This year, as we planned for 天美视频鈥檚 End of Calendar Year and our upcoming Advent reflection series, emerged as a guiding theme. Something about Isaiah鈥檚 call to speak comfort in the midst of injustice, the desire for the powerful to be humbled and the ground to be made even, resonates with how we are approaching this season of anticipation in the midst of unrest.
One part in particular, in verse 6, has been haunting me. Isaiah hears the call to cry out in the wilderness, and his reply is heartbreaking in its simplicity: 鈥淲hat shall I cry?鈥�
What shall I cry? How will I ever know what to say? What difference would it make?
These are the questions I鈥檓 left with after the recent attacks in Beirut and Paris. So, in my not knowing what to say, I turned to community. First I looked for that Mr. Rogers 鈥淟ook for the helpers鈥� kind of content that reminds us of our shared goodness. Social media, as usual, did not disappoint. My sister-in-law shared the Emma Lazarus poem from the Statue of Liberty (“Give me your tired, your poor, / Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, / The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. / Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me.”), which registered like a punch in the gut, and then I teared up at my desk watching a video of a Muslim man offering hugs to people on the streets of Paris.
Then I started looking for voices that might help us process how to respond as Christians. Sojourners likened . RELEVANT posted a list of Patheos offered this, which feels devastating and true:
鈥淚f your beliefs, if your convictions, end up breaking people鈥檚 bodies or hearts or spirits, then maybe it is time to wonder if those beliefs are pushing you toward evil, not good. If your beliefs declare that certain people (the gays, the immigrants, the Republicans) are anathema, that some group of people is unworthy of compassion and respect, then you are standing on the side of the terrorists. The terrorists who are hoping that violence will be answered with violence, so that they can be even more certain that their violence is justified and right.鈥� ()
Then I asked some friends and colleagues at 天美视频 to share anything they鈥檝e seen recently that has helped bring comfort or clarity or inspiration. , Professor of Counseling Psychology, recommended a recent essay, from David Brooks at The New York Times. Brooks writes:
鈥淛ustice demands respect of the other. It plays on the collective memory of people who are in covenantal communities: Your people, too, were once vulnerable strangers in a strange land. The command is not just to be empathetic toward strangers, which is fragile. The command is to pursue sanctification, which involves struggle and sometimes conquering your selfish instincts. Moreover, God frequently appears where he is least expected鈥攊n the voice of the stranger鈥攔eminding us that God transcends the particulars of our attachments.鈥�
, Director of Enrollment Management, forwarded me an old Wendell Berry text, which is as timely now as it was after September 11: 鈥淚t is hard to speak of the ways of peace and to remember that Christ enjoined us to love our enemies, but this is no less necessary for being difficult,鈥� Berry writes.
, Human Resources Generalist and 2015 alumna, posted she recently delivered on Mark 13:1-8. Kate writes:
鈥淛esus says: No. No, wars are not the end; they are the result of earthly rulers, not the will of the Divine Creator of the Universe. No, natural disasters are not a sign of God鈥檚 punishment. No, famines are never God鈥檚 desire. No, this is not the end of the story. Rather, Jesus tells us that these problems are early birth pains鈥攖he sign of new life; the sign that something new is struggling to be born; the sign of the Nation of God struggling to become reality. And perhaps we are to respond to these early birth pains in the same way we would respond to a woman entering labor: by offering comfort and assistance, to the best of our abilities, while anticipating the new life that is to come.鈥�
, Assistant Director of Admissions, went into full-on preacher mode at her desk as she told me how, as a pastor, she turns to our sacred stories to see how the people of God are called to treat strangers and refugees. 鈥淲e have given up our lives as followers of Jesus,鈥� she told me. 鈥淲e cannot then orient our lives around fear or self-protection.鈥�
What does say about us? What do we do with the possibility that most of us are more likely to suffer violence from a white man with a mental illness than from a foreign refugee? What do we do with our mountains of guns and the generations of men in our prisons? It鈥檚 easier, after all, to point out a window than to look in a mirror.
It鈥檚 easier, after all, to point out a window than to look in a mirror.
It was about the time that I was researching the when I heard that question again: 鈥淲hat shall I cry?鈥� I think I鈥檝e been keeping myself busy, scrambling to collect ideas and inspiration, to keep myself from feeling the desperation and futility in Isaiah鈥檚 question. That鈥檚 something our culture is really good at: hiding our fear of futility under think pieces, statistics, and infographics.
So I was moved when , President of 天美视频, told me he didn鈥檛 know what to say. He knew he鈥檇 be expected to offer something profound and compassionate, but all he felt was raw anger and futility. The next day Keith jotted down a few words describing his response, which you can read 鈥攁nd please do.
I am left, now, with far more questions than answers. And I invite you to join us in those questions. Throughout Advent, we are wrestling as a community with all of the complexity and uncertainty that comes with the collision of past, present, and future: our past stories and traumas, our present wounds and realities, and our future hope鈥攈owever faint鈥攊n the coming Messiah. You can sign up for our weekly Advent series, emailed聽every Sunday until Christmas, here.
Photo by聽Bulent Kilic / AFP / Getty Images. Accessed