Sad people,
Could we be more exhausted?
Just this for now: huddle with your leaders. We have non-stop violence and murder and mayhem in our country and much prophetic and pastoral leadership to navigate. Stay in touch with leaders as you make decisions or statements.
If you are going to come out strong with a position, make sure you’re clear what’s your own personal position and what is your church’s or your denomination’s. For instance, I have decided that I cannot remain neutral if conversations turn into debates about the imperative for more gun control; not especially when you can find daily gun and ammo deal here. I cannot in good conscience hear any arguments against the total ban of assault weapons and I will say so. Not as a representative of the church, but out of my own moral convictions.
To those of you whose faith traditions have been less than completely and unconditionally supportive of GLBTQ people and inclusion in the life of the religious community and deserving of equal treatment under the law, take risks. Any thinking person knows that homophobia is a sin among many religious groups and that it is too easy to point a finger at radical Islam for this slaughter. If you cannot acknowledge how the homophobia and transphobia in your own tradition has caused harm, estrangement, abandonment, emotional harm, spiritual harm, poverty, addiction and self-hatred among GLBTQ people, you should not light candles for the victims of this murder. There is more than one way to kill a tender heart.
Everyone, be careful. Many of us were already feeling woozy and overwhelmed by the Stanford University swimmer rapist story and the survivor of his attack’s powerful impact statement. In a woman’s group I belonged to, the story broke open a conversation about sexual assault and shocked many of us with the scope and intensity of our sharing.
Madness is the norm. And now we have the added threat of a stupid, dangerous buffoon in the running to be president of our country. The shock is real. The dismay is profound, I feel it down to my soul. I took a THREE-HOUR nap on Saturday. That’s not a nap, that’s a self-protective coma!
Ferguson, Charleston, Orlando, Sandy Hook, Oklahoma City, Columbine…. Virginia Tech, and I could go on. It all comes trauma upon trauma.
You be careful. Not because you might “get into trouble” if you say something impolitic: who cares? I assume you’d explain yourself, offer apologies or make amends if necessary or remind folks of the freedom of the pulpit if you’ve merely spoken the truth as you were called to at your ordination, and made some folks uncomfortable. Uncomfortable isn’t dead. Stay close because part of leadership is sharing the hurt and sense of enormity at all we are facing in this broken nation. To hold ourselves outside of community at this time or any other may be tempting but please remember how Mr. J. taught us to pray, “lead us not into temptation.” Isolating ourselves until we can get our thoughts, words, or faith in a perfect place is a temptation that is ever before us. Ask God for help resisting it and get with your people.
Check in here. Roll call.
Thank you so much for posting this. One of the first sermons I preached was after the attack in Paris, and I ended up preaching this past Sunday. I was going back and forth with myself this evening about whether or not to engage in some of the various interactions for all the reasons you wrote about, and couldn’t even begin to parse the issues amid all the emotion. So, thank you so much for your words of encouragement in the middle of all this. Many, many thanks from one very new to being clergy.
Thank you for this. I’m not gonna lie, I’m struggling. I was already teetering on the edge during the discussions of the Stanford rape case, and hearing all the stories brought up memories somewhat brushed aside of how close I came when a man I trusted as a friend pushed against boundaries. Orlando is in my backyard. I came home Sunday from preaching at another church and just cried. The ugly cry. The one you do while screaming into the pillow. I’ve been numb since.
I’m still in seminary, still in my internship, and struggling between “what the hell was I thinking” and “this is why I’m called to minister.” I’m trying to be gentle with myself, find the ways I can help, find the ways I can minister, and try not to break down too much in public.
This will be my first General Assembly and while part of me is terrified of being in that large of a crowd, I am so thankful that I’m heading that way on Sunday. I know I need to be with my people. I know I need to learn from those who are further along about how to handle this much rage and this much grief and still minister. And I know I just need the space where all of us can say, “Yeah, this sucks. It’s not fair, it’s not right, and it’s hard work….now let’s go do something.”
Thank you. Again.
Sunday was hard. I sat in the church parking lot and cried before I could go inside. It was our Appreciation Sunday, and for the first group of volunteers we thanked, I could not for the life of me remember the gratitude chant I was supposed to lead the congregation in. I had to continually remind myself to breathe. To watch my irritability with people. I wanted someone to hold me, hold the space, create the container – but darn it, that was my job! Thanks for checking in with all of us.
Thank you for this.