Whenever I read passages where Jesus talks about glorifying God, or saying things like “glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed,”* I never quite understand what he means. Glory seems like an old-fashioned sort of word, one that is connected somehow with war, honor, or fame.
I’ve never found that sort of glory very appealing, and now it’s even less so. Danger and sorrow seem to surround me. Some of my friends are grieving the death of parents, another the death of a child, another the death of a spouse, and I cannot put my arms around them to offer comfort. Another friend has just been tested for the virus, and I can only imagine their terror as they must wait days for the results. I am suddenly afraid of passing strangers as I go for my daily walk, afraid to go to the grocery store, afraid to let a repair person enter my home as any nearby cough or sneeze could herald fatal infection.
I cannot read the newspaper without weeping for the lost lives and livelihoods of people in the slums of Mumbai, in refugee camps in the Middle East, and in my neighborhood. I weep for people who cannot even protect themselves by washing their hands because they have no soap and no clean water anywhere around them, for women who are more afraid that the midwife will bring infection into their home than they fear giving birth unattended, for starving children who do not believe they have any future at all.
Meanwhile, oblivious to the human drama, the blood-red tea roses cover my back fence with a different sort of glory, and the royal purple irises unfurl their satiny petals with abandon. Pink azaleas, violet bluebells, white hyacinths, and tiny yellow flowers that I cannot name overflow the gardens I pass on my daily walk, the glorious gift of those who plant and weed and water so that passersby will smile, if only for a moment. In this abundant springtime, the natural world is filled with promise and the living, loving presence of God is revealed, delighting in all that is beautiful and good.
In trying to reconcile the tension between these bright visions and the human toll of this pandemic, I realize that glory is not a matter of shouting halleluiah, waving flags, or marching in parades. Instead, Jesus tells us that glory is the revelation of the presence of God. Glory is the way we love one another, sending messages of caring any way that we can, helping those we can help, and accepting with gratitude the help we given when we are in need. Glory is the light of God, shining in flowers, yes, and also in my tears.
–Deborah Sokolove, Seekers Church
Questions:
- What do you think of when you hear the word “glory”?
- Where do you see the light of God?
- How can you be the presence of God for others?
