There are times when sound does nothing but cause painâthe harsh words of disagreement, the disturbing reverberation of gunfire, the abrasive words of political battles, the crying of a baby. This Christmas season for me has been a tender time. I have longed for Christmases past that were more simple and free of worry. I have not heard this year the sound of Christmas bells ringing in this joyful season. Instead, I have needed to find a holy, silent place.
A dear friend captured my emotions in her blog today:
Many of us miss Christmas moments familiar from other years and expected for this one. Many of us miss someone so precious who was with us and will not be.
Perhaps mourning loss has made me unable to hear all the âjoyful and triumphantâ sounds of Christmas. Instead of craving those familiar joyful sounds, I have been drawn to a place of silence. I feel compelled in these days to seek silent spaces and to open my soul to holy whispers. It seems that silence brings peace as nothing else can.
As I have thought through all that I feel, an old hymn came to mind. It seems to capture where my soul is right now. I will listen to it a few times today, as I try to rest in the silence I need, âLet all the earth keep silence before him.â
I will also turn again to these comforting words in my friendâs blog:
Look around on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day for the tip of angel wing prepared for you.
If sounds of Christmas joy feel painful to you this year, I invite you to find the holy silence you need. As you do, listen to this calming hymn.
Most of all, I wish for you âthe tip of angel wing.â
In this secondweekofAdvent, I am searching for peace. I feel a little like the prophet Jeremiah who said, âThey have treated the wound of my people carelessly, saying, âPeace, peace,â when there is no peace.â (Jeremiah 6:1)
Indeed, how difficult it is to embody a sense of peace when we look around us only to see yet another school shooting, yet another Covid variant (Omicron), yet another tragic example of police brutality, yet another child abused . . . and more, one after another un-peaceful thing in our world. Yet, one of our lectionary texts for this week seems to promise that peace can be within reach.
Through the tender mercy of our God, the Dayspring from on high has visited us; To give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, To guide our feet into the way of peace.
Luke 1:78-79 NKJV
But on this day, in the middle of Adventâs week of peace, I wonder how I might find even a bit of Godâs promised peace. Peace remains elusive to me as I look around me at a world of chaos, discontent, oppression, unrelenting pandemic, fear, uncertainty and all manner of disturbance. âI need peace of mind!â the people cry. If I have ears to hear their cry, and my own, I must own the reality that I need peace of mind, too. But I also need peace of the soul. I need deep down peace to make its way to where my emotions live.
Isnât it true that Advent Peace is about soul transformationâthe kind of transformation that stops with the decorating, baking, shopping and all things frenzy? Isnât it true that instead of Christmas frenzy, all of us yearn for Advent peace?
And so I stop and close my eyes. I breathe slowly and deeply. Again. Again.Again. I breathe deeply and, as I slowly exhale, I feel my heart beating slower. I feel my arms relaxing and my muscles releasing the tightness they always hold on to.
I rest in arms of grace and listen for Spirit breeze that calms me. I contemplate whatâs in my heart and wait silently to hear my soulâs whisper.
Does deep breathing allow the Spirit of Peace to envelop me with her tranquility? Do those few quiet moments take me to that place inside me where all is calm? It seems so, at least for a while. Interspersing my frenzied life with brief moments of contemplation makes all the difference in the world for me. I do sense Advent peace in those moments. Or is it that I reached down deeply enough into my soul and found the peace that was already there? Either way, I still held on to a few moments of peace.
If you and I are able to find that place of peace, we can then pass it on to others who need it and even to the chaotic world around us. During this week of Advent peace, wouldnât it be wonderful to see dozens of random acts of peace? Whether thatâs raking a neighborâs yard, or taking a meal to a family with a new baby, or doing a home repair for an elderly couple, or sending a card, might we seek out someone who could use a little more peace in their lives?
When we reach out to other souls with random acts of peace, we give human form to the Peace of Christ. Christ clothes us in His humanity. We are His continuing incarnation in the world. These thoughts are described beautifully by Joseph B. Clower in his book, âThe Church in the Thought of Jesus.â
If the indwelling Christ is not confined, then our eyes flow with His tears, our hearts are moved with His compassion, our hands are coarsened with His labor, our feet are wearied with His walking among all people.
(Slightly paraphrased)
Now, take a slow, deep breath. Let it out. Take another breath. Contemplate the Prince of Peace and how much He wants peace for your life. Breathe deeply. Let it out.
