In a season of so much loss and fear and hurt that we can barely move, someone sang these words:
We will feast in the house of Zion,
We will sing with our hearts restored,
"He has done great things" we will say together,
We will feast, and weep no more.
In the dark of night, before the dawn
My soul, be not afraid
For the promised morning, oh how long?
Oh God of Jacob, be my strength . . .
I believe these words with all my heart. I believe that I will feast in the house of Zion. That my place at the great table of the Lord is secure. I believe that this present "table in the wilderness" is but a dim preview of the joy that is to come when my God returns to make all things new.
But that doesn't stop my tears. And maybe it's not supposed to. I've come to realize that not only are there better days to come in that sweet by-and-by, there are better days to come here. Now. Because the kingdom of God is not only a future one. It is breaking through each day in this tattered and bruised world that we call home.
I love to imagine a future when "we will feast and weep no more." But I'm expecting better days before glory, too. The God who will one day restore all things is—even now—quietly, covertly, making them new each day. I can expect, on any ordinary morning, to see glimpses of Him at work—to hear him tuning the orchestra for the symphony He's written which heaven and earth—and all of us—are certain to perform.
In the throes of anxiety and depression King David wrote: “I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.” (Psalm 27:13)
Not one distant day when every wrong is righted. Sooner than that. Perhaps today. We will feast in the house of Zion. Oh yes, we will. But there are better days ahead in the land of living, and with the eyes of faith, you and I are sure to see those, too.