This past Christmas, we lost Snoopy.
A strong gust of December wind knocked him off his perch near our back door – breaking his nose, and thus ending a long and storied career of holiday ornamentation. Julie and I weren’t ready to let Snoopy go, but time and the elements made the decision for us.
Our Snoopy was a hand-me-down – from cherished neighbors in Janesville, Wisconsin. If I remember correctly, they’d already set Snoopy on the curb next to their trash, when Julie and our then-littles intervened to give Snoopy a new lease on holiday life.
Since then, he’s been a holiday fixture – his red-and-white-plastic glow lighting up the yards of our homes in Janesville, in Dubuque, and finally in Waukon, where Snoopy bravely made his last stand, his wind-whipped departure somewhat casting a pall of sadness over our holiday celebrations.
To mourn the loss of a holiday lawn ornament seems silly, really – perhaps even disrespectful of those who still intensely mourn the heartbreaking loss of a loved one – or a purpose in life, or a piece of one’s identity or sense of belonging. Nonetheless, Snoopy was gone, and my household was sad. In a way, his demise felt like the end of an era.
A time of endings and beginnings is where I now find myself as a husband and father. Our nest is empty; roles are changing, and Julie and I are experiencing the fits and starts of becoming parents to young adult children. So also for a lot of other families these days: The transition is proving more difficult than anyone ever imagined. Its slow pace makes it feel more like an evolution – transformation that happens slowly and gradually in response to changing conditions both subtle and dynamic.
Maybe that’s why Snoopy’s loss was so poignant. He symbolized a somehow simpler time of family living that’s gone for good. Yes, we will always have the memories, but nevertheless, letting go is hard. Really hard. As much or more as it is for our children, as they grow and mature into finding their places in a world that feels increasingly more dangerous and deadly every day.
Into all that fear and brokenness steps the apostle Paul with a different way of seeing and understanding life’s ebbs and flows, life’s comings and goings, life’s losses and heartaches. I’m reading to you from chapter 8 of Paul’s letter to the Romans. Listen to the Word that God has spoken.
I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us.
For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.
We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.
And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:18-28)
If misery really does love company, then Paul surely does prove the point:
There’s a whole lot of groaning going on! And the groaning within Paul’s earshot isn’t a “solo” act!
Creation itself joins earthly humanity in a loud chorus of suffering. Paul’s provocative claim carries with it the sense of all those painful cries somehow morphing together into a vast, cacophony of sadness and woe. The way God ordered Creation seems to have, right from the get-go, included elements of decline and decay that produce a kind of relentless moaning and groaning.
Yet, Paul insists, though Creation is suffering so deeply, it somehow knows that God has something better in store. The whole of Creation seems to sense instinctively that God has better days planned for us all! Paul’s metaphor of “groaning as in the pains of childbirth” puts that expectant twist on our groaning. Think about it: Most women who give birth groan not just in pain but also in anticipation of the emergence of something wonderful – a new life created in the image of God.
God’s Creation similarly groans expectantly, its moaning anticipating something wonderful that one day also will emerge:
The promised return of the risen and ascended Jesus to make new all things, which finally, mercifully, will forever silence the constant groaning of God’s Creation.
Like much of our faith, we don’t yet clearly see the fullness of that hope – any more than we can see God’s Spirit! Remember, even Jesus’s closest friends don’t fully experience God’s salvation. But the Spirit testifies within all of us that such rescue and relief indeed are coming.
Hope like that arises from our knowledge and assurance that the suffering we experience and the groaning we hear mark not the story’s end. Creation’s final-and-eternally-enduring chorus won’t rise from constant pain but from constant praise of our Creator and Redeemer God.
In that sense, Paul encourages us to play the long game – to stand on tiptoes, look far ahead, and see something way-more wonderful than the misery of our present circumstances. In his own passionate way, Paul inspires our broken hearts and addled minds to see things differently. And that kind of vision is the stuff of healing and hope, courage and determination.
So, what do you see?
Part of our faith declares that you strive to do whatever is necessary to move closer to God, because the goodness and glory of God are irresistible.
But another equally true tenet of faith turns that belief on its head. The Lord ever and always enters our human condition with all its weakness and brokenness.
He did that first on the Cross – enter into our sin, that is. And Jesus continues to do so – maybe even, dare I say, as a garbage truck toted our broken Snoopy to the landfill. A certain sadness always will linger, but thanks be to God, “all things work together for good for those who love God.”
That’s surely my assurance of hope in the midst of my daily groaning. So, what do you see?
What a good and faithful question to ponder as another season of Lenten repentance draws near! Amen!
Pastor Grant M. VanderVelden shared this message during morning worship on Sunday, February 11, 2024, at First Presbyterian Church in Waukon, IA, USA. Scholarship, commentary, and reflection by Doug Bratt, Martin Luther, John Stott, and Audrey West inform the message.