What it Means to Pray for Healing, Unity and Hope

Bishop Mariann preached this homily at the Service of Healing, Unity, and Hope at Washington National Cathedral.

You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot. You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven. 
Matthew 5:13-16

In his most recent book, Love is the Way: Holding onto Hope in Troubling Times, the Presiding Bishop has a chapter that you’re drawn to read by the title alone: “What Desmond Tutu and Dolly Parton Have in Common.” The short answer is their dreams. He quotes Dolly Parton tell of the dreams that helped her rise from crushing poverty in Appalachia. Desmond Tutu dedicated most of his life to holding onto the dream that one day his native South Africa would be free from the evil of apartheid.1

Lest you think the chapter then falls into platitudes about dreams, Bishop Curry pivots to events in his own life, and in particular, what happened in the years 1967-68. He was a teenager. 1967 was the year his mother died. 1968 was the year his two heros died: Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert Kennedy. What held him together in those years was the example of his father and of the Black Church, and this sense from those around him that you just keep going in the face of struggle. You don’t give up. Most importantly, for all in his world, Jesus wasn’t somewhere up in the sky. Jesus was right there, in the struggle with them. 

Curry’s point throughout this chapter comes in the form of a gentle exhortation: if you’re going to live by your dreams, be prepared to go deep, and to live deeply, and to face the despair of disappointment when you bump up against the crucible steel of life. But when you do, he writes, trust that hope will see you through. Curry then cites the “Ten Commandments of Non Violence” that was part of the essential teaching and training for those involved with King in the Civil Rights Movement.2

Here are the first nine: 

  • Meditate daily on the teachings and life of Jesus.
  • Remember always that the non-violent movement seeks justice and reconciliation – not victory.
  • Walk and talk in the manner of love, for God is love.
  • Pray daily to be used by God in order that all might be free.
  • Sacrifice personal wishes in order that all might be free.
  • Observe with both friend and foe the ordinary rules of courtesy.
  • Seek to perform regular service for others and for the world.
  • Refrain from the violence of fist, tongue, or heart.
  • Strive to be in good spiritual and bodily health.

We are in this for the long haul, and if we’re going to live and walk in the love of Jesus we need to have clarity about what that means. 

We gather today in prayer for healing, for unity, and for hope.

This I know, from personal experience, about the healing process: if your body sustains a deep wound, and a scab or thin layer of skin forms on the surface, it can look as if healing is taking place. But if the connective tissue underneath the skin doesn’t come together in its own process, that part of the wound can get infected and grow worse. Though the deeper wound is hidden for a time underneath the scab or skin, it’s not healing at all. So as we pray for healing in our nation, we do well to remember that there is little to be gained and, in fact, much harm to be done if we tend too quickly to the surface of things while ignoring the wounds underneath. May we pray for deep healing. 

This is what I know about unity: that it often comes at the expense of those whose inclusion is too costly for the dominant group. This is as true on the playground and in family relationships as it is in the wider society. Then that exclusion is often forgotten by those who have settled for what the prophet Isaiah called “peace when there is no peace.”  

We don’t have to look far for examples from our history. After the Civil War and the political whiplash of a white supremacist becoming president after the assassination of presdient Lincoln followed by a president committed to Reconstruction of the South and real liberties for those formerly enslaved, followed by a series of leaders in the South committed to dismantling all the gains blacks had made and Northerners more than happy to look the other way, there was a constant drumbeat for national unity between North and South. Monuments all over the country were erected, stained glass windows in this Cathedral installed, all in the service of unity between whites. We know who was excluded from that unity, from the ideals of democracy and liberty and justice for all.  Some of the most shameful events of our history–many of which were suppressed from our collective memory–come from that time, and from the impulse for unity along racial lines. So as we pray for unity, may we remember that the kind of unity worthy of the Kingdom of God and represented in the mosaic of this nation is not one that will come by exclusion, but with the hard work of reconciling. 

