“Rise up, peace-makers, rise up and join the struggle, for there is much work to be done and time is always pressing. Rise up, defenders of the Earth, rise up and join hands around the globe for there is much to save and little time to do it. Rise up, fighters for justice, rise up and take your place among the ranks of the hopeful, for there are lives to be restored and not enough time in days to come to bring them all to safety. Rise up, prayer warriors, rise up wherever you are, for there is a sad world waiting for your word and every prayer counts as the time is so quickly moving. Rise up, all who believe, rise up, for there is so much to do in the time we have remaining.”
This blessing will (hopefully) be what you need for these days, because the world needs what you carry, needs your steady presence, your give-a-damn, your tender heart, your unflinching faith. (From Sarah Bessey)
I suppose this blessing could throw gasoline on the burning rage in your heart, igniting and becoming a wildfire of righteous anger. This might help for a while. God knows it’s appropriate to be angry.
I suppose this blessing could stoke your cold fears the ones that keep you up at night, in fear for your children (there is no such thing as other people’s children). It could become a litany of legitimate horror and anxiety, hand-wringing and pacing beside you.
I suppose this blessing could excuse and mince words, it could justify and blur the jagged edges, it could cry, peace, peace, when there is no peace, and probably shame you a bit.
I suppose this blessing could offer weak comfort and bland generalities of passive hope. It could pat you on the head, ignore reality, quote Bible verses, offer cross-stitched platitudes of how God is in control blah blah blah.
I do wish this blessing could fix it all, solve it all, heal it all.
I rather hope this blessing will speak from God’s heart straight to your heart, with exactly what you need right now. (My expectations are very reasonable.)
So instead, this blessing will be with you, as an ancient hope, a deep knowing, an anchor in the storm, and a resolute determination to love, love, love.
This blessing isn’t waiting for everything to be solved.
It is rolling up its sleeves and getting to work – that ordinary work, unsexy work, uncredited and unacknowledged work – and it will not be destroyed.
It will wake you if you are asleep. It will comfort you if you are fearful. It will offer you hope if you are despairing. It will bear witness to your tears and it will remind you to keep singing.
This blessing will abide in Love, then invite you to walk upon and make yourself at home within that certainty in the uncertain times.
It will not allow you to get away with much, not even hating your enemies.
This blessing will speak the truth to you, or through you, or for you. This blessing will recognize your reality, and it will not pretend to be fine, not anymore.
This blessing will prepare a way in the wilderness. It will meet the darkness, face-to-face, beside you, and hold your hand, reminding you that our eyes adjust and darkness can become a friend.
It will pack your bag for the journey ahead. It will probably tuck in a few treats (but alas, never a map).
It will walk beside you all the way into the night, confident in the horizon’s eventual dawn.
It will look the worst in the face and raise its chin in defiance.
Let them underestimate you, this blessing is resilient, it knows you are tougher than they think.
This blessing will equip you for all that these days demand.
It will name your grief and your fear, your rage and your disbelief, your hopelessness and your vain attempts to numb the pain, as beloved, as belonging, as born again, as precious even as it places them all back into their proper homes, and even sweeps the floor of self-pity and bitterness.
Or perhaps this blessing will let you rest, it will tuck you into bed with a novel. It will light a candle on the coffee table and turn off the television.
It will read aloud to your children, and put a soup on the stove. It will open your front door to the night and the stars and the lonely.
This blessing needs your stubborn, ridiculous, determination to love. It will not tell you not to be afraid or angry or despairing.
It just needs you to also become an outpost of what you most hope is true, even now.
This blessing will (hopefully) be what you need, for these days, because the world needs what you carry, needs your steady presence, your give-a-damn, your tender heart, your unflinching faith.
Move your mind in the direction of the living God who is infinite holy mystery. Look toward God as the unimaginable personal Source of all beings, the very Ground of being, the Beyond in our midst, a generative ocean of love, Creator Spirit.
—Elizabeth Johnson (From the Center for Action and Contemplation)
So please, just fight for the things that crack light into your life, fight for the things that soften you. Protect the people you love, leave them better than you found them.
Defend your heart, do whatever it takes to keep it open despite what it has been through. Forgive, not just others, but yourself, as well.
Slow down — taste, touch, feel, care. Create the things you want to see in this world, stay as curious as possible.
Honour your joy, do not shy away from the good that is trying to reach you — do not convice yourself that you are unworthy of it. Be strong enough to be gentle. Be brave enough to break. Be all that you are. Be all that you are.
And when your time does come, when the stars take back what they have lent to you, when this dance ends — I hope you leave this world with a heart that is worn out and tender all over, with a heart that aches from loving, and feeling, and caring in the best way possible.
I hope you leave this world knowing that you poured hope into everything you did, that you crashed your soul into each day.
I hope you leave this world knowing, from the deepest part of who you are, that you connected — that you tried for something while you were here. (from Beautiful Ramblings)
Mayfair Heights United Methodist Church 