Last Friday, just as the sun was rising, I walked along the Vancouver seawall, praying my grief over leaving and my gratitude for the richness of these past sixteen years. At that hour the next morning, I’d be at the airport, waiting for the flight to take me back to Nova Scotia and my beloved family.
The morning sun tinted the high rises gold, windows catching the light, transforming concrete and glass with a glimpse of glory. I found myself praying that God’s grace and glory would transform the lives in the buildings too.
It was the week between Christ the King Sunday, the final Sunday of the previous liturgical year, and the first Sunday of Advent, the start of a new year. That in-between week always feels significant to me as we hold together the ongoing ending of Christ’s story and the beginning, Christ laying aside his glory in Advent and finally returning to even greater glory after completing his work of redemption here on earth. In that in-between week, we remember Christ now seated on the throne even as we remember once again the coming of the baby in the manger.
The song in Philippians 2 holds the whole story:
Though he was God,
he did not think of equality with God
as something to cling to.
Instead, he gave up his divine privileges;
he took the humble position of a slave
and was born as a human being.
When he appeared in human form,
he humbled himself in obedience to God
and died a criminal’s death on a cross.
Therefore, God elevated him to the place of highest honor
and gave him the name above all other names,
that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue declare that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father. (Phil 2:6-11, NLT)
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Into the Heart of God
On that last Sunday before I left Vancouver, just before the benediction, one of the pastors spoke a few words about my leaving, including this: “We want to love her and encourage her and send her off well as one of our members who is now being commissioned to serve Christ somewhere else.”
Afterwards, another pastor told me, “We see it as a commissioning into the heart of God.” I’ve been turning those last words over and over, words holding not just a sending but a promise and an adventure. A commissioning into the heart of God: what could be both wilder and more secure, a greater adventure into the unknown, and a more certain path into the greatest love and faithfulness imaginable?
A commissioning into the heart of God: I’ve been hearing the words not just for myself, as I begin this new adventure in Nova Scotia, but for all of us as we begin a new liturgical year in this season of Advent. We are all called by Jesus to come and live this new year with him, journeying ever more deeply with him into his self-emptying, his life, death, resurrection, and exaltation to the right hand of God, all the while finding ourselves held secure in the tender care of the God whose love never ceases.
A Blessing
After the pastor spoke of sending me off to serve Christ in Nova Scotia, he prayed this blessing over the whole congregation. I pray it now over us all as we begin again this year-long journey with Jesus:
“May the God who is over all things and in all things and through all things go before you and behind you and beside you every step of the way. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.”
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P.S. What comes to your mind when you think of being commissioned into the heart of God? I’d love to hear!
P.P.S. Recently I had a lovely chat with the good folk on the Regent College podcast. They asked the most insightful and personal questions I’ve ever been asked on a podcast. You can find the link here on Spotify or wherever you listen to your podcasts.