Now keepbreathing, and find something peaceful to do today for another person who needs peace as much as you doâa random act of peace. Amen.
I invite you to spend a few moments of contemplation by listening to this video, Dona Nobis Pacemâ Grant Us Peace.
I like to think that God whispers, that God never shouts at me or speaks to me with a harsh, loud voice. I like knowing that when God speaks to me, God will always whisper. Because shouting frightens me and harsh speaking causes me to cover my ears so that I cannot clearly hear what God is saying.
I heard once that, more important than all the loud, big proclamations preachers speak from the pulpit, the people in the church pews truly listen when preachers whisper. Thatâs when preachers say the most important things, it seems. Or so Iâve been told by people who know that sort of thing.
It turns out I have always known a whispering God, from the very beginning of our relationship. That first whisper of God, and all the others I have heard in my long life, reached my ears as âa still, small voice.â Iâm not really sure about this, but God may very well shout once in a while. I have never heard a loud word from God myself. I have heard only whispers, gentle whispers of very important things I needed to hear clearly and surely.
Iâm thinking today about the bombings at the airport in Kabul. Iâm praying today tor the Americans who are currently trying to flee from Afghanistan, the U.S. military with an impossible task, our Afghan allies who also need to leave quickly and the Afghan people who are hopelessly and helplessly stuck in a country filled with danger. I mourn those who died today and I lament the volatility of the situation that exists there. I can only imagine the chaos, the fear, the sound of the bombs, the screaming and shouting, the loud calls for help. The people surely canât hear themselves think in such a situation.
Maybe itâs even too loud to pray. Maybe even God cannot be heard over the ear-piercing sounds of a bombed place. I believe that God is present there, hearing prayers and speaking softly to the terrified people with whispers of comfort . . .
Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41: 10
In all the noise, the people near the bombings most likely could not hear, not even yelling or shouting. I like to imagine that what they can hear is God whispering to them, whispers of comfort, whispers of peace, whispers of hope. That is the voice of God I have always known, the God who whispers to me when I am still and quiet, waiting to hear Godâs holy whisper. But I have also heard Godâs whispers in the midst of deafening noise. In those noisy times, I have heard Godâs whisper still. Godâs voice â the whisper â has talked me through many seasons when fear, pain, grief and other negative things were literally shouting at me from every direction.
I have learned to hear the whisper of God. It is the balm for my soul, the sound that keeps reminding me that all shall be well. I have loved the thoughts of Prathia Hall who was an American leader and activist in the Civil Rights Movement, a womanist theologian and ethicist. She was the key inspiration for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jrâs âI Have a Dreamâ speech and she often found herself immersed in trouble of every sort. These are words she spoke that offer encouragement in frightening times:
âOut there in the brush arbors, the wilderness, and the woods, the God of our ancestors, the God we had known on the other side of the waters met us and whispered words in our ears, and stirred a song in our souls.â â Prathia Hall (Quoted by Courtney Pace in Freedom Faith: The Womanist Vision of Prathia Hall)
I wonder if you could tune your ears to Godâs holy whisper. You will hear it when everything around you is quiet and when everything around you is reverberating with noise and clamor, tumult and uproar. I pray that, even in all the turmoil visited upon the people who suffer in Afghanistan this night, they will be able to hear Godâs comforting, healing whisper.
I feel exasperated sometimes with the constant ups and downs that are a normal part of my life. I would surmise that ups and downs are probably a part of your life, too.
Donât we have a knack for riding them out on something akin to a roller coaster? I have truly become a master at riding out ups and downs since my kidney transplant, but then I never really wanted a roller coaster life. So much for life plans!
Even with ups and downs, I am comforted when my faith opens up insight I have gained over the years, like not worrying about tomorrow (Matthew 6:34), not leaning on my own understanding (Proverbs 3:5) and not being anxious about anything (Philippians 4:6-7). Those stay-the-course words should surely be enough to help, shouldnât they?
Not always! Faith and spiritual maturity and scripture are simply not enough at times to keep me from the despondency of the âdowns.â Thatâs just the way my psyche reacts when I feel down or when a circumstance pushes me down. The trouble is, things that get me down are not always enormously critical things. Even an insignificant down moment can let depression plant itself in my spirit. That just doesnât work for me, so I need to find a way to even out my roller coaster life and not let everything that happens be a potential for depression.
