Tag Archives: Compassion

Meat and Greet

Please excuse me if this post is a bit ‘scatter-brained’, but my wife and I just returned from a few days in New York City.  It was wonderful – we saw a Broadway musical (“Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812”, a song-and-dance, nearly all libretto adaptation of Tolstoy’s War and Peace, which was so much better than how I just described it), stayed in a tiny hotel room, did some window shopping along 6th Avenue and ate at the world-famous Katz’s Delicatessen.   The best part was the time Jeanine and I had together on the train – the four hours of adult conversation each way was wonderful.

As I sought to connect my thoughts with motivation for the spiritual journey, I thought about writing about the despair of Russian story-telling and quickly decided against it.  I thought about the tiny hotel room and the benefits of hospitality in an unfamiliar environment, but our amenities were nothing to write home about.  My thoughts keep going back to that warm brisket with ground mustard on light rye sandwich that I enjoyed at Katz’s (as well as the corned beef with mustard on Italian sandwich Jeanine savored).  That is what really made me think about God.

Saying all this about a sandwich may be tantamount to gluttony, but being there was a bit like being in church.  For those who have yet to experience all that is Katz’s, allow me to share a few things: first, there are no counter seats or tables for two, just four-tops along the walls and long tables which seat eight in the middle of the floor; then, you must walk up to a (meat) cutter, who will prepare your feast before your eyes; and last, people from every walk of life will be there (while we were dining, there was someone there with bodyguards who was obviously someone special).  It was like church because it epitomized community, generosity and acceptance.

So go to the street corners and invite to the banquet anyone you find.  Matthew 22:9

The opportunities we have for community dining are quickly passing away.  That is tragic.  As we were eating, a chair’s width away from us was a bowl of matzo ball soup and we were humored by the size of the ball amidst the broth (it was about equal to a softball).  We were shared pleasantries with a businessman who squeezed in behind us.  There was lively banter between perfect strangers all around us.  It was the closest thing to a church supper I’d experienced outside of church, and it was awesome.

With the norm of dining out being fancy meals that can fit on a tea saucer, it was a breath of fresh air to see and consume the sandwiches we were served.  I watched the cutter take out a whole brisket and, after a bit of trimming, slice half of it.  I watch him fan out the meat and place it three layers high on the bread, as well as offer me a taste as I watched.  It had to be two pounds of meat – more than necessary, more than generous.  He did the same for Jeanine’s sandwich and then sent me on my way with my food and a plate of pickles.  It was the closest thing to grace I’d experienced in a while – for I received so much more than I imagined.

As we sat there wondering who the man in the suit (surrounded by two guys with earpieces) was, we speculated that maybe he’s the mayor, or a politician, or a business leader.  Whoever he was, he too, waited in line (in truth, one of the earpieces did) and had to sit at a community table.  No one got special treatment.  Everyone was treated the same, and that treatment was exceptional.  As I ate my sandwich, I was blessed with the knowledge that I was being treated the same way every celebrity who had entered the deli was treated, and if the décor was an indication, plenty of celebrities had passed through the doors.  It is the closest thing to heaven I’ve witnessed in a while – everyone treated equally, regardless of who they are or what they’ve done.

The experience has whet my appetite for the real thing – heaven – where we will live in community, be blessed with generosity and experience acceptance.  Maybe heaven will have heaping mounds of brisket, too.

Play It Again

What a difference five months makes.  On Monday, July 3rd, when there was nothing but repeats on television, I flipped through the channels, finally arriving upon the programming of the NFL network.  They were rebroadcasting Super Bowl LI, which took place on Sunday, February 5th.  I sat in my recliner, celebrating the eve of Independence Day, and watched ‘America’s New Team’, the New England Patriots, contend against the Atlanta Falcons for the Lombardi Trophy and professional football’s championship.

I watched the game when it was broadcast live.  I was optimistic when the 1st quarter ended with neither team scoring.  That optimism waned as Atlanta held a 21-3 lead as Lady Gaga took the field for the halftime show.  The hopes of a 5th championship nearly disappeared when the Falcons scored one more time midway through the 3rd quarter.  28-3.  No one had ever overcome as much as a 14-point deficit in the Super Bowl, and now the Pats were down by 25.  Maybe the Patriots were not as good as their fans imagined.  I remember watching with unbelief and sadness that the hometown team was going down to utter defeat.  I remember thinking that perhaps New England could, at the very least, make the game competitive.