This I know about hope. It isn’t something we need to manufacture. It is God’s gift. Hope  often rises from despair. It can stir our hearts even when we have reason to give up. I wish I could tell you how this happens; I only know that it does. Hope resists platitudes or wishful thinking. It allows for grief and all its manifestations. It never chastises us for being exhausted and worried. It doesn’t ask us to pretend that everything is going to be okay when we don’t know if that’s true, at least in the short term. 

But what hope does–and thank God for hope–is help us rise again, not from our strength, but from the strength that comes to us from the deepest wells of the human spirit, where God’s divine spirit meets us. 

Now there is a cost to this hope, and we do have to choose it, because it refuses to deny the reality of suffering. You may have heard a refrain from St. Paul on the importance of suffering. He writes that we need to embrace suffering, for suffering is what produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope–and this hope does not disappoint because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. (Romans. 5:1-5) The source of our hope is the amazing love of God. 

In this time of waiting for the results of this election to be revealed, let me simply say that not only do we believe, as theological bedrock, that every person is a beloved child of God, we also believe that every citizen has a right to cast a vote. Those votes need to be counted. So we wait. And it’s not helpful–it’s a bit embarrassing, and frankly outrageous for our president to cast doubt on the normal practices of democracy and the heroic efforts of so many during this pandemic to exercise their right to vote. So we will wait for the results and take it from there. Whatever the outcome, the practice, the discipline, the call to love is the same. We pray for deep peace. We pray for unity that excludes no one. And we set our sights on hope. 

I love the biblical passage about letting our light shine. But I wish it said let Jesus’ light shine. I’m not as confident about mine, but I can let His light shine. And I’m letting him be the salt, not me. I’m placing my hope that God will prevail in the end.

And in the meantime? 

Last night my husband Paul and I went down to Black Lives Matter Plaza. There were all manner of young people there. Some were singing; some were shouting; some held up signs. There was a lot of drumming. It was chaotic and peaceful. The police were respectfully keeping distant watch. And there was this whole line of press cameras and journalists ready to tell the world what was about to transpire. 

But there wasn’t much happening that was newsworthy. We walked around a bit more. Then I met a group of people who are part of a group known as the “Nonviolent Peaceforce.” The Nonviolent Peaceforce places people trained in nonviolence into some of the most politically charged and volatile situations around the world, to be instruments of peace. There is a DC Peaceforce and they were there last night, and they were praying and walking and offering themselves. I spoke to the leader. He said, “All of us here are people of faith. And it would be really great if you were to join us.” I’m thinking that I will. 

So, friends, in the meantime and beyond, what we can do is meditate on the teachings of Jesus. And remember that the non-violent movement seeks justice and reconciliation. We can walk and talk in the manner of love, for God is love. We can daily pray to be used by God in order that all might be free; sacrifice personal wishes in order that all might be free; observe with both friend and foe the ordinary rules of courtesy; seek to perform regular service for others and for the world. We can refrain from the violence of fist, tongue, or heart. And strive to be in good spiritual and bodily health.

If we do those things, then surely the light of Jesus will shine through us, as we dare to hope and to dream and to work for true healing and unity.

May it be so. 