What do I want? I cannot say it simpler than this: stabilizing peace. It is not an exaggeration to say that since my transplant eighteen months ago, almost nothing has been stable. Immunosuppression medications are constantly being moved up or down; my lab numbers are constantly fluctuating; my emotions are up and down; my energy waxes and wanes; my blood sugar rises and plummets; and, on one day my kidney might be okay, but on another day, I am dealing with kidney rejection. My physical, emotional and spiritual well being rises and falls with each change.
Oh, for some stabilizing peace that stays constant through the ups and downs!
I keep going back, though, to the ultimate words that promise me the kind of constant, stabilizing peace that I so need:
Always be glad because of the Lord! I will say it again: Be glad. Always be gentle with others. The Lord will soon be here. Donât worry about anything, but pray about everything. With thankful hearts offer up your prayers and requests to God. Then, because you belong to Christ Jesus, God will bless you with peace that no one can completely understand. And this peace will control the way you think and feel.
Finally, my friends, keep your minds on whatever is true, pure, right, holy, friendly, and proper.
Donât ever stop thinking about what is truly worthwhile and worthy of praise.
You know the teachings I gave you, and you know what you heard me say and saw me do. So follow my example. And God, who gives peace, will be with you.
Philippians 4:4-9 CEV
I wage war, much of the time, with depression that continues its haunting presence. It is not the debilitating kind of depression that can knock one to the ground to the point of needing medication. It is not the kind of depression that leaves one in tears and prevents any meaningful activity. It is not even the kind of depression that affects oneâs life to the point of complete stagnancy. But it is a depression that hurts the heart and leaves the spirit languishing â on some days more than others.
Yet, I am grateful for lessons learned. In my times of depression â through my ups and downs â I have learned a few helpful and hopeful lessons.
These are just a few of them:
I must not fall into the bottomless pit of anticipatory anxiety. The things that fill me with such anxiety and worry rarely even happen.
My spirit is resilient, much stronger than I think it will be.
The bad things that happen to me donât usually last forever. I can ride them out.
It is not âpie-in-the-skyâ fantasy to fall back on the faith that has always sustained me. The truth is that the God who promised to be with me, really has been with me â every time.
My âdownsâ have always graced me with a fresh view of my soul and spirit, the deep places in me that fall to the dust but still manage to get up and move forward.
I admit I havenât made peace with my ups and downs. I suspect I will have them as lifelong companions, but I have made peace with the soul of my being. I have discovered that there are some soul-things that I can never really touch unless I have gone as low as I can go. In those times, my emotions are discernible and my spirit is tender. In those times, there is a holy presence that will take my hands and lift me up. Of that, I am confident.
Debasiah Mridha wrote these words that are so true and so full of wisdom, âLife has its ups and downs. When you are up, enjoy the scenery. When you are down, touch the soul of your being and feel the beauty.âÂ
I would like to be able to leave you with a sparkling, new solution for all of the times you go from up to down. I would like to be able to tell you in your ups, and in your downs, that you will find peace enough to sustain you. I wish I could tell you, even, that your life will be all âups.â I wish I could believe it for myself. But there are very few things that any of us can count on. I intend to keep holding on tightly to my faith and my belief that Godâs Spirit of Wisdom walks beside me. Sits next to me on that terrifying roller coaster!
I also love this thought that I stumbled upon in a most unlikely place. Brent Schlender, in his book entitled, Becoming Steve Jobs: The Evolution of a Reckless Upstart into a Visionary Leader, made the most lovely, comforting observation. This is what he wrote: âThe sun will set and the sun will rise, and it will shine upon us tomorrow in our grief and our gratitude, and we will continue to live with purpose, memory, passion, and love.âÂ
Stand fast therefore in the freedom by which Christ has made us free, and do not be entangled again with a yoke of bondage. Galatians 5:1 (NKJV)
What is it about freedom that scares us? What is it about freedom that causes us to refuse to offer it to everyone? Are we afraid that giving freedom to another person or group of persons will diminish our own freedom? What does freedom really mean to persons who are oppressed and to those who live inside the throes of injustice?
