It had been a hard week. And by hard I mean weighty, worrisome and wearying. 

I was scheduled to preach at a local Mennonite retirement community, but it felt nearly impossible to string words together in preparation.

The scripture I had chosen weeks in advance was Psalm 34:3: “O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together.”

My plan was to emphasize ­magnify. To focus on what we choose to lift high. 

I was prepared to preach about the Apostle Paul who, when faced with a thorn in his side, magnified God’s power made perfect in weakness. Or how Daniel’s friends, thrown into the fiery furnace, magnified God’s ability to deliver them. I was ready to tell the stories of Joseph, Abraham, Jesus and more. 

I wanted to lift up but instead found myself pressed down. Pinned under my own paralyzing problems.

That’s when I noticed I was missing two important words in the verse: with and together. 

I was missing the communal part. The together part. The we-don’t-have-to-do-this-alone part. 

Relief swept over me. I needn’t do this by myself. Indeed, at that ­moment, I couldn’t.  

Our painful experiences can sometimes loom so large they take up all the space. The hard can fill my whole field of vision, making it difficult to see over, under, around or through — to the holy or the hope that surely is also there. 

In times like these, I need a little help from my friends. 

I went to the retirement community, and the chaplain greeted me with a hug and an assurance of her prayers. Then we began to sing. 

The voices around me rang out the mighty power of God. The litany that followed focused on God’s kindness and care. Residents shared stories of the grace and guidance, presence and provision of Christ in their lives. 

As we lifted God high, actively and communally, something began to happen. We were lifted, too. 

IN Psalm 34, if we take one step back to verse 2, we read, “Let the ­afflicted hear and rejoice” (NIV). This tells me that when we magnify the Lord together, the fruit of this choice is that the afflicted who hear will be glad. Which is exactly what happened. 

When we look for and lift something up, we are drawing attention to it. Not just for ourselves but for the sake of others. 

I believe this is one reason we have (and need) the scriptures. They lift high the story of God in the midst of the story of us, so we can better see. 

According to Paul, “whatever was written . . . was written for our instruction, so that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope” (Romans 15:4). 

Choosing to magnify in this way is not to minimize the suffering that exists. Rather, it is a way of saying that’s not all that’s there. 

Sometimes we need to look diligently for the hope, the holy and the little bits of beauty, then magnify and lift them high. 

Sometimes, perhaps most times, we need a little help in doing so. 

In this war-torn world, it will serve us well to take the Apostle Paul’s advice and, together, make much of “the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse” (Philippians 4:8, Message). And if we do so, what might the fruit of that be?

Mary is one of scripture’s famous magnifiers. Young, pregnant, not yet married, she could have magnified her fears, inadequacies or losses. She could have magnified the opinions and judgments of others. If she had, I believe it would have shut her down and left her trembling in timidity. 

Instead, Mary lifted God up by lifting her voice, and this led her to be glad. 

“My soul magnifies the Lord,” she said, “and my spirit rejoices” (Luke 1:46-47).  

I take note of the magnification and the rejoicing. But what strengthens my spirit the most is that this magnifying did not occur in isolation but within the sweet, safe companionship of Elizabeth. 

We all need a little help from our friends. May we be blessed with those who come alongside us to hold out a bit of beauty, a handful of hope, a glimpse of the goodness of God come down.