Sunday afternoon, 2:29 PM

Sometimes, when we’re really down about the moments, events, and circumstances that constitute our lives, significant or mundane, it’s important for us to remember our history: where we’ve been and how we got to where we are. Whenever the light at the end of the tunnel seems to grow more and more dim, when everything around us seems to succumb to darkness, when all avenues have been tested with no avail, and we have but a glimmer of hope in front of us for which we desperately grope, we must remember the times in our lives when we’ve stepped out of the darkness and into the light. When we’ve been delivered from utter despair, when we’ve gone to hell and back, and still made it out on the other end in one piece. We must remember those moments, and we must cling to them with everything that we have, because they often will be our only salvation and means of survival.

“Remember your history, O Israel”, the prophets often implored in moments when all seemed lost. “Have faith”, they beseeched, “in the Lord who delivered you from slavery and into the Promised Land.” Never forget, they said, that you have been saved once, and you will be saved again. Those of us who follow the rather eccentric sect of Judaism know that we need not worry about future salvation from inevitable and impending doom, as our forefathers may have. We needn’t worry, because we know that all of creation has experienced the ultimate salvation in the death and resurrection of an obscure first-century Nazarene carpenter. That is why when we gather as the Body of Christ, we partake in the Eucharist: to remember the audacious hope of all things made new, and to recognize our commitment to it, a commitment we make with our lives, with every fiber of our beings.

“No guilt in life, no fear in death” is a proclamation of hope that many Christians sing the hymn In Christ Alone. It’s a stanza that reminds us that the Powers of this world are obsolete compared to the Power of Christ in us—a power that invites us to live as though the Resurrection of our Lord really did, in fact, occur, and that that event has eternal significance. We have been brought out of the darkness and into the light.

So, in times of great sorrow, anxiety, and depression, find joy. Discipline yourself to dwell in the past—in the times of light and hope and deliverance—in order to remember your hope for the future. Today, for example, I woke up surrounded by a cloud of depression about the current state of various situations in my life. I felt a little hopeless about certain things falling into place, and doubted the wisdom of important decisions I’ve recently made. As I was about to get ready for the day, I put on some music, and a song came on that was very important to me a few short months back when I was literally facing the most difficult trial I’ve experienced in my short life. The song reminded me of strength, and hope, and joy, and comfort, and the promise of deliverance from oppression and evil that our Lord has given to the world. Immediately, the cloud lifted, and I danced cheerfully in my living room, the music granting me empowerment and instilling in me a fresh, unadulterated sense of new beginning: I have been delivered once, and I will be delivered again.


Everyday, the tremors of the drumbeat of life fill our ears: the resounding sounds of anxiety, fear, obligation, oppression, and pain drown out any sweet whisper of hope and life. When that happens, when the deafening noise penetrates your ears, and you feel that you’re doomed to listen to nothing else for the rest of your existence, remember: there is always music playing. There is always music; it’s there—we just have to cling to the faith that God will enable us to hear it once in awhile. And God will, for God has delivered us from slavery and into the Promised Land.

“Remember your history, O Church.”