I have written very little lately about justice and accountability, the two words most used to describe Derek Chauvinâs conviction. Icanât help but mark this very moment on the âlong arc that bends toward justice.â I feel compelled to call our attention to this week! Actually itâs last week now, but you get the idea. Letâs call it âthe week of the verdict.â
The week of the verdict has come full circle from George Floydâs murder on May 25, 2020 to the conviction of Derick Chauvin almost one year later on April 29, 2021. It was a week we will not forget. It brought up emotions in me and perhaps in most people. Most of what I felt mirrored the emotions I imagine George Floydâs family feeling â happy, calm, relieved, conflicted, hopeful, determined, vindicated. I also felt sad and helpless because the conviction did not end murders of black and brown brothers and sisters. And I felt joyful and hopeful because perhaps this flashpoint in the long history of racial injustice will help us turn the corner and finally see in our communities the justice we long for.
How can that happen? How can we turn the corner and move away from oppressive systems and oppressive people? How do we do that when just minutes after the verdict and less than ten miles away, 16 year old Ma’Khia Bryant was shot and killed by police in Ohio? It happened in the shadow of âthe week of the verdict.â
Perhaps for us this is the week of the verdict â the week when the verdict will be read on our failure to end the systemic racism in our communities! Isnât it past time for us to stand up and stand strong and stand determined and woke? My friends, it is time! This moment in the history of injustice may well be the turning point we need to end racism!
I have said this many times: We cannot just reform injustice, we must transform it. The transformation that results in genuine, lasting justice must begin in the soul and in the heart where intentions are formed. I must lament injustice, confess my own complicity in it, repent of the white supremacy within me, own other forms of oppression and commit to the hard work of transforming injustice in my community and in my world. Only then will transformation happen in the systems that oppress people.
Only transformed people can love neighbors as Jesus loved us. My friend and sister blogger never fails to remind me to answer the ultimate question, âHow then shall I live?â* She offers this scripture to us today.
We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us â and we ought to lay down our lives for one another. How does Godâs love abide in anyone who has the worldâs goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help?
1 John 3:16-17
She then reminded us that conditions in India are dire and the people languish.
In India, today the virus surges almost beyond control, hospitals are choked, people die in line waiting for a doctor. How can those of us rejoicing in vaccination, cautious travel, new gatherings, not ask how we can help?
How does Godâs love abide in anyone who has the worldâs goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help?
And that is the soul-critical question we must answer. How then shall we live when all around us people suffer every kind of calamity â every kind of violence, disaster, racism, discrimination, dehumanization? Every kind of heartache. How do we, in our suffering world, become the heart, hands and feet of Jesus?
Getting back to the lament of my own heart, that one thing that inspires my passion â transforming the injustice of racism, xenophobia, misogyny, homophobia and all forms of evil exclusion and oppression. Transforming injustice! Setting our faces toward the hope of Beloved Community! This one thing I know, the steps of Jesus would have led him to the âhealingâ of injustice in any form. On every day he walked on this earth, Jesus would be loving every person who was in need and he would be lamenting every injustice that caused harm.
How can we not lament? How can we not expend ourselves in the hard work of transforming injustice? How can we not care for, and pray for, and love our brothers and sisters who are in need? How can we refuse to work for the freedom of black and brown people, indigenous peoples, LGBTQ+ people, immigrants and asylum seekers, and to any person who is enslaved? How can we deny Godâs desire for justice and peace?
How can we refuse freedom to black and brown people, indigenous peoples, LGBTQ+ people, immigrants and asylum seekers, and to any person who is enslaved? How can we deny them Godâs peace?
â Rev. Kathy Manis Findley
I do not have the answer for how we might do this. But I do have some convictions about it, especially about racism and white supremacy. One of my convictions is that dismantling racism begins in me, in my soul. And eradicating white supremacy begins when I look seriously at my own white supremacy. For you see, as long as white supremacy looks to me like a white-draped person burning a cross, I will never acknowledge that white supremacy is in me. As long as white supremacy looks to me like a man I might see on TV news with a truck, a confederate flag, a rifle and a mission, I can easily distance myself. I am not that white person; I am a different white person that would never tolerate racism.
Am I? Am I that different white person? Or are there ways I contribute to an unjust society? Are there ways I fail to seek Beloved Community? Are there thoughts and feelings within me that diminish other persons, persons not like me? Am I complacent about injustice? Am I complicit? Am I reticent? Am I avoiding, looking the other way?
As long as white supremacy looks to me like a white-draped person burning a cross in someoneâs yard, I will never see that white supremacy is in me. As long as white supremacy looks to me like a man I might see on TV news with a pick-up truck, a confederate flag, a rifle and a mission, I can easily distance myself. I am not that kind of white person! Or am I?
