I went to the library today to do some reading and writing as I prepare to preach on Lent this weekend. In the “quiet study area” section, there was a woman who decided to use her cell phone and made the following statement, “I apologize. I’m in the library, so I’m talking quietly.” We heard her several tables down so I am not too sure what her definition of quiet might be. However, in spite of the quiet phone conversation in the quiet study area, I did find a reflection of peace when I turned around to look out the window. Just beyond the pane, I could see the cemetery with a thin blanket of snow resting on top.
There was a peace in what I witnessed. I heard their voices, voices that were no longer in pain. I heard the people at rest. I heard their families. I heard the moments that they had to say goodbye. I heard the tears of those who left too soon and I heard sighs of relief from those who had suffered much too long. It was calm. It was peaceful. The overlying snow comforted the rested. God was there. God was among the families, resting their heads, holding their hands and wiping away their tears.
Honestly, I hope I will not face the peace of that cemetery anytime soon. What I do hope to face is the peace and rest that I found in that scene. I pray that we all do. As we enter into the wilderness of Lent, we will face days when it will be far from quiet. We will face times that will make us want to hide in the wilderness and fight with every fiber of our being to never come out. But in the end, when we make our way through the path, guided by the One who will be with us along the way, things will be better. We will be stronger and we will be closer to God and maybe, just maybe we will find some peace.