There is still the pain of reading, and noticing, how the initial suffering in places like Buffalo and the church in California spreads outward into the world-- and I still don't have the answer to the "why" question.
We are hearing and witnessing the pain as it travels from firsthand accounts toward us at home. In this way their communal suffering seems to resemble a pebble dropped into a lake; the ripples are continuing to move outward further and further from their source or inciting incident. We cannot see where the shoreline is and so the ripples keep traveling further and further away. . . or further closer to us.
Op eds are being penned and revised and evaluated and defended at every turn by political commentators and news sources. Polling numbers are being scrutinized and applied as leadership tries to grapple with the world and the impact of these events. People want to have a justification for what they feel or experience and they want to process those feelings in front of the community and demand the community accept them--a practice that I can sympathize with for no one likes to stand alone and confess that they feel powerless and targeted.
And yet this morning I read the words of novelist Jodi Picoult and I stopped and considered the implications of what she was speaking about. Her words are cited in the book: God, Improv, and the Art of Living.
She writes this:
"Heroes didn't leap tall buildings or stop bullet with an outstretched hand; they didn't wear boots and capes. They bled, and the bruised, and their superpowers were as simple as listening, or loving. Heroes were ordinary people who knew that even if their own lives were impossibly knotted, they could untangle someone else's. And maybe that one act could lead someone to rescue you right back."
I don't want to parse out exactly what Jodi said in this quotation. Instead, I want to wonder with you today about who in your life is displaying the superpower of listening and loving? And I wonder if it could be you?
When we read about tragedy and suffering, and regardless of its motivation, we find people who choose to dwell and listen. Certainly there were folks who acted in these horrific events. We need those people. Someone began to the process of 'hogtie-ing' the shooter in the California church. That person's work saved lives. Personal when the shooter in Pittsburgh opened fire in a Jewish synagogue, the rabbi hid elderly individuals in closets around the building for their safety.
But now as we pick up the pieces as a society, and as we read and listen to politicians attempt to capitalize on the events for the gain of their agenda, I wonder if we can notice who just dwelt with the wounded?
Who was there to hold their hand and grieve with them?
Weep with them?
Dwell with them?
I am sure in your life when times of suffering have come someone sat down on the bench next to you and didn't say a word. They didn't offer a solution or an opinion. They didn't not opine the latest buzz-worthy response or offer to show you a meme that captures how you feel. And they didn't have to. . . They just sat there. Perhaps they didn't even look at you, but their presence made verbal interaction unnecessary.
Perhaps that was their superpower. . . perhaps it can be yours as well.
I wonder if God has shown you someone who you could dwell with in these tough times? Maybe He has given you the relationship so that you can help them through something that does not need to be named in order to be meaningful?
Blessings
Rev. Derek
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