Rev. Kathy Manis Findley
Racial injustice may currently be the most visible form of oppression, but we must remember that many groups of people are oppressed. Many people long for freedom from oppression. Only when we âseeâ and âhearâ all of their voices, will we be on the way to transforming injustice. I donât know everything about oppression, and I donât know exactly how to make a difference. I donât really know how to join hands with my community and set about to transform injustice. I do know that I must begin with my own lament, for only lament can open my eyes to every manner of suffering and oppression.
So meet me on the mountain where we find the strength from God to persevere, and then descend with me to all the places where oppression enslaves people. Come with me to the people, and together, let us remove from them the yoke of bondage and offer them new freedom. And may Spirit Wind surround us with courage. Thanks be to God.
*âHow then Shall We Live?â was the inspiring theme of the Alliance of Baptists Annual Gathering.
The year was 1963. I was 14 years old. So it could not have been that I was unaware of what was going on in my city, but more likely that I was sheltered from it. Iâm referring to two events: the day Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was arrested and incarcerated in the Birmingham jail; and in that same year â Sunday, September 13 â the 16th Street Baptist Church was bombed, taking the lives of four little girls as they left their Sunday School class to go into the sanctuary.
It was a white supremacist terrorist bombing, just before 11 o’clock, when instead of rising to begin prayers, the congregation was knocked to the ground. As the bomb exploded under the steps of the church, the congregants sought safety under the pews and shielded each other from falling debris.
Five months earlier, on April 12, 1963, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was arrested with SCLC activists Ralph Abernathy, Fred Shuttlesworth, and other marchers, while thousands of African Americans dressed for Good Friday wondered what in the world the future might hold.
As a child, I would proudly sing a song I learned in school, âBirminghamâs My Home. In the days of 1963, I was not so proud that Birmingham, Alabama was my home. Today, I feel deep shame to admit that even at age 14, I had no idea what was happening or why it was happening. To be sure, I was not yet âwokeâ in any sense of the word.
While incarcerated, Dr. King wrote a letter. Some of his most eloquent, scorching, but hopeful words were penned during his time in the Birmingham Jail. These words he wrote from there are quite striking to me:
â. . . in some not too distant tomorrow
the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation
with all their scintillating beauty.â
How is it that we have not yet seen the âradiant stars of love and brotherhoodâ [and sisterhood] âshining over our great nation with all their scintillating beauty?â Why does the struggle for racial justice still play out in the streets of this nationâs cities as the oppressed still cry out against the injustice that continues to hold them in chains?
I will not attempt to answer those unanswerable questions. I will point out the mountains that still stand ominously before us. We cannot move those mountains, it seems, as they loom over us â immense, towering, formidable, oppressive. The rocks, crags and peaks of them looking like peaceful protests by persons crying out for freedom in June, white supremacists violently storming the United States Capitol just 12 days ago, and the terrifying Coronavirus that still threatens after so many months.
How will we see the radiant stars of beloved community, of hope, of peace when we cannot move those mountains? Words cannot move mountains, but words can give us the strength and courage to try. And so I leave you with Dr. Kingâs words as we honor him on this day:
âOut of the mountain of despair, the stone of hope.â*
I wish for you radiant stars of love, the sunlight of hope that is new every morning, and the glistening wings of peace to guide your way.
*Dr. King delivered this line during his “I Have a Dream” speech in Washington, D.C. on August 28, 1963. It now appears is one of the most prominently featured quotes on the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial in Washington.
I once preached a sermon entitled, âWhat Do You Say to a Broken World?â In this week, after our nationâs Capitol was breached and defiled, I have wondered if ministers who will stand before congregations in two days are asking themselves a similar question: âWhat will I say on this day to a broken world?â
A friend of mine is preaching this week. I am praying that she will have an extra measure of wisdom, because standing before a congregation while the nation is in chaos is not a responsibility to be taken lightly. My first feeling as I thought about preaching for this Sunday was relief that I was no longer a pastor with such a heavy responsibility, that I did not have to summon the wisdom to speak to a people with heavy hearts who need to hear of healing grace and hope. But my most intense feeling was envy, not hostile envy, but heart envy about my deep desire to speak Gospel Good News to people who need to hear good news. Still I envied my friend and wished that, this Sunday, I could stand before a congregation with wisdom, open my spirit and invite God to speak through me. It is a heavy responsibility and a sacred calling.
