I live in these days with a pervasive and powerful sense of grief.
I love the vision of the nation in which I live. All are created equal, right? Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are certain inalienable rights. But the whole precious – and who knew how fragile? – vision of what I thought was shared and sacred has been huckstered and profaned through and certainly beyond this past election.
What to make of a nation squandering its heart in fracture? What to do with earth and women and the poor and the vulnerable collateralized by powerful elite who have no concept of what it is to be other than privileged by gender, race, orientation or social status? What to do with the falling-in-behind the dismantling of compassion by those people who espouse the teachings of Jesus as bedrock in their lives and hearts? How can Jesus be used as mascot for the impoverishing of millions and the despoiling of this precious earth?
I love the vision of the United Methodist Church. Transformation of the world is sore needed and the hope of the living Christ as lived through the followers of Jesus is call to lived compassion. We are called to be antidote to fracture.
What to make of a denomination that condones hate speak? How can we be about transformation and open hearts, minds, and doors as we participate through our polity in the shutting of doors to the called and the beloved? How do we preach the Jesus message of dismantling systems of oppression whilst enduring the realities of ministering through a denominational structure bound by just such oppression?
Grief is real.
I’m choosing to feel it.
This coming Sunday is Pentecost. Pentecost celebrates the ways the Holy Spirit took up dancing on the heads of the fractured and frightened. Through the power of that Spirit barriers were eradicated and people could hear the hearts and behold the sacred humanity of those they never thought they would understand.
Oh come, Holy Spirit, come!
We are sore in need of the dance.