began to meet openly again, and we appreciated each other like never before. Tears of joy streamed as we sang and worshipped together. I helped care for a friend who had COVID. The total lack of fear I felt was charis. (So was getting a negative test and not losing work hours to quarantine!)
Fall brought Bible school. My first ever, and it was good. Words can’t describe the work God did in my heart in those hours of worshipping and walking and listening. Charis.
Late fall and early winter brought a rush of good things. This lovely little farmhouse with it’s long lane and peaceful setting. A housemate whose very presence has been healing. Growing and deepening friendships. Continual growing and new surrender in Christ. Charis.
This week, somehow, was a culmination of all that. A time of breaking and surrender and discovering the goodness and grace of God rich in the midst of the tears.
As I close out 2020, I’m asking:
What if the kindest thing that God could do is to allow us to come to the end of our own strength and fail utterly? What if our weakness was His mercy? What if our absolute inability was His opportunity to live out His abundant ability through us?
What if being strong and having it all together was not the most important thing? What if, instead, we live best and most joyously when we surrender? What if His strength really is made great in our weakness?
What if we are designed to live as beloved children, dependent and needy? What if ours is the paradoxical joy of knowing that we are utterly outmatched of ourselves (but our Champion is Jesus and He already won!)?
It's been a rough week, a fitting ending to 2020 somehow, of coming to the end of myself, again and more completely (although I'm under no illusions that the process is finished). And as I do, and relax into HIS strength and peace and love... Well, I'd have it no other way. Because this is better than being strong. This is charis. This is grace, and I’m grateful.