Blessed are you who bear the light in unbearable times,
Who testify to its endurance amid the unendurable,
Who bear witness to its persistence when everything seems in shadow and grief.
Blessed are you in whom the light lives,
In whom the brightness blazes–your heart a chapel,
An altar where in the deepest night can be seen the fire that shines forth in you
In unaccountable faith, in stubborn hope,
In love that illumines every broken thing it finds.
Jan Richardson, Circle of Grace
I found myself struggling this past week in the wake of the events in Perry, Iowa in how to respond to yet again another mass shooting. The ubiquitous reality of such tragedies at schools and theaters and other public spaces is overwhelming. There is practically not a Sunday that goes by that we do not lift up in prayer more victims of such shootings and struggle to find the words to make sense of the nonsensical. That this shooting occurred only a few miles down the road in a neighboring town makes it more real and tangible.
I must confess that a part of my soul has become inured to these weekly realities of people (almost always a young man) killing others indiscriminately. There is a predictable call to action to enact gun safety regulations; to address mental health issues; to create policies that tackle bullying; and the ever-present encouragement to send thoughts and prayers out to the victims. I hate to admit that a part of my heart has been hardened in a way I do not like or desire.
Maybe it’s a sense of learned helplessness in the face of an overwhelming certainty that it will happen again. Maybe it’s because I have gotten so used to the grief and sadness and pain, I am not sure what to do with it anymore. I recognize the danger here of a sense of hopelessness that leads to despair and inaction. It is not so much giving up than it is giving in to the narrative that this is just the way it is and will always be.
Yet I know deep down inside that this is not the Way of Jesus. We are called not to turn away from the pain of the world but enter it and transform it. We are called to love others into wholeness, into possibility, even those we may not fully understand their inaction or differing perspectives. We are called not to despair but to hope.
The blessing quoted above describes for me our calling as followers of Jesus in the midst of shadow and grief. A call to carry the light of Christ in our hearts where “a fire shines forth in you.” A call where we hold to “unaccountable faith and stubborn hope.” It is a reminder to me that this struggle is as much in our hearts as it is in the world.
The light of Christ shines for me in the community coming together to grieve and share their pain. The light of Christ illumines me in the words of my colleague and friend, Lynne Hanna, the Pastor at the Presbyterian church in Perry who speaks of the amazing support she has received from churches locally and nationally. The Light of Christ burns for me in the continuing work of those who advocate for change and a safer world. The light of Christ blazes forth for me when the mother of the 11 year old Ahmir Jolliff who died, calls on everyone to show compassion to the shooter’s family.
I hold to that unaccountable faith and stubborn hope “where love illuminates every broken thing” and we will inhabit a world where peace reigns among us and in our hearts.