Amen. 

~~~
1 Bishop Michael Curry, Love is the Way: Holding Onto Hope in Troubled Times (New York: Avery, 2020), pp 70-94.
“Ten Commandments of Nonviolence” @1963 Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.; copyright renewed 1991 Coretta Scott King.

Blessing in Hard Things and Hard Times

Bishop Mariann preached this sermon at St. Paul’s, K Street on November 1,  2020.

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” 
Matthew 5:1-12

Good morning friends of St. Paul’s K, Street–what a gift to worship God with you! 

First let me thank your good rector, Fr. Richard Wall, the staff, and your lay leaders for their steady, faithful leadership. I’m aware of the prayerful and strategic work your leaders have undertaken in the last year and I’m grateful for it, especially in a year when we’ve all had to adapt and respond to crisis and change. 

I’d also like to acknowledge the impact of the pandemic and its repercussions on your personal lives, on top of everything else that you hold in your hearts. This hasn’t been an easy time and we’re all feeling the weight of it. For some, the burden has been especially heavy, and if that’s been the case for you, I am sorry. I pray you can hold the image of Jesus looking into the eyes of those gathered on the mountain to hear him speak, see him look into your eyes, and hear his words of blessing for you. Blessed are you. 

This is a sermon about blessing in hard things and hard times. On this feast of All Saints, we pause to remember the blessed ones upon whose lives and witness our faith rests. Some of the blessed ones are historical figures; others we knew personally, and from whom we received, as Scripture says, grace upon grace.  

Those who stand out in our memory generally aren’t the ones who had an easy life. What inspires us was their courage in the face of adversity, their perseverance in love when love was hard, or their joyful spirit when joy was hard to find. What inspires us wasn’t their perfection, because they weren’t perfect, but how Jesus’ love shone through their imperfections, which made them all the more real.  

I’d like to explore what blessing in hard things and hard times look like for us.  

First let’s consider the capacity, and indeed, the spiritual practice of seeking blessing in the midst of hardship. This isn’t pretending that things aren’t hard when they are, or avoiding pain, or embracing the understandable but problematic notion that God causes bad things to happen in order to teach us a lesson. Rather, to seek and receive blessing is simply an openness on our part to take in whatever bits of goodness come our way.

So it is that someone who is dealing with illness or grief can experience the blessing of their families’ love and care; and another struggling with unemployment who receives blessing in the neighbors who stop by with a fresh loaf of bread, or another feeling lonely and afraid who is moved by the blessing of a beautiful sunrise. The other day as I was sitting at my desk, I looked out the window and saw a squirrel jump from tree to tree in our backyard with the Y of a trapeze artist, and I burst out laughing. I hadn’t laughed all day, and it felt so good. Who knew? Blessing in the form of a squirrel. 

In hard times, these bits of goodness, kindness, and unexpected joy are our lifelines. If we’re offering what doesn’t seem like very much to someone else, the response can be overwhelming: Thank you, people will say, I really needed to hear that today. Or I can’t tell you how much this means to me. Then you realize that what small offering you made was amplified by grace, that God was speaking through that person. In moments like these, we can’t help but wonder: What keeps us from offering blessing to one another more often? 

So let’s dwell a bit longer, first to underscore the importance of seeking out and being open to such blessings, for without them, the world is a harsher place than it needs to be. It’s painful to be in the company of those who can’t receive such blessing, so trained are they in seeing only what’s wrong, so wounded by life that all goodness is suspect. A spiritual practice of seeking and receiving blessing keeps our hearts soft even when times are hard. 

A few years ago I spoke to the girls and young women of National Cathedral School around Thanksgiving, and I invited them to take up a 30-day experiment of gratitude. At night before they went to bed, I suggested that they write down in a notebook three things for which they were grateful about the day. I assured them that they didn’t have to give thanks for things they weren’t grateful for, but simply encouraged them to see if they could find three things each day. If invited, I would come back in a month to discuss what they had learned.

The 4th grade class invited me back. We talked for an hour–about what they had experienced and learned. They also wrote me letters, which I cherish. “I found that writing my 3 gratefuls helped me calm down,” one wrote. “I found myself writing people on my list who were very busy right now and working really hard.” “I learned that writing positive things gave me a more positive attitude.” “I liked writing my gratitudes because I learned that even if you are in hard times you should try to find joy.” 

Equally important are efforts to offer blessing. Daily kindnesses are simply blessings by another name. Our words matter here, more than we know. The late poet/priest John O’Donohue defined this form of blessing as “words that create a circle of light drawn around a person to protect and strengthen.”1 The Benedictine nun, Joan Chittister goes further to say that those who bless don’t take the easy path of speaking destructively about other people–even those with whom they strongly disagree. “They can be counted on to bring an open heart to a closed and clawing world. The ecology of humankind is safe with them.”2 

Consider, in the midst of all that’s happening now, an intentional practice of gratitude–lifting up three blessings in the course of a day for which to give thanks. But why not commit as well to the practice of offering blessing? Make an effort to affirm the people in your life, to extend yourself in kindness and generosity, to refrain from the easy critique or cynical remark and express understanding instead. 

Now I’d like to speak of another form of blessing in hard things and hard times