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crossroad, devastation, freedom, heartbroken, hope, Janet Sullivan Whitaker, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, violence
I wasn’t sure yesterday that I would be able to write anything ever again in the face of all the devastation around us (see yesterday’s post). Of course we have seen devastation before. I just think of all the fires and the slow oozing of volcanic lava last year on the island of Hawai’i, and the floods and/or drought across the United States. These are natural disasters; we survive them and rebuild. What is happening now in our country, however, is of human origin that is not happening because of one event. It is, at its core, a result of prejudice and distrust leading all the way to hatred that has once more erupted into violence. And it has happened before. But this time it seems different.
The violence that has spread across the country (not unlike the fires of last year) goes deeper than the catalyst: the death of one man caused by another. Brutal as it was in itself, George Floyd’s death was also a symbol, the last straw in a long line of events that speak of racial hatred, white privilege and the failure of understanding of what freedom means in our democracy. Freedom is linked to disciplined living, not to license to do whatever one wills. We have clearly failed to comprehend the depth of our responsibility to others when we ignore the strictures of self quarantine in the present pandemic and obedience to curfew in the face of the violent protests.
It seems that we have come to a crossroad. If we fail to face the crisis of the present moment, it seems clear that we will have failed far into the future. It will take a mighty effort to even begin to face all the issues that we must confront: racism, police brutality, personal responsibility as citizens and lack of love – which is at the heart of all other issues. To be fair, there have been extraordinary acts of kindness and care during the pandemic that underlies much of the anxiety in the country and even during the violence that has followed over the past week. But we will have to dig deeper for the courage we need to face ourselves and one another at this juncture.
I said at the beginning of this post that I wasn’t sure I could write any more after yesterday. I have truly been heartbroken and feeling powerless over the past week – as I believe most of us have been. What has motivated me this morning is my “go to” practice: the daily Scripture readings. Today it was Psalm 90, especially the refrain for liturgy: In every age, O Lord, you have been our refuge… As I read that phrase and what followed, the words of a modern hymn by Janet Sullivan Whitaker kept repeating in my mind. When I found the song on the internet and let myself feel the words and music, I was reminded of where my strength comes from…in every age. Here are the words:
Long before the mountains came to be and the land and sea and stars of the night, through the endless seasons of all time, you have always been. You will always be…In every age, O God, you have been our refuge. In every age, O God, you have been our hope…
May you have the strength today for whatever you are called to be or do for the world. May it be the same for all of us.
The psalmist is calling this morning for rest (PS 55) – not just because of fatigue but from all the evil in the world. What is most difficult for me to abide are the senseless killings in high schools that have increased exponentially this year. It’s so difficult to hear on the news about the lives of many good young people senselessly snuffed out for no reason except the revenge of a deranged shooter. Add to that all the disastrous weather conditions – the destructive storms and the monumental effects of the Hawaiian volcanic eruptions – and it’s no wonder that we might react to the cry of the psalmist.
The National Rifle Association Convention begins a second day in Dallas, Texas as I find a prayer for peace by Joyce Rupp. Gun control is undoubtedly the most hotly debated issue in the United States today. I will pray this prayer today and tomorrow as the meeting proceeds, in hopes that demonstrations will be peaceful, that hearts will be turned toward reason and that guns will not be seen as the solution to every distressful situation. It is, at the core, a matter of the heart and decisions must be made from that inner place in each of us.
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.
Our first real frost today has its effect on arthritic limbs even for those of us who feel it only in tiny places (one finger perhaps). It seems an appropriate metaphor for our state of heart after seeing the 26 faces of those killed in church on Sunday in a small town in Texas, victims from 17 months to 77 years old. “Frozen with shock,” disbelief and overwhelming sadness at this latest outrageous act, I read again today from Paul’s letter to the Romans. Whatever other commandments there may be are summed up, Paul says, in this saying, namely, You shall love your neighbor as yourself. Love does no evil to the neighbor; hence, love is the fulfillment of the law. (ROM 13:10)
On days like today when we have been once again faced with senseless, unspeakable violence, this time on a scale not seen before in our history, it is difficult to even begin to speak of it. My first thought this morning was of a line from Scripture: A voice is heard in Ramah, mourning and great weeping, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more. (JER 31:15) As we turn in prayer toward the people of Las Vegas – for that seems the only thing to do as the tally of dead and wounded continues to rise – we must lament, as individuals and as a nation. And in the face of the distress in this dawning day, I turn to Meg Wheatley for a way to persevere.
I read something from Macrina Wiederkehr’s book, sevensacredpauses, this morning that made me smile, especially given what I wrote yesterday. I think it’s worth sharing.
Chapter 5 of Matthew’s gospel is very challenging. Most of us know – or at least know of – the Beatitudes in which Jesus tells of the happiness (blessedness) of those who practice and/or endure justice and meekness and long-suffering, etc.(MT 5:38-42). The chapter doesn’t stop there, however. As Jesus lays out a new way of living – the fulfillment and next step in the evolution of the Mosaic Law, perhaps, he speaks of letting our light shine for the good of the world and then there is that most uncomfortable teaching that goes beyond anything his listeners could have expected. (MT 5:38-42) “You have heard that it was said, An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. But I say to you, offer no resistance to one who is evil. When someone strikes you on your right cheek, turn the other one to him as well.”
So here I am, back as promised, to wish you a Happy Easter. It’s a little late in the day but I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to say that throughout the past week I was creating blog posts in my mind that, unfortunately, only made it a couple of times to print. Now we are in a different season altogether. It’s a sunny 65 degrees (F) here in upstate New York and the daffodils have come bursting to flower – very different from the cloudy, cold touring weather of two days ago. Holy Week is over, for which most people are grateful. It’s hard to think of all that violence and pain, after all. Much nicer to sing “Alleluia!” and rejoice in the Risen Christ.
I’ve always been partial to Ezekiel’s verse in chapter 36 that has God saying, “I will take from you your stony hearts and give you natural hearts…” It’s something I hold onto when I’m feeling ungenerous or grumpy – or worse. This morning however, in the earlier text from Ezekiel, chapter 18: 21-28, I read a serious message about bad and good behavior and the consequences of turning in one direction or the other. In case we miss it in the first reading, the verse before the gospel says this: Cast away from you all the crimes you have committed, says the Lord, and make for yourselves a new heart and a new spirit. (18:31) The lesson for today, then, is that we have a responsibility to work toward restoring ourselves to God’s image rather than letting God do all the work.
The Sophia Center for Spirituality 