Watching the replay of the game earlier this week was a much different experience.  I was not troubled by Tom Brady’s early and poorly thrown interception.  I was unaffected by Gostkowski’s missed point-after attempt.  I delighted in the ineptitude of the New England defense in the 1st half and the Atlanta offense in the 2nd half.  The final 23 minutes were when all the fun took place.  28-3.  28-9.  28-12.  28-20.  Edelman’s miracle catch with 2 minutes and change to go in the game.  28-28.  The Super Bowl was going into overtime for the first time in the history of the game.  Patriots win the coin toss.  34-28.  Patriots win.  NFL Champions.  Queue up the duck-boats.

It takes an emotional toll on a spectator when the outcome remains unknown, but there is no trepidation when that same spectator knows how it all will end.   That was the difference between February 5th and July 3rd.  The second broadcast was thoroughly enjoyable – even the bad plays and the foolish fouls – because I knew that the New England Patriots were victorious.

Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope.  1 Thessalonians 4:13

This is how those who know Christ as Lord and Savior ought to think about the future, just like we were reviewing a recorded sporting event.  We know how it ends.  We need not hopelessly grieve as if we are unaware of the outcome.  We can, and should, anticipate the blessed hope of Christ’s victory over sin, death and Satan.   We will certainly have periods of awfulness and ache, but they will lose their power in light of the impending joy at the conclusion of our journey.

In the words of Patriots wide receiver Julian Edelman, “Hey! Let’s go, boys.  It’s going to be a hell of a story.”

Billions and Billions Served

The other night, my wife and I watched “The Founder”, a biopic about Ray Kroc, the ‘founder’ of McDonald’s.    As someone largely unfamiliar with the history of the ‘Golden Arches’, through the film I was introduced to culinary geniuses Maurice and Richard McDonald and the ‘speedee system’ they developed (the source of the great success the restaurants that bore their name enjoyed).  They designed a kitchen and business model that provided good food with no plates, no carhops and (most importantly) no waiting – it was revolutionary.  Kroc, who sold milkshake blenders at the time, made a sales call at the walk-up ‘diner’ and was immediately smitten.

The McDonald brothers had a great product and a great process, and they wanted to share them with people beyond those living in San Bernadino, California.  That was where the genius of Ray Kroc came in, as a franchise specialist.  In the span of six years, Kroc expertly established franchises in dozens of locations across America and grew tired of the need to gain the McDonald brothers’ approval for every franchise and any systemic changes.  Kroc broke his contract with the brothers and forced them to consider the expense of a lawsuit.  They eventually settled on a price ($1 million to each brother, after taxes) and Kroc moved on with everything – the product, the process and the name “MacDonald’s”.  It is a cautionary tale of what can happen when a wolf gets into the henhouse.

You adulterous people, don’t you know that friendship with the world means enmity against God?  Therefore, anyone who chooses to be a friend of the world becomes an enemy of God.    James 4:4

As I watched the movie, I thought of the connections that this account of the rise of McDonald’s had with the church (i.e. the people of God, not the buildings).

First, there is an emphasis on the part of the brothers to focus on what is important.  Part of their success was offering what people wanted and eliminating everything that was not needed.  Early in the film, Dick McDonald tells Ray Kroc that they offered all sorts of items on the menu and were struggling, causing them to reevaluate.  They discovered that 87% of their sales were three items – burgers, fries and soft drinks.  They decided that this (and milkshakes) was all that would be on the menu.  As the church, we would do well to remember what we are here to offer – the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Then, there was an emphasis on the part of the brothers with putting people first.  Much of the disagreements between the McDonalds and Kroc was the purpose of the restaurants – was it to be a commercial enterprise intent of making money or a service intent on enabling families a night out at a reasonable price?  I think we all know how that turned out.  The church is likewise tempted to choose prosperity over people.

