Tags
courage, lament, love, Mother Earth, Peace, preparedness, sorrow, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, unexpected
All the news over the past few days has been about mass shootings. As a nation, we still expect peace and are surprised by the ever more frequent attacks on groups of innocent victims. Each day it becomes more difficult to trust in a day ahead that will be peaceful. And yet…and yet we do. I am sitting here running through a list in my mind of the tasks to be done, determined not to forget anything that can’t wait another day. I do that without even a thought that violence could interrupt the flow of my day.
Where is the balance between trusting in life and preparedness for the unexpected? And how does one prepare for what is unknown? How would I react to a violent attack? There is good evidence, if one can believe the interviews with people who have just experienced such a situation, that courage mixes with fear in moments like that and usually triumphs. People help each other, care for the wounded, mourn those lost and are forever changed as part of a collective sorrow.
Yesterday we had three storms: torrential rain, thunder and lightning, wild wind. It was as if the earth were lamenting with us, for us, and cleansing the atmosphere for a new day. “We are all one,” Mother Earth seems to say. “Lament is necessary to our survival, but so is courage. Band together to help each other when the courage is demanded. Love each other at all times and you will be prepared for anything. Be at peace. In your hearts and in your homes, always be at peace!”
Today, sorrow and lament fill the praying world as ritual attempts in word and song and sometimes even gesture to reach the depth of pain that is recalled to us from across the ages as “the scandal of the cross,” the suffering and death of Jesus. If awake enough, we see this suffering repeated again and again in our own time and know it as a vivid manifestation of the pain body of Christ. In that way it becomes our pain as well since we are not separate but merely different cells in that very real and present body.
Having nothing of merit to say on this Tuesday of Holy Week, I search Thomas Merton for a worthy word. Although he never disappoints, I find myself looking unsuccessfully for something soothing to counteract the sorrow of what is to come as this week progresses. I settle for an admission of God’s greatness (the only safeguard for us in distress) and the necessity of surrender if we are to take up our role and responsibility in concert with God.
For so many people I have encountered in so many places recently, life seems to be a continual walk in the dark. For Christians who are following the path of Lent, walking with Jesus ever closer to the events of what we call Holy Week, the heaviness of these days can be an opportunity even as we find our energy sapped by news of a world in deep turmoil. Another school shooting yesterday, panic in Austin, Texas over serial bomb explosions, wildly destructive coastal storms and personal tragedies or disappointments leave us wondering when and how it will all end. Will Easter bring us solace and the promise of new life?
As is often the case, I woke up today with song lyrics in my head. This time it was a familiar text from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, chosen by countless people for a wedding reading. You know it too, I’ll wager. Love is patient, love is kind, love is ready to forgive, sings Jeannie Cotter with David Haas ready to jump in as the lyrics veer off a bit from Paul. The last line of the chorus summarizes the message beautifully, however, when both sing that in love we choose to live. 
Today is not a happy remembrance in the calendar of Church feasts. It is the commemoration of “the Holy Innocents,” the victims of Herod’s massacre of all the baby boys under two years old. Herod was determined to eliminate the possibility that someone – a “new-born” king (Jesus) – would usurp his power. Since he had no idea of where that child might be found, his rage prompted the terrible deed that left so many mothers bereft. It was a fruitless gesture, as violence always is, because Jesus and his parents were well on their way to Egypt when the massacre occurred.