Dr. Greg Carey, Professor of New Testament at Lancaster Theological Seminary, wrote an essay this week entitled âPreaching When Itâs Broken.â In the essay he says this:
God bless you, preachers who will address congregations this Sunday . . . Here in the United States, things are broken, most people know theyâre broken, and we all need healing and truth.
For many of us, the invasion of the Capitol and the response to it by people we know, love and admire, brings this brokenness to the foreground. Since that terrible, violent day, I have heard dozens of interviews that expressed anger, frustration, contempt, indignation and all manner of raw emotion. I have also heard wise leaders express their resoluteness to lead this nation into healing, unity and hope.
Indeed, the questions about this Sundayâs preaching call us to attention: How do our pastors, our priests, our rabbis, our imams, our bhikkhus and bhikkhunis stand before their congregations offering comfort when our nation is so broken, so angry, so mournful in the face of violent acts? What will they proclaim? What will they preach? What will they pray? What will they sing?
Minneapolis Pastor and Poet, Rev. Meta Herrick Carlson, has given us a grace-gift with this poem entitled, âA Blessing for Grieving Terrorism.â
A Blessing for Grieving Terrorism
There is sickness
with symptoms as old as humankind,
a rush of power born by inciting fear in others,
a wave of victoryin causing enemies pain.
There is a push to solve the mystery,
to isolate the suspect and
explain the evil simply
to a safe distance from the anomaly.
There is a temptation
to skip the part that feels
near the suffering
that shares the sadness,
that names our shared humanity.
There is a courage
in rejecting the numbing need for data
in favor of finding the helpers,
loving the neighbor,
resisting terror through random acts of connection.
There is a sickness
with symptoms as old as humankind,
but so is the remedy.
From Rev. Meta Herrick Carlsonâs book âOrdinary Blessings: Prayers, Poems, and Meditations for Everyday Life.â Used with permission.
So much truth in her words, so much wisdom âfor the living of these days.â In her words, I feel all over again the desire of my heart, the impossible dream of standing in a pulpit this Sunday, speaking to a congregation that needs strength in the midst of adversity. I will not stand behind a pulpit this week, but I will pray for those who will stand in that sacred space. I will pray for them, the proclaimers, and I will pray for their hearers across this nation. I will lean on this beautiful prayer written by Reverend Valerie Bridgeman:
May God Strengthen You for Adversity
A blessing for today:
May God strengthen you for adversity
and companion you in joy.
May God give you the courage of your conviction
and the wisdom to know when to speak and act.
May you know peace.
May you be gifted with deep,true friendship and love.
May every God-breathed thing
you put your hand to prosper and succeed.
May you have laughter to fortify you
against the disappointments.
May you be brave.
When all is said and done, more important than what the âproclaimer in the pulpitâ says is what the hearers hear. For in this time â when violence, riots, terrorism, pandemic and all manner of chaos is so much a part of life â those who listen need to hear a clear message of a God who dwells among us, a Christ who leads us, a Spirit who comforts us under the shadow of her wings. For hearts in these days are heavy, souls are wounded, spirits seek hope. And all the people want to believe that they do not walk alone through their present angst.
I pray that you know that you are not alone, that Godâs grace-filled presence is with you and that âin God you live and move and have your being. As some of your poets have said, âWe are Godâs children.ââ (Acts 17:28)
I pray that your heart will heal and be filled anew with hope. I pray that the wounds of your soul and spirit will heal and be filled anew with the peace of God. I pray that, when you listen in faith, you will hear the voice of God whispering in your ear, âYou do not walk alone.â
I invite you to spend a few moments of meditation hearing the message of this music:
May you see God’s light on the path ahead
when the road you walk is dark.
May you always hear
even in your hour of sorrow
the gentle singing of the lark.
When times are hard
May you always remember when the shadows fallâ
You do not walk alone.
You might be thinking that both mysterious and mystical are the antithesis of reality. If you are thinking that, you might be wrong. So might I. But in my experience, life itself is a mysterious and mystical reality. That reality fills my spirit with hope in my darkest moments. Dark moments, hours of grief, dark nights of the soul, lamentations of the spirit â all have been part of my life journey. My pathways have often been rough and rocky. My lifeâs travel has often taken me to disconcerting forks in the road and confusing crossroads. I have known times of despairing and times of uncertainty â reluctance, despondency, angst, heartbreak, fear â âbreak-out-in-a-sweat timesâ that forced me into dangerous depths of anguish. For me, taking my own life was not something I could consider. Yet there was that one day â that span of just a few moments â when I was alone, afraid and very far from home.
