Hope, right now

Devotion for Being Apart - June 7

I will be sharing a devotion Sundays, and Wednesdays through Fridays.
- Kara

Psalm 27

These are intense times, when it feels like so much is falling apart – and probably it needed to fall apart – the climate is at a breaking point, the deep disease of racism has been festering at our nation’s core since its founding, the inequity in healthcare and our economic structures, the vitriol in our politics, they all continued to plug along in devastating dysfunction.  But now it feels like everything has burst open and is a leaking mess.  After three months sitting in our time-out corners, we can see how badly broken and destructive it all really is.  

But we are people of hope. We are people who trust what we cannot see.  So what is our hope?  And how do we live in hope, especially when things feel devastating and hopeless.

One answer has been, our hope is that one day this mortal life will be over and we will be with God. That is hopeful.  And we will be. But that’s not the hope this scripture give us when it says, “I believe I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.”  That is hope for later on, this is hope for right now.  I will see God’s goodness in this place, for these people, while we are living this life. 

Another way hope has been framed defines God’s goodness by human ideas of goodness.  Our culture values upward mobility, endless accumulation, and measurable results. We worship security, independence and happiness. We might think it’s God job to give us those things.  Is the goodness of the Lord the promise of financial security? Guaranteed good health? Assurance that bad things wont happen to you?

My uncle believed he’d beat cancer through prayer and faith in God.  Last week, the pastor at his funeral said, “We are shocked. We all thought he would be healed.”  Why? Because we modern people see goodness as the absence of suffering, the stability of health, the achievement of the goals and future we had planned for ourselves. We think a good life is security, independence and happiness, and put our hope in God to provide that.  What if God doesn’t?  Where is our hope then?  Near the end, my uncle’s hope shifted, and he began to find hope in being with God when his life was over, and in that he had peace. But the horror of leaving this life, and leaving behind his family, never left him.  

A third way Christians have seen hope has been to treat Jesus as a model for how we are to live and act as though the work of God is now entirely in our hands. Not so different from interpreting God’s goodness as permanent health or stability, we equate God’s goodness with communal health or stability.  

We put ambitious, noble goals in front of us, like the end of poverty our lifetime, guaranteed equality for all, reversing climate destruction – and then every moment we are not working toward that goal feels like wasted time, and every action - purposeful or unintentional - that counters that goal feels like lost ground or personal shame, and everyone working on other goals feels like a competitor. 

A few years ago, someone crept through my neighborhood in the night and stapled big, cardboard, painted flowers at the base of the telephone poles, to look like they were growing up out of the sidewalk, two feet tall and brightly colored.  On one pole, above the flower at eye level, a painted calligraphy sign was attached, that said, “Live like the world should be to show the world what it can be.”  It’s a beautiful sentiment, but In this view, hope is something we must provide for others.

Hear this: our hope is not just for after this life. Christianity is not a religion of escape; it’s trust in the God who joins us here. 

Our hope is not for our own security, independence or happiness.  Christianity is not a religion to soothe our fears or avoid suffering; it’s trust in the God who joins us here. 
And our hope is not that enough of us striving and working can bring God’s vision to fruition.  Christianity is not a religion of positive progress, or a blueprint for social change; it’s trust in the God who joins us here.

We have talked before about eschatological imagination.  But it might help to define again what these words mean.

Imagination is the forming of new ideas, images or concepts of outside things not present to the senses.  And eschatology, or what my kids used to call “the very, very end,” is that part of theology – or thinking about God - that is concerned with the final destiny of humankind.

So to have ‘eschatological imagination’ is to live into God’s final destiny for humanity, right now.  It’s letting our understanding of a good life be shaped by God’s trajectory, and live now where the story will arrive in the very, very end.  

So instead of ““Live like the world should be to show the world what it can be,” the sign above the cardboard flowers of eschatological imagination would say, “Live like the world will be to show the world what really is.”

“I believe I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living,” means I trust I will see God doing something here and now, in visible, tangible, joinable ways.  I’ll see God’s goodness, not ours.  We don’t pine for it someday far away or bring it into being with our human efforts.  We trust God to bring it. “Wait for the Lord. Have courage and watch for God.” the scripture goes on to say. 

And we will see God’s goodness not when everything is all better, but now, in the brokenness, in the cries for justice and the suffering of injustice, in the midst of an earth in crisis, in the grips of a worldwide illness, the corruption of governments and the selfishness of commerce notwithstanding, not apart from but right within the frailty of the human body and the vulnerability of human bonds.

A big word of eschatological imagination is nevertheless.  Nevertheless, we will see the goodness of God, anyway.  Here. now. 

We become people who are always asking, “What is God up to?” in every circumstance, especially the godforsaken ones. Not just because God is present and working in all circumstances, but because Jesus comes especially into godforsakenness, when, by own his unjust, politicized, and brutal death, and raising us to newness of life, he spoke the final and authoritative nevertheless.

The Lord is my light and my salvation;
   whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life;
   of whom shall I be afraid? 