Finally, there is an emphasis on the part of the brothers to refuse any form of compromise.  Toward the end of their contractual relationship, Kroc wanted to save costs with a new product, powdered milkshakes that needed no refrigeration.  The brothers refused the idea because milkshakes are made with, like, milk. Likewise, the church must steer clear of compromise if we seek to make a difference for Christ.

The church – the people of God co-laboring in Christ – has something wonderful to offer the world.  Let us pray that no one robs us of our joy in serving Him.

Time to Talk

There is a church down the street with the following on its lawn sign: “GODISNOWHERE”.  The point of the sign is to reveal a person’s perspective – does the reader see “God is nowhere” or “God is now here”?  Clever.  But the sign also serves as a prime example for the value of space.  There is meaning in strings of letters and there is meaning in the breaks: legend and leg end (one involves a great feat and other is great feet), justice and just ice (ask for each at the donut shop and you will get two very different things), menswear and men swear (it may refer to a blue shirt or a blue streak) or conspiracy and cons piracy (descriptions of a nefarious plot and the actions of a thieving ship of prisoners).  Space contributes to meaning.

Pauses are impactful.  Watch any competition television show and you will experience the power of the pause: Ryan Seacrest stating on American Idol that “the winner…will be revealed when we come back” or Tom Bergeron on Dancing with the Stars looking into the camera and saying “the couple leaving  tonight’s competition…(a camera pans over the contestants for 30 seconds)…[insert names here]”.  We all can recall an occasion when we included a pregnant pause – for effect, in remorse, to increase suspense – to take a breath to add weight to what needed to be said.  Space contributes to importance.

Unfortunately, most of us rush our words and our conversations suffer.  We abhor silence.  We seek to remedy the awkward pause with something, anything to fill the void.  We have lost our appreciation for space, for pause, for silence.  We have stopped taking the time to listen.  We have ceased the practice of seeking God’s help in appropriating just the right phrase.  We have replaced relational interactions with information transfers, expressing less of our feelings and more of the facts.  We tweet and text, ignoring punctuation and eliminating the full stop from the period or the subtle shift from the comma.  Space contributes to emotion.

May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.    Psalm 19:14

The root word for the Old Testament practice of meditation relates to the biological function of digestion.  We have a similar English word: rumination.  We ‘chew on’ ideas, we ‘digest’ materials.  In a real sense we break down the thoughts, sights and sounds of life into their basic nutritional components and absorb them, using them for our benefit and the benefit of others.  We would be better communicators if we allowed time for the inner processes to come to a completion before we uttered some of the empty outward expressions our conversations contain.

Allow yourself the space to build meaning, emphasize importance and express emotion.  Perhaps we can, in our own way, incorporate the wisdom of C.S. Lewis, who said,

“A pipe gives a wise man time to think and a fool something to stick in his mouth.”

We all can benefit from a little time to think and then utter just the right expression.

Birthday Present

On Monday of this week we celebrated my wife’s birthday.  Without sharing a specific number (a woman never tells her age), I will say that it was a ‘milestone’.  She and I went ‘in town’ to a fancy restaurant for lunch, then returned home for presents and cake with the kids, and finally had supper together (all the while enduring the hottest June 12th on record).  While some may say that our festivities were meager given the circumstances for celebration, it was exactly what the birthday girl wanted – a time to break from the routine of laundry, dishes and ‘taxi service’ and simply enjoy the blessings of life with those we love.

I don’t believe I am ‘telling tales out of school’ in saying that milestone birthday can be hard.  In the days leading up to her birthday, as was the case 16 months ago with my milestone birthday, my wife voiced some uneasiness in acknowledging another candle was being added to the cake.  It is at these times that we all tend to reflect on those missed opportunities, regret those unwise decisions and recalibrate to what now seems possible.  We joke with one another about being “over the hill” (as long as it isn’t our birthday we’re talking about) and wonder if our best days are behind us.

Milestones, like big birthdays, also remind us of where we’ve been and how far we’ve travelled.  I have known my wife since she was sixteen and celebrated it with her ever since she was eighteen.  We’ve celebrated a few times during summer break from college, once while planning our wedding and as even newlyweds and new parents.  We’ve celebrated at her parents’ home, at our six different homes and at dozens of diverse restaurants.  We’ve celebrated some birthdays after long days at work, others on warm weekends and one at a High School awards ceremony.  Each year has been different.  All those celebrations have now become mental snapshots of a life well lived and a life well loved.