Japanâs Aokigahara Suicide Forest
One of the most thoughtful and intriguing movies I have ever experienced is The Sea of Trees. I was captivated by the film that tells the story of a despondent professor. After the death of his wife, he despaired of life and searched for a way to end his. His reflective, angst-filled search led him to Aokigahara, a forest in Japan known also as The Sea of Trees or The Suicide Forest. Aokigahara Forest has been home to over 500 confirmed suicides since the 1950s. It is called âthe perfect place to dieâ and is the worldâs second most popular place for suicide.
Donât worry. This post is not about suicide. Rather it is about the people who loved us in life and continue to love us in death, those who watch over us in our times of deepest anguish. It is about the mysterious and mystical reality that between us and our loved ones in heaven, there is but a thin separation. Heaven and earth,â the Celtic saying goes, âare only three feet apart, but in thin places that distance is even shorter.â
To know that my sweet Yiayia (grandmother in Greek) and my Thea Koula might still be protecting me from harm and life disaster is soul-comforting for me. Perhaps the strength and hope I felt as I was chaplain to disheartened hospital patients came from them. Perhaps they sent me the staying power to comfort, protect and advocate for thousands of abused women and children. Maybe the deep grief of losing my brother to cancer was eased by their prayers from heaven.
I often wondered if my mourning of the loss of the life I knew â replaced by daily dialysis â was lightened by their loving presence with me in a horrible time. I wonder, Yiayia, were you watching over me on November 12th when I closed my eyes in the operating room to receive my kidney transplant? I wonder, Thea Koula, did your intercession save my life on those times when my life literally hung in the balance?
This life is not an easy one. No person gets through life unscathed. No one travels a path smooth and straight. Like me, you have more than likely walked on a rough pathway with stones in the road, dangerous curves and life-altering crossroads. Robert Frost wrote eloquently in his poem, The Road Not Taken, about someone standing at a fork in the road pondering a life-altering choice:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth . . .
Then took the other, as just as fair,
and having perhaps the better claim
because it was grassy and wanted wear . . .
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and Iâ
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
My life is filled with âroads not taken,â some not taken by my choice, others thwarted by chance or fate or maybe even God. It is almost like traveling through a âsea of treesâ that hide our view of the way ahead, causing us to lose our way. For my art today, I chose one of my watercolor paintings. A few years ago, I painted this âseaâ of leafless trees against an ethereal, melancholy wash of color. Interspersed among the trees are ghost-like figures hovering. Actually I titled the painting Holy Ghosts. The painting was inspired by the words of a friend.
When the dead come to mind, they are like holy ghosts, as real as hope or faith, as tangible as trust and love.  â Ragan Courtney
This painting was never meant to be disconcerting or morbid. It represents just the opposite for me. It represents the souls who hover over me for protection, those with whom I shared love and life. It represents my aunt and my Yiayia and my brother because I am certain they protect me, pray for me, lift me up and cheer me on.
Who knows! Maybe my brother Pete, who died of renal cell carcinoma, hovered above me in a kind of holy kidney disease kinship and protected me when I was diagnosed with end stage renal disease in 2014. Maybe he prayed for me during my transplant surgery in 2019. I can, of course, never know that for sure. The veil between heaven and earth, between the dead and the living, is a mystery we simply do not understand. Our understanding does not reach that far, but what we feel in our spirit does reach that far.
In the end, my spirit senses that between us there is but a thin separation, that the spirits of my loved ones are are connected to mine, especially when I am disconsolate and in despair.
In the comfort of that mysterious and mystical reality, I can heal. I can rest. I can continue my journey of dangers, toils and snares. I can know the amazing grace that comes from sacred connections. I can know peace after sorrow. And so can you.
