These sentences were found in a cellar in Cologne during World War II where German Roman Catholics had been sheltering some Jews:
I believe in the sun, even when it is not shining.
I believe in God, even when He is silent.
I believe in love, even when it is not apparent.
The order of the sentences is interesting. We might prefer that belief in God is the apex but that is not how it was written. However, there are times when our own belief in God may be fragile and we are held, in the presence of God, by the love of our fellow Christians, and even when we are separated from that love, knowing that it exists can help us to continue on our Christian journey.
In a dark night of the soul, a wilderness time, a Gethsemane, we may ask ourselves, “Do I still believe in God?” When we ask that question, how do we answer? What persuades us that God exists when he is silent? What convinces us that he still holds us in his hand when there is no apparent evidence of his care? It may be our past experience: previous wilderness journeys in which God has been faithful. It may be the vows we have taken and the promises we have made to follow to the end, whatever happens along the way. Or it may be fellowship of Saints who love us and care for us in our hard times, giving us reasons to go on.
We are the body of Christ; his heart to love and his hands to care. We can be the love of God, when the sun is not shining, and God is silent, holding our brothers and sisters until the dawn when God’s purposes are revealed.
We thank you, Father,
for our brothers and sisters in Christ
and the great cloud of witnesses which surrounds us
who love and care for us,
in all that we encounter,
the bad and the good,
as we travel this road.
Help us, too,
to be the Christ light for others
in the dark night of their soul. Amen.
18 The Lord is near to the broken-hearted,
and saves the crushed in spirit.