God is trustworthy.  This is our hope.  To trust God is to live by imagination shaped by the final destiny of humankind. The very, very end will be love, wholeness, joy, peace, belonging for all.  So we live love now, we seek wholeness now, we take pleasure in life’s joy now.  We join in peace, and practice belonging because they are more real and more permanent than the discord and division we see in front of us.  

We want to see the world as God sees it, to trust our lives to the story God is telling, and let our lives be shaped by the ending to the story, right now and nevertheless.  When we live like the world will be we will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

So be strong and let your heart take courage. Wait for the Lord.

CONNECTING RITUAL:

 

Perhaps tonight before bed, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we and so join our souls with each other and the people of the whole earth:

Today we sang this together. Perhaps before bed, you might sing or recite this a few times.

The Lord is my light,
my light and salvation,
in God I trust, in God I trust.
The Lord is my light,
my light and salvation,
in God I trust, in God I trust.

I will see your goodness in the land of the land of the living.
I will wait with courage for the Lord will come.
 I will see your goodness in the land of the land of the living.
I will wait with courage for the Lord will come.
 

The Lord is my light,
my light and salvation,
in God I trust, in God I trust.
The Lord is my light,
my light and salvation,
in God I trust, in God I trust.

What's rising up

Daily Devotion - May 30

I will send a brief message each day (except Mondays)
while we are pausing gathering in person.
- Kara

Last night was filled with destruction and devastation. The impact is staggering.  Beyond protesters, and even rioters, are those who are taking advantage of our city's pain to sew more division and hate.  The emergency responders are overwhelmed; the nights are feeling long and dangerous.

But the mornings are different.

Neighbors are coming into the street and cleaning together.  Business owners whose restaurants or stores were damaged are being surrounded with love.  Organizers are organizing. People are responding.  

Belonging runs deeper than division, and we are here for each other.
Here is an example:

Yesterday, Kate Kunkel Bailey posted this on Facebook:

 

But this is why I love Minneapolis.

If you drove down Lake Street today, you would have seen literally hundreds, maybe thousands, of people cleaning up. You can start to imagine in your mind how it might not be long before the corridor is prettier than ever. Maybe you would have joined in, and you would have been welcome. The air smells acrid still—anguish does not immediately disappear simply for having been released. But a cool, fresh breeze is blowing, and birds are singing, and you would start to believe that healing can happen.

And if you followed Minneapolis folks on Twitter today, you would have seen the community rallying to care for its own. What problems do we face today in our city? Grocery stores and public transit are closed. In food deserts this matters. We need diapers, formula, food. It might be days before we can get out of our neighborhoods, people said.

And here you would have seen the organizers stepping in. Here is what to bring. Here is where to drop it off. Here, Minneapolis, is how we care for our own.

And when you dropped off your donations, here is the bounty. You were not alone, wanting to help. Our neighbors are fed.

We will do this again, if we have to.

I know that it’s hard to think of rioting as anything other than wasteful, but look at what is already rising up from it. It is not relevant, whether you condone or condemn rioting. It has happened. What is relevant is what you do next. We do not have to waste this moment.

What I know of my city is that it is good at making much with little, when it needs to. What I know of my city is that radical love lives here, too, amid the corruption and pain.

What I believe is that love wins.

Photo credit: Patty Mathews

This is part of the story.  This is not the whole story. The world belongs to God.
The pain and anger and sorrow, the destruction and fear and violence, the deep, systemic inequity and generations-long injustice, the longing for peace and justice that comes out in both wise and terrible ways is part of the story.  So is the love and care, the resurrection breaking through, the way that from these ashes a new city will be born, is already being planted right now with brooms and gloves and tears.  That's part of the story too.
 The world belongs to God.

____________

Here is a list of clean-up events, food drives, and places to donate.  See how you can help.

If you are looking for a specific, local, no-contact way to help, Sanford Middle School has this request:Teacher Elizabeth Berry Novak shares:
The school that I teach at is facing some hardships right now due to the murder of George Floyd.
There are 168 kids from Sanford Middle School living in the 3-block radius of the 3rd precinct. Many have younger siblings. Public transit is closed and their walkable stores have been destroyed. School Nutrition Services are also closed and many of these families need food and basics. We’ve also learned that some have tested positive for COVID19. Here's how you can help, and please share this:
- SUNDAY May 31 from 10am-noon: Drop off of food kits (see below) in brown grocery bags to the Sanford parking lot, 3524 42nd Ave S, MPLS. (curbside, you don't have to get out).
As far as we know, these grocery stores are still operating; pls check hours, and remember the curfew at 8pm: Longfellow Market, E. Lake Street MPLS; Lunds, Ford Pkwy St. Paul; Whole Foods, Snelling Ave St. Paul; Cub Foods, Hiawatha and 46th Street, MPLS.
WE NEED: 85 food kits! A good list follows; please make sure each kit fits in one brown grocery bag:
- 1 loaf of bread
- 1 package tortillas
- 1 bag rice
- 2 cans beans
- 2 cans soup
- 1 small bag apples
- 1 bag baby carrots
- 1 box cereal
(Note: non-refrigerated items in case power is still out and/or it takes an extra day to deliver)
WE ALSO NEED: Small jugs laundry soap and diapers. Just pick a diaper size, we'll figure it out.