All the beauty of the world,
the beauty that calls our admiration, our gratitude,
our worthship at the earthly level,
is meant as a set of hints, of conspiratorial whispers,
of clues and suggestions and flickers of light,
all nudging us into believing that behind the beautiful world
is not random chance but the loving God. Â
â N.T. Wright, For All Godâs Worth
These days I give over many of my thoughts to the millions of devastated lives that have been besieged by the coronavirus. I cannot stop the tears at times when I hear people tell their stories on news reports or when I see the ugliness of images around the world â people suffering, people in hunger, people grieving and languishing as the lives they once knew are snatched away from them. My one solace is a gift from a friend who is a lover of nature. She graces me every time we communicate with the many ways she has learned to find peace in the beauty of the world.
This morning, a cool wind was blowing as the sun warmed my face. I was warmed not only physically, but also emotionally and spiritually. All was quiet, except the wind, the flutter of hummingbird wings, the gentle tinkling of the wind chimes and the birdsong that I could hear all around me. I looked up into my favorite tree with its background of a perfect, cloudless bright blue sky. I could not help but notice the leaves in the tree, moving in the wind and presenting a shimmering display showing off hundreds of shades of green.
It carried me away, even if just for a few minutes, and I found myself embracing the beauty of the earth and the God who created it. I found a smidgen of comfort, peace and the kind of inner joy that is beyond any sorrow I might feel. Instead of being swallowed by the ugliness of the television news, I was blessed by delighting in the freshness and the beauty of the world around me.
And God blessed them. And God said to them, âBe fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth.â And God said, âBehold, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is on the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit. You shall have them for food. And to every beast of the earth and to every bird of the heavens and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food.â And it was so. And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good. Â â Genesis 1:28-31
For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible . . . all things were created through him and for him. Â â Collosians 1:16
In this present moment in time, I cannot help but see the finger of God in all of creation. I cannot help but offer praise to God through the words of the hymn we often sing, For the Beauty of the Earth.
For beauty of each hour
Of the day and of the night,
Hill and vale, and tree and flower,
Sun and moon and stars of light:
Christ, our God, to Thee we raise
This our grateful hymn of praise.
Text: Folliott Sandford Pierpoint; Music: William Chatterton Dix (1864)
I invite you to listen to the video below. For just a few moments, pay attention to this lovely hymn of praise, perhaps as part of your meditation time.
As we celebrate Eastertide with the death of Jesus behind us and his resurrection still in our hearts, the stories that led up to Easter remain in our memories. One of those stories tells of Jesus comforting his disciples. They were bewildered, confused, wanting to know what would happen next.
I can identify with those emotions as this time of distancing grows longer and the spread of the coronavirus continues to threaten. What will happen next? I donât know about you, but I want an answer to that question. Like the disciples discussing their lives with Jesus in the fourteenth chapter of Johnâs Gospel, if an answer does come to us, we probably wonât quite understand it.
First Thomas has a pressing question for Jesus. âWe donât know where you are going,â Lord, âso how can we know the way?â The answer from Jesus wasnât very clear or understandable to Thomas.
Jesus answered, âI am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really know me, you will know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.â â John 14:6-7
Then Philip takes a shot at it, telling Jesus to show them the Father. That would be enough for them to feel comfortable about what was going on around them. But the answer Jesus offered did not clear up the conundrum very much.
Jesus answered: âDonât you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, âShow us the Fatherâ? Donât you believe that I am in the Father, and that the Father is in me? Â Â â John 14:9-10
Hands on their faces, the disciples seem bewildered and confused, even fearful.
Finally, Judas (not Judas Iscariot) asked Jesus why he would show himself to them and not to the world. Again, Jesus answered with what might have seemed like a platitude that did not provide much understanding at all.
Jesus replied, âAnyone who loves me will obey my teaching. My Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them. Anyone who does not love me will not obey my teaching. These words you hear are not my own; they belong to the Father who sent me. â John 14:23-24
We should remember that this entire conversation began with words of comfort from Jesus to his friends. He told them that day, as he tells us in this day, âDo not let your hearts be troubled.â As they began to end this time with Jesus, the disciples still did not fully understand. But finally Jesus speaks to them with a very clear and grace-filled word of comfort.
All this I have spoken while still with you. But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.   â John 14:25-27
In the end, thatâs all we have that can guide us through uncertainty, confusion and fear. What Jesus left to his disciples, and what Jesus leaves to us, is something simple and pure: PEACE.Â
I am not fully certain how this peace really works. I know only that sensing it in my soul is a miracle â every time. When my heart is troubled â PEACE. When I am confused and afraid â PEACE.
God of the Sparrow đ± By Kathy Manis Findley 