Fr Robert Hendrickson

Dear Friends in Christ,

“Joy cometh in the morning.” That’s the promise of Psalm 30 which pledges that “weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” It’s easy to look at the headlines today with mass shootings, and caravans, and vitriol, and pipe bombs, and more and to just turn a blind eye or give ourselves over to the hopeless rage that grips so many. It’s easy to become numb or to burn ourselves out with anger.

This is the dearest hope of the powers and principalities of this world - that those who weep will become so parched from their lamentations that they will waste away. Their hope is that those who look on aghast will become so disgusted that they’ll turn away and ignore further injustice. Their hope is that those whose anger burns so hot at injustice will burn themselves out going from blaze to blaze. The hope of the powers and principalities is that joy will never come — their hope is our hopelessness.

But joy cometh in the morning. Weeping may endure for the night - it may endure for a season even — but joy cometh in the morning. Joy cometh in the morning for it is the vision of the Kingdom that justice will roll down like waters from on high. If we believe in God, we must believe in God’s promise, and we must believe that we have some part in helping make that Kingdom real for the world.

It seems foolish to hope right now.

Our nation seems such a vale of tears in which we are but exiles, migrants from some foreign place from which fools speaking hope come wandering, dazed by what we’ve lost. Those who hope seem just poor banished children of Eve who wander with visions of a garden amidst the ruins and despairs of this noisome world. But joy cometh in the morning. After this, our exile, we must come with visions of a new garden. We must come back, sounding foolish, sounding like we’re drunk with hope, sounding like we’re mad with the promise of justice.

The powers and principalities, which have taken hatchet and hammer to dreams of a better world, will burn themselves out. They dropped the spear that pierced Christ’s side. They laughed themselves into a stupor once lots were cast for his garments. They drunkenly caroused and cavorted even as the vinegar was spilled and the sponge dried up. They fell asleep exhausted from their revels. And while they slept a tomb opened. While they rested hope burst out of the grave. On their faithless watch Hell was harrowed as its rafters were splintered. The heavens were prepared to exalt even as the cock crowed thrice. For joy cometh in the morning even as we must, and should, and can only, pass the night weeping.

In Hope,

Robert