We’ve heard the New Year quips: “The closing of one chapter is the beginning of another,” “Endings precede new beginnings,” and most recently, “Goodbye, 2024, Hello 2025.”
Here’s another one, though not specific to a new year: “All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” It’s a statement of hope that in whatever the circumstances may be, all will be well. God is ultimately in control of this day, this year, this forever. The words are from Julian (or Juliana) of Norwich, the 14th-century English mystic and theologian.
The week between Christmas and the New Year is an in-between time. The company has left; we have the house to ourselves. It’s sad; it’s happy. We tear up; we smile. We look back; we look forward.
Julian of Norwich’s prayer is an act of faith that as we stand on the precipice of this present moment, looking back to 2024 and stepping forward into 2025, we can rest in the assurance that whatever may have transpired in the past, all will somehow be well.
Goodbyes ( the word itself a contraction of “God be with you”) are a necessary part of life. Letting go of the past without denying its impact on us is an act of faith. We trust God as we say “hello” to the next phase, stepping forward with eyes wide open.
Julian’s statement that all will be well is not a pollyannaish ignoring of life’s pain and misery but a profound hope grounded in Jesus Christ, the Lord of all. Indeed, she claimed that the words were a revelation from her Master, Jesus Christ. All will be well as we remember Jesus holds us and our future.
Centuries later, Maria Ferré, as painful as her story is, provides a living example of what Julian’s statement might look like.
Nels Ferré was an American theologian who emigrated to the United States when he was 13. Before emigrating to the States, Nels lived with his family in Sweden, who could not afford to educate their children. He had an aunt and uncle in the United States who were childless. They wrote to Nels’s parents, Frans August and Maria Ferré, and offered to raise Nels as their own and give him a good education. The parents accepted.
It was a heart-wrenching experience for a boy of 13 to be taken from his home and family, perhaps never to see them again, and to go to a new country with virtual strangers.
Nels was close to his mother, and he longed for a word from her to sustain him. Throughout the day before he was to catch the ship for America, his mother was silent. He yearned for a word through supper, but there was only silence. After supper, the same. Nels cried himself to sleep. The next morning, at breakfast, his mom was still unable to speak. On the way to the village, there was no sound from her. Finally, as the train moved out of the station, Nels’s last glimpse of his mother was one he never forgot: with tears streaming down her cheeks, she held a scrawled note for him to read: “Remember Jesus most of all.”
His mother’s message pointed him to the One greater than herself, the One who would be most important in molding his life. And her sacrifice did afford Nels the opportunity for an education. He earned an undergraduate degree from Boston University and a Ph.D. from Harvard.
Maria Ferré’s sacrificial “Goodbye” affected how her son would say “Hello” to his future. All would be well as long as he remembered Jesus most of all.
Sometime on or near December 31, look back at 2024, take in the pain and the joy, let it rain on your soul, and then end the year with a prayer to remember Jesus most of all, opening your eyes to the mystery of what 2025 may hold, trusting that all will somehow be well: yes, and all manner of things shall be well.