CONNECTING RITUAL:

 

Perhaps tonight before bed, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we and so join our souls with each other and the people of the whole earth:

Guide me through today, Lord.
Help me watch for the whole story.
Help me take in the terrible parts.
Help me take in the beautiful parts.
Help me see the part I play in the story.
Root out the sin and division in me,
plant me in your love and fill me with hope.
The world belongs to you.
Amen.

Part of the Story

Daily Devotion - May 28

I will send a brief message each day (except Mondays)
while we are pausing gathering in person.
- Kara

(photo of 12 inch chunk of ash from the Lake Street fires 

on parishioner's grass, several blocks away).

Today the riots in Minneapolis have spread around the Twin Cities. Things are unfolding quickly.  The Cities are is in anguish.  

Some of us feel paralyzed by sorrow.  

Yesterday I found a way forward in in "lament" and "repent." Today added "pray."

This morning a congregant texted me. (I share this with her permission).  "I woke up to the smell of smoke from my open windows. At first I didn’t know if someone had a bonfire or if it was coming from Lake Street. The more I read, the more likely it seems to be from Lake Street."  

I couldn't respond. I was just then taking in the news from last night - the widespread destruction, the death, the unquenchable anger and sorrow, holding up Martin Luther King Jr.'s words, "Riots are the language of the unheard." We are watching the city wail. I felt unmoored by it.  I tried to gather my thoughts to respond to her, but before I could type anything, she texted again,

"This is not the whole story. This is part of the story. The world belongs to God."

These are the words we printed out on cards and mailed out to each other when the pandemic began. These are the words hanging on my fridge.  

When I read them, I felt myself land.  Physically, I actually felt a ka-thunk in my body.  YES.  Her words brought me back.  I felt myself breathe again.  I know this. I trust this.

We can look right at it all--and we should--and say, "This is part of the story."

Oh Lord, hear our prayer! God, have mercy!

But we also say, "This is not the whole story."  

Because it isn't.

For the next few minutes, we found ourselves supporting each other, she and I. With humor, reminders of God's presence, dipping in and out of our morning routines, and with the deepest truth and last word: "The World Belongs to God."

She said, "I keep looking at my backyard. It’s so green. There are flowers everywhere and the peonies are starting to bud."  

"And yet there is stench."

"The discord between the stillness and beauty and the faint but persistent smoke smell."

"The kids toys are sort of strewn about the yard, which adds promise of movement."

"And then I smell smoke again."

I took it in. I breathed. It felt holy.  

"God, in your mercy."  I responded.

Gratitude welled up in me. The moment felt sacred.

I had been seeking solutions, the right words, a place to stand, something to do, answers, a place for the confusing mix of emotions.  And she gave me back the deep reminder, and the holy work.

"This is prayer." I replied. "What you are doing right now. Noticing. Taking it in. You are praying."

And so, that is our holy work today.  

We pray.

We pray. We don't have to have answers, theories, conclusions, clarity, or even words. We don't have to solve, or understand, or know how to process what's happening, or know what to ask God for.

We just have to notice.

To hold in our gaze all the things and let them in.

The joy and pain, side by side. That life is filled with horror and beauty, both. 

We notice, we hold it up and see it.

And we trust that the world is loved by God. 

We trust that God is here. This part of the story is  honored, shared, joined, held.

And then we trust that there is more to the story than this.  That we allbelong to God. We all belong to each other. As broken or lost as that sometimes feels, it cannot be broken and will not be lost.  And even in the brokenness, healing happens. This is an important and painful part of the story.  This is not the story's end. 

All day I have felt myself saying, "God, in your mercy..."

I've been lamenting, repenting, and praying.

That means also receiving the gifts of this day - the beauty, the way life renews itself all around us at every moment. I've stopped by houses and seen faces I haven't seen in three months. That filled me with joy. I planted new green things into the rich, black earth, under blue sky.  These things are part of the story too. And they are not the whole story.  

Both-And.  

But no matter what, now, and always, the world belongs to God.  And the end of the story is love.  It's the love we are longing to see right now.  

So we watch and we pray.

_____________

Can I help in some way? 

If you are looking for somewhere to donate, something to do to help in some way, Holy Trinity Lutheran Church, a block from the center of yesterday's riots, is serving as a medical site and response team. For more, and a link to donate, see this facebook post today from my colleague, Rev. Ingrid Rasmussen, pastor at Holy Trinity Lutheran Church.

______________________________

CONNECTING RITUAL:

Perhaps tonight before bed, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we and so join our souls with each other:

Tonight, perhaps we can practice both lamenting and repenting, through speaking or singing these words, until we've felt ourselves emptied out and filled up.

Prayer of Noticing:
What can you notice today?
What feelings, longings, moments, events rise up?
 Let whatever arises come.
Respond to each noticing with, "God in your mercy..." or "Oh, Lord, hear my prayer" or "Thanks be to God."