I know that I have given Jeanine a present or two each of the years we’ve been together, but, for the life of me, I cannot remember a single one with any specificity.  I think this is because, in my opinion, the best gift given on her birthday is not the one she receives from us but the one she is to us.  She is the anchor of our family, preventing us from drifting toward disaster.  She is the glue in her relationships, keeping us together.  She is the optimist in the most pessimistic of predicaments.  All those who know Jeanine understand that the world is a better, kinder, sweeter place because she is in it.

May your fountain be blessed, and may you rejoice in the wife of your youth.   Proverbs 5:18

As the cliché goes, age is just a number.  While that may be true, birthdays are special; it celebrates the day God gave us one another.  I praise God that I could spend so many days celebrating the important people in my life, especially Jeanine.  Happy Birthday to you.

Building Community

Over the past two weeks, I have travelled with my youngest son back in time courtesy of two historic dwellings.  Two weeks ago, I had the privilege of serving as a chaperone for his third grade to the Pierce House, built in 1683 and located about four blocks from Joshua’s school.  Then, last Monday, the family went to 83 Beals Street in Brookline, the “modest” home built in 1909 where the thirty-fifth president of the U.S. was born.  Both these houses have been restored to reflect an earlier time period and give those who visit a unique glimpse of life for those living in the past.

The Pierce House was restored to reflect its namesake’s ownership, Colonel Samuel Pierce. Prior to the Revolutionary War, the Pierces farmed and worked a 20-acre plot of land and the house was furnished and fashioned to depict colonial life in New England.  It gave my son and his classmates the opportunity to experience life from another person’s perspective.  One activity the children played during the field trip was a trading game: each student was given a role in the community (wheelwright, farmer, shoemaker, etc.) and a shopping list, requiring them to interact with others to secure what they needed to survive.    From this humble home, I hope my nine-year old gained an understanding of the value of community.

We visited the birthplace of John F. Kennedy on what would have been his one hundredth birthday.  While the brochure describes the house as “modest”, it seemed opulent for the times (electricity, indoor plumbing and maids’ quarters).  The home was restored to its appearances in 1920, according the “living cultural translator”, a maid-of-all-work named Marie.  She told us about the modern convenience of the toaster and the Cupcakes she was working on to celebrate Jack’s third birthday.   She seemed proud to work for such a prominent family and grateful for the opportunities her new life in her new country provided.  From this well-appointed home, I hope my nine-year old gained an understanding of the value of hard work.

So Christ himself gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ.  Ephesians 4:11-13

These two homes gave me pangs of melancholy.  As I stood watching third-graders trading food and fabrics with their classmates, I longed for a time before supermarkets and department stores when we knew our neighbors and their importance to the community: everyone had something to offer and everyone helped everyone else.  As I stood in a Brookline kitchen, I longed for a time before Apple© products and electronic apps when we sought to serve others and share our lives with more than a small circle of like-minded individuals.  I long for a place where the values of the past are appreciated in the present.

This nostalgic sadness subsides as I think about the role of the church in our culture: it can be the place where we find real community and the place where we foster real opportunities to serve.  Perhaps your longings for a better world, if you have them, can be satisfied at a house of worship near you.

Who Cares?

Recently, I had the opportunity to deliver a sermon on one of my favorite Bible passages: Mark 4:35-41.  This portion of scripture recounts Jesus’ stilling of the storm.  I find this section of God’s word particularly impactful because of the question someone in the boat asks of Jesus: “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”  That is a question that each one of us has asked (or will ask) whoever we understand to be our Supreme Being when our lives are on the brink of shipwreck.  When we come to the end of ourselves, when our brains and our brawn have been exhausted, we all want to know if God will be there to deliver us from danger.

From the very beginning of their voyage, everyone in the boat knew Jesus’ command – “Let us go over to the other side.”  Their problem was that they lacked a full understanding of who was resting in the boat with them; they failed to recognize that the man who fell asleep amid the rising swells was God the Son.  They did not recognize that the one who directed the disciples to cross the sea would not lie or be denied.  They were unable to comprehend that, no matter how strong the storm (and even if the boat was sunk), they would make it through the wind and waves safe to the other side.  They were going to survive those frightening hours because God keeps His promises.  We, too, will survive the storm.

