O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go

by Alecia Klauk
(Chapin, SC)

"O Love that wilt not let me go, I rest my weary soul in Thee; I give Thee back the life I owe, That in Thine ocean depths its flow may richer, fuller be."

My favorite hymn speaks of love that has an incredible capacity to reach through pain. Its melodies are dancing through my mind lately as I feel that pain has become more common somehow. I know that can't be. There has always been and will always be pain. But it just seems louder.

More death. More loss. More disappointment. More frustration. More sadness. More grief. More shock. More unmet expectations. More rawness of heart. More pain. More pain. More pain.

I watch up close and from far away, those I love and those I've never met. I watch as they hurt. I watch the earth stiffen with the birth pangs, longing for a brighter, gentler future. Sometimes the pain of the world in its fallen state is simply overwhelming.

Where is the hope? Really, Church, Christians, Followers of the Way, where is our hope?

The answer to that question must be deeper than platitudes if it's going to penetrate the darkness of soul that becomes more and more strangely appropriate in these last days. We are sitting in our unique moment in history, and we know the dark will only get darker. So we must strive for the promised hope.

The love will not let go -- that's the answer. Our hope is in no other than Love Himself, love that is fierce and loyal, love that cannot deny its capacity for complete perfection. When loss is fresh and raw, we feel suspended above an open pit of white hot grief, and we need to know that we are being firmly held by Love that will not let go. It is foundational to trust those Hands.

And we have a role to play: to rest our weary souls in Him. Interesting how Jesus offers rest. He doesn't force it. He doesn't require it. He doesn't push it. He simply reaches out His hand in extension of a gift. It is ours to choose to receive it.

But when we do, when we receive the rest He longs to give, our weary souls do indeed find the richer, the fuller, the transcendent meaning we long for in the midst of great pain and loss.

"O Light that foll'west all my way, I yield my flick'ring torch to Thee; My heart restores its borrowed ray, that in Thy sunshine's blaze its day may brighter, fairer be."

Beyond the moment of crisis, there is the living with pain that pushes through time and announces its presence day after day. It chases us. It hounds us. It hunts us. We fear, we run, we collapse. In that pain, we need light to follow us.

Rest assured (we're working on receiving that rest, right?), the Light will follow ... all the way. I was recently in a cave, and deep in the bowels of the earth, I kept thinking about how thorough the darkness is. No source of light, no sliver of hope to see, nothing. We can experience a darkness of soul equally terrifying to being in the belly of the ground without sight. But there is a promise there.

The Light follows us. Jesus promises to love us to the uttermost, and when we've been around every dark and dank corner, we find Him sitting there, waiting for us. He's been everywhere He asks us to go, walked every step He asks us to follow, and there we can restore the ray of Light we find in Him alone.

It starts small, just a flicker perhaps, but because He is Light, He overtakes our tiny flame with the all consuming fire of His presence, and find ourselves in the midst of a blaze! Darkness turns to Light, night to day, and we can no longer find a hint of shadow. Brighter, fairer day indeed.

But we have to learn to receive that, too. Just like Love must be trusted enough to rest in, Light must be yielded to enough to absorb it. We have to allow the light to penetrate our darkness of soul.

"O Joy that seekest me thru pain, I cannot close my heart to Thee; I trace the rainbow thru the rain, and feel the promise is not vain that morn shall tearless be."

When pain blankets our hearts, joy is farthest thing we feel capable of. It is a distant dream, a mirage. But there again is the incredible offer of transcendence to find the most unlikely in the midst of great loss: joy.

It looks for us. It searches for us. And when it finds us, we are again left with a choice. We again must choose to receive that which is offered. We cannot close our hearts to Him, the Source of Love and Light and Joy. We must stay open to receive the bounty He offers.

And from that posture of receiving, the way the earth receives rain, from there, we really can trace the rainbow through the rain, the promise through the pain.

There will be an end to the suffering. There will be in finality in Glory with our Maker, and there can be in small shadows here on the earth. An absolute lack of suffering, no, but tearless days, yes. He is big enough to allow us to taste a bit of Heaven here.

Personified in the person of Jesus, we are offered much:
Love that holds on to us with a while knuckle grip.
Light that follows us, even when we attempt to run.
Joy that purposely pursues us through the maze of our pain.

All these things will be perfected in the end. And ultimately, that is the greatest source of hope. Love, Light, Joy: complete and without even a hint of shadow. We can taste glimpses here, yes, oh, but over there ...

"O Cross that liftest up my head, I dare not ask to fly from Thee; I lay in dust life's glory dead, and from the ground there blossoms red Life that shall endless be."

Hold on to He who is holding you, and find ...

Eternal Love.
Encompassing Light.
Exuberant Joy.
Endless Life.