On Everything

Everyone's written something at this point.  I wasn't going to.

I started a post, with no particular prompting other than just wanting to reiterate one of my favorite points (wanting to add more love into the world), and didn't finish it.  The next day, the horrifying massacre in Orlando shook the country.  I wanted to write; I wanted to finish my post, but I couldn't.  As I got my wits together and tried again, Taylor Friloux was killed in a fast food restaurant not five minutes from my house.  I was stunned.  I couldn't write.  I tried again, wondering what I even wanted to say, and then Alton Sterling was shot and killed.  And then Dallas happened.  And tensions continued to rise.

I watch Facebook, people arguing passionately, hot-headed, angry, and afraid.  I wanted to say something, but I didn't want to get lost in the mix.  And what is there to say when you don't know what to think?  It occurred to me that my great fear in all of this was saying something decisively.  But again and again I saw the Desmond Tutu quote pop up: "If you are neutral in situations on injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor."

I don't want to be on the side of the oppressor-- but I don't know what to think.  There is so much confusion and fear, and that clouds judgement and blinds even the best of us.  I can't find facts, which are my sources of comfort, and I can't find solid footing on which to say anything that hasn't been said before.

What I do know is this: I get to go to bed every night and not have to worry about my immediate safety.  I don't have to worry about my close friends or family.  I may be worried about the state of the world in general, but I don't have to wake up every day and actually fear for my life.  I get to wake up and worry in general, but for the most part, I get to go about my day as usual.

This fear belongs to both people of color (and, I should think, most or all minorities) and the police.  And it's hard to think straight when you live with such fear.  And it's easy to point fingers and assign blame.

There is a crazy imbalance of power.  There is an absolute irrationality of revenge.  There is justice to be demanded, and there is change to be made.  As to what the logistics of this justice and change are, I don't know.  I just know that the more I stay silent, the more comfortable I feel for myself, and we are not supposed to be comfortable.  We are supposed to be challenged.  We are supposed to bring change for a better world for the future.  I don't know what else to do besides write, but writing is better than sitting silently and watching the world go by with fearful eyes.

So many people point out things as (God help me) black or white, when everything is so many shades of grey.  It's what makes this world so intricate and interesting, so deeply nuanced.  And yet in all these varied distinctions, we still have more alike than we have in differences.

Sometimes I wish I could sit down every single person in the world and remind them all, gently but firmly, that we're all just human.  That's it.  That's it.  There is not a single thing that makes one human more or less worthy of dignity and respect than another.  We are all humans who have to depend on each other to survive, and the best way to do that is to be kind and keep in mind that we are the same.

I can't do that.  So what can I do?  I can continue sitting behind my little window to the world, my blog and the immensity of the Internet, and continue to encourage people to be kind.  Smile at each other.  Sincerely compliment those who need it.  Take the extra minute or two out of your day to help someone.  Do something you don't want to do.  Radiate love to all who cross your path.  Practice active kindness.

Until I can figure out something better to do, this is the best I have.  It's not going to change the world, but my efforts will be one less hateful presence in the world, and I hope you join me.

This became much longer than I expected.  I am sure I have said something wrong, or worded something poorly, or miscommunicated, or not covered everything that I meant to, and I fear I will upset someone or draw judgement for not seeming to side one way or another.  I side with love, and that crosses all sides, all boundaries, all imaginary lines drawn by this world.  That doesn't mean the lines aren't perceived to be there, or that injustice will suddenly disappear, or that the imbalance of power will magically level out, but I hope that we can all reach the agreement, one day soon, that we are all human, and that we are all inherently the same.  Imagine what we could accomplish when we come to this ideology.  Is it far-fetched?  You tell me.  I pray that God has mercy on us all and leads this world to the metanoia that will bring us together as brothers and sisters, as children of God.

Lent When You're Sad: Psalm 51:15-17

My usual approach to Lent is to stride confidently forward, full of determination and certainty.  The sacrifices that I spent the last days of Mardi Gras season picking out have all been selected due to my assurance that they are reasonably difficult but nothing that I will fail at.  I face Lent head-on and plow through with the goal of Easter and the end of my temporary sacrifices waiting for me at the end, like a finish line of a race.  Lent is easy when you're confident and sure.

This is the year first year that Lent has actually seemed hard.  This year, I didn't stride into Lent with head held high.  This year, I limped into Lent, broken and sad, physically and emotionally.

Going into a day of fasting and abstaining the day after our brutal drunk driving accident was difficult, to say the least.  I casually made the remark that we were down one major physical possession and that this year's sacrifices, the things we'd go without, were definitely going to be different.  And it's been true.  I entered Lent with a lot of anger, a lot of sadness, a lot of physical pain, and a lot of emotional pain.  And that was just because of the accident.

For the past several months, before any of this happened, I've been carrying a few different crosses, and this was the first time I ever carried (dragged) my crosses into Lent with me.  It has been difficult and it has been emotional.  There's been a lot of late night crying, complaining, Bible reading, hope, let downs, and frustration.  Lent seemed like the perfect time to examine why I have these crosses on my back and how to let them go and hand them over to God.

But we're halfway through, and I'm still carrying them.

Why is it so difficult to give up our crosses?  These heavy burdens, these crass and base issues and feelings, full of shame, guilt, fear, anger, jealousy, and pain.  Who doesn't want to let go of their pain and misery and put it in the hands of the only person who can lighten the load and take it on entirely?

Do I actually like carrying my crosses?  Do I seek out this self-suffering martyrdom on purpose?  While I do think I have the tendency to "act the martyr," I don't think that's the case this time.  I think this time, it's just hard to find that perfect faith and trust.  Letting go of the familiar, even when the familiar is heavy and heartbreaking, is tough.  It's an act of faith.

It's been a strange and different Lent, and it's probably the "realest" Lent I've ever journeyed through.  It's not fun, to say the least.  But hopefully I'm learning.

Although the other crosses existed prior to all of this, I do think the car accident was the catalyst that sparked this need for self-reflection and cross-examination (sorry; I couldn't resist).  Nothing evil comes from God; I do not believe the accident was his doing, but everything good that happened as a result has been from his guiding hand.  And even though this journey has been painful, he is leading me through it.

And if I can't give up my crosses, it is not for lack of trying.  I will pray and offer and offer and pray until I finally let go.  One at a time.

O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise.  For you have no delight in sacrifice; if I were to give a burnt offering, you would not be pleased.  The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise. (Psalm 51:15-17)