This inability to recognize Jesus as anything more than a teacher, an expert in the Law of God, is the crux of this account.  It has always fascinated me that the disciples, at least four of whom had years of nautical experience as fishermen, would wake the resting Rabbi for assistance.  Perhaps this question of concern was founded in their thought that a “man of God” was blessed by God and His prayers would avail much.   Maybe they remembered His miraculous power expressed in healing and deliverance, thinking that maybe He could act miraculously again.  The point is, someone in that boat thought that Jesus was special and wondered if He could save them.  We, too, have times when we wonder if Jesus can save us.

Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. 1 Peter 5:7 (NIV)

Why did Jesus calm the sea?  He did not still the waves to assure safe passage; that would have happened anyway.   He did not rebuke the wind to demonstrate His power over the natural order; they already knew He could do that.  He did all this to bring peace to the hearts of twelve frightened grown men; He showed that He cared for them, not just their circumstances.  The danger in reading passages like this that it can lead us to assume that God will always tame the troubles that terrify us.  That would miss the point that Jesus came to tame our fear, not simply take them away.

We all have anxious moment when we wonder if God cares, or even know, about us.  Here is a reminder that He does.  He cares enough to weather the storms with us and still the storms within us.

The Mother Lode

This Sunday we celebrate Mother’s Day.  It is the day that we, as a society, honor the people in our lives who have sacrificed their sleep, their youth, their livelihoods and their plans to provide for us.  We all have someone in our lives worthy of celebration – a mother (or mother-figure) who has loved, comforted, taught and trained us; a person who has given us advice, assistance and correction when we needed it; and someone who was willing to give all they had to help us achieve all we are intended to be.  No human being, and therefore no mother, is perfect; they are simply closer to the ideal than the rest of us.

From last Mother’s Day to this, it has been a particularly difficult year for the three mothers in my life.  The mother I was born to has been hampered by some minor health, home and hearth concerns.  The mother I am married to has seen one child graduate college only to be rocked by an uncertain job market and unestablished credit, one child graduate High School only to live at a college 500 miles away, all while she was required to perform her functions as a mother in a downsized environment.  The mother I gained through marriage has had the toughest year: she suffered the loss of her son in December and an extended hospitalization and rehabilitation since March.  Life has not been easy for the mothers of my family.

As I witnessed how these three remarkable women coped with the challenges of life thrust upon them, it seems that I am the one who is still learning the lessons of life from these moms.  Their stalwart persistence teaches me that God provides all that we need: a few dollars or a few kind words just when we are at our wits’ end.  Their steadfast love teaches me that the difficulties of our day are diffused when we bear the burdens of someone else.  Their sincere concern for their children teaches me that love is empowered only when it is released for the betterment of another.  I am blessed by the love and care of these moms.

My son, keep your father’s command and do not forsake your mother’s teaching.  Proverbs 6:20

The events of the last year, and the ways that these wonderful women navigated them, reinforces in my mind the notion that we need our moms.  We also need to uplift the mothers among us.  Let me encourage you to celebrate the mothers around you.  If your mom is still living, acknowledge the integral role she has played in your life.  If all you have is memories, share one this Sunday.  Recognize the full spectrum of motherhood in your community – greet the new moms, the single moms, the empty-nested moms, the mourning moms, the expectant moms, the motherly role models, the future moms, the moms who care for others’ children and the prodigals’ moms.  It is a tough world and we can use all the love and encouragement we can get.  Praise God this weekend that He has given us great mothers.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Singing in the Rain

As I was standing out in the schoolyard, waiting for Joshua’s dismissal, I was thinking about all the umbrellas.  Did I mention it was raining?  Our relationship with umbrellas is a complex one.  We don’t think about our umbrella until we need it; we’d never search for one on a sunny day.  They break in the wind and rain, but we don’t replace them, regretting that decision the moment a bit of inclement weather arrives.  We stick them in closets or in trunks, along with the winter boots and ice scrapers, and then are unable to get our hands on them when we need them.

