Then it was that you had your comforters. For even if you dared not speak, trying to harbor your hurt and want for revenge, there were those close by who detected. Not always accurately did they do their spying of spirit, but nevertheless they did come close.

So it was that you had to deal with them as they dealt with you. "Why don't you pray?" they would ask. "Where is your faith? Just stand on His promises. Things will work out, don't you know? This too shall pass. Don't think anything of it; forget it. You must have done wrong, too."

The helpers were no help. And when looking up for solace, He did not seem to be any help either. Above, alongside, below, where was the real help that your soul desperately cried out for?

Yet as if on cat's paws, God was setting up a table. The cloth. The candles. The plates and cups, saucers and silverware. The napkins. But most of all, the food.

Of course you did not see it. Nor did you hear His coming. Neither did Noah's generation when God was gathering storm clouds. Neither did Bethlehem when deity was born human. Neither did Capernaum when the Carpenter told them of the mercy on the other side of confession.

But our hearing or seeing are not finally what count. It is that He still is at work, working the contradictory in preparing a table before our enemies. And more times than not, it is not even our faith that makes much difference; if it did, we would many times not ever get to a banquet.

What is it then that sees the whole scene through? If it's not our ingenuity, our maneuvering, our determination (stubbornness) to have it our way in a hurry, nor our faith (or lack of it), what then is it that brings about the banquet in bad company?

It is loving mercy. God is true to His own integrity. As our Father, He is bound to care for us, to the most detailed extent, and when we count it impossible.

"I can honestly say that for the past several years, we have never been happier in our lives," I was saying this past week when a friend phoned long distance. What had I said? Was that me talking? Had I really thought through that sentence before allowing it to trip off my tongue? The happiest years of our lives?

Unbelievable.

Yes, that is true. It was unbelievable. I myself would not have believed it several years ago. It was not within my faith to get hold of even a smidgen of it. It just could not be.

The chatter on the phone continued. But I was not hearing my friend. I was playing hearing games with him in order to get hold of my own head. I wanted to play back that tape. Should I erase that sentence? Should I let it stay?

I had to let it stay, for it was true. Then it hit me with a sudden cheer. I was beside myself and wanted to share it with my friend. But it didn't fit. The conversation had moved on to other things, mundane and taudry. Once again I was alone, but this time I was having a party in the attic of my heart. Not all that bad, frankly. And eventually I would share it, balloons, noisemakers and all, as with you this morning.