Hans Pe­tais­to

Grace has made us what we are, so we have al­wa­ys had a ten­den­cy to com­mit sin. It is our na­tu­re, what we have in­he­ri­ted from our ori­gi­nal being, the part of us that has ne­ver re­pen­ted and no one will ever be ab­le to imp­ro­ve. This was true of the first hu­man pair, and it will re­main true un­til the last cho­sen soul. As long as we live in this world, we will walk this path of two na­tu­res.

I have been thin­king about this pas­sing sum­mer and the en­ti­re path of the en­de­a­vor of faith.

A lar­ge group of yo­ung pe­op­le from Es­poo tra­ve­led to the sum­mer ser­vi­ces in Taa­lain­maa, Swe­den, this time. It was cer­tain­ly qui­te a jour­ney for them. I re­mem­ber my­self tra­ve­ling to Fin­land at the age of se­ven­teen and on a bus trip or­ga­ni­zed by Jäm­sä Opis­to, led by Heik­ki Vil­ka­ma, to the sum­mer ser­vi­ces in Iva­lo. I felt to­tal­ly un­wort­hy to be tra­ve­ling in the midst of be­lie­vers who see­med like saints.

Du­ring the trip, we were gi­ven an op­por­tu­ni­ty to use the bus mic­rop­ho­ne. On one oc­ca­si­on I re­mem­ber sa­ying that I have not found any faults in this trip – on­ly that I had al­wa­ys ma­na­ged to find fault with my­self. But how good it was that the Gos­pel tra­ve­led with us. Many ti­mes along the way we could hear and be­lie­ve our sins for­gi­ven and it sure ligh­te­ned my he­art.

This sum­mer at the Mid­sum­mer Ser­vi­ces, there were work turns, but af­ter the 24-hour ser­vi­ces there was on­ce again a fa­mi­li­ar an­ti­ci­pa­ti­on for Ke­sä­seu­ra­ra­dio, the sum­mer-ser­vi­ce ra­dio. Then the sum­mer fee­ding ses­si­ons star­ted. Of­ten, while doing cho­res, I could hear words of grace for eve­ry­o­ne through the ra­dio bro­ad­casts of the ser­mons. With a small ear­bud in my ear, I could lis­ten anyw­he­re – while coo­king, va­cuu­ming, mo­wing the lawn, stai­ning the deck, or pic­king ber­ries. If ne­ces­sa­ry, I could pau­se the lis­te­ning and con­ti­nue la­ter. Sum­mer cho­res felt ligh­ter when I could en­joy the good mes­sa­ge.

The ra­dio bro­ad­casts of the ser­vi­ces have been a great gift to us ol­der pe­op­le. We have no lon­ger been ab­le to tra­vel to pla­ces such as Reis­jär­vi or Ra­nua for the ser­vi­ces. Yet mo­dern tech­no­lo­gy has brought those ser­vi­ces in­to our ho­mes. At the same time, we have been ab­le to main­tain an im­me­di­a­te con­nec­ti­on with those from ac­ross the globe and the Pa­ci­fic Oce­an. Plus those who came for the fu­ne­rals of three close re­la­ti­ves. The world has be­co­me smal­ler, but the pace at which eve­ryt­hing flows for­ward seems to have got­ten fas­ter.

Sum­mer al­wa­ys re­minds us of the tran­sien­ce of life. The sun shi­nes, but so­me­ti­mes it rains. The words of an old song come to mind: “Along with the suns­hi­ne, there’s got­ta be a lit­t­le rain so­me­ti­me.”

“We are still the same grace-beg­ging pe­op­le as be­fo­re.”

Rain clouds pas­sed by. At the ser­vi­ces, we res­ted and en­jo­yed our­sel­ves. Dear pe­op­le pas­sed away like the most be­au­ti­ful flo­wers. In the end, what mat­ters is not how long a per­son’s life was, but whet­her the per­son was re­a­dy to le­a­ve. They live in our me­mo­ries for as long as we re­mem­ber them.

At the be­gin­ning of Au­gust, the Ke­sä­seu­ra­ra­dio bro­ad­casts end in si­len­ce. The si­len­ce al­wa­ys feels so stran­ge. Soon we will again re­a­li­ze how quick­ly the grace we have re­cei­ved be­gins to fade in­to our eve­ry­day ex­pe­rien­ce. Sin chews away, our old na­tu­re whis­pers in our ear, and our own strength we­a­kens.

That is why we on­ce again seek to go to the ever-flo­wing foun­tains. Not be­cau­se we have be­co­me bet­ter pe­op­le, but be­cau­se we are still the same grace-beg­gars as be­fo­re. The same Gos­pel is still pre­sent in the King­dom of God—the Gos­pel that ac­com­pa­nied us on the Iva­lo bus, at the Mid­sum­mer Ser­vi­ces, and in the­Ke­sä­seu­ra­ra­dio bro­ad­casts, and that still ac­com­pa­nies us on the jour­ney as we age.

A life of faith is a life of strug­g­le: What grace gi­ves, sin de­vours. But God’s grace is new eve­ry mor­ning. That is why we look for­ward to next sum­mer – or even more for that one, all-en­com­pas­sing des­ti­na­ti­on where sin will no lon­ger eat anyt­hing, but eve­ryt­hing will be comp­le­te­ly per­fect.