Some people like little, compact umbrellas that can fit in a purse or briefcase, just big enough to protect our heads from the drops (but insufficient to keep our shoes and shoulders dry).  Some people prefer the big, golf-sized umbrellas that you can use as a walking stick, sufficient to protect you and a few companions from whatever may fall from the sky.  As I waited in the schoolyard, every variety of umbrella converged: black umbrellas for the business types, rainbow-striped ones for the free spirited, pink parasols for the princesses and clear plastic domes for the utilitarian folks among us.

There were also people with no umbrella – these are the people I was wondering about.  Did they not possess an umbrella?  Did they own one at one time but lost or misplaced it?  Did they have one at home, but figured that their hood or their hat or that overhang would keep them sufficiently dry?   Did they have a bad experience with an umbrella in the past, perhaps a terrible wind or bout of hail, and swore to never trust an umbrella again?   Did they think that the weather was something they could handle and that a little bit of water never hurt anyone?

I was also wondering if people think of God in the same ways we think of umbrellas.  Are they thinking that God is good when we need Him, but unnecessary on bright and sunny days?  Do they keep God in the closet and then forget about Him?  Have they had a bad experience and blamed God for their discomfort?  Is God little more than a fashion accessory?  Well, God is not merely a cosmic or spiritual umbrella, useful only in protecting us from what may fall from the skies.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.  When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.    Isaiah 43:2

God cannot be relegated to the closet until we feel He could be useful; He is continually making His presence known.  God does not come in a myriad of sizes and colors; He is more than we can imagine and greater than we think.  God does not simply keep us dry when we find ourselves in the throes of an April shower; He can enable us to pass through floodwaters and flames.  If you want to be equipped to face the challenges of life, be sure you have an umbrella in your trunk, but make sure God is by your side.

‘I Am’ in Good Hands

Today is Good Friday, the day in which the Church remembers and reflects upon the death of Jesus.  Each year, I focus on one of the gospels as they relate the events of Palm Sunday through Easter.  This year I have been reading through Luke’s account of the Lord’s final days and am struck by what the good doctor states is Jesus’ final utterance (and arguably His “famous last words”): “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”  In saying this, He is quoting from Psalm 31:5 and restating the assurances that David made of God about a thousand years before the cross. 

From the context of Psalm 31:5, I do not believe this is a simple statement of resignation, as if Jesus is saying, “I give up”.  Rather, it is a statement of confidence in the Father.  Psalm 31 tells us that David saw his strength as coming from the knowledge that God is his refuge, deliverance, rescue, rock and redemption.  It is in light of all this that David places all that he was, every aspect of himself beyond his physical existence, in the hands of God.   Similarly, this is the same confidence that Jesus expresses from the cross.

This phrase is akin to the words that Jesus spoke in the garden a few hours earlier, “… not My will, but Yours be done.”  It conveys the confidence that Jesus had in knowing that the plans of God and the guiding hand of God can be trusted.  As the agony of the cross began to overwhelm the limits of His human body, Jesus doesn’t give up, but rather gives over control of His existence to the only one who can perfectly accomplish God’s will, the Father himself.  And He is faithful, releasing Jesus from His mortal coil and redeeming us, lost sinners, from the power of death and sin.

Into your hands I commit my spirit; deliver me, LORD, my faithful God.  Psalm 31:5

Jesus called out with a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”  When he had said this, he breathed his last.  Luke 23:46

I pray that I’d have the confidence that David expressed or that Jesus exhibited.  Sadly, I often see the opposite dynamic at work:  when the going gets tough, I want to take matters into my own hands.  Instead of committing my spirit into God’s hands, I futilely attempt to handle my trials and troubles myself.  Instead of acting like David (who just prior to committing his spirit to God asks Him to “keep me free from the trap that is set for me”), I am more likely to stumble into danger by relying on my own sense of direction.  How much pain could be avoided if I committed my spirit to His hands.

It is hard to see the empty tomb when we are enduring what, for us, seems to be the cross.  It is at those times that we need to trust the hand of God, which comforted the Lord, rolled away the stone and raised the Savior.  It is also the hand that can comfort, strengthen and save us.

I am praying that you have a blessed Good Friday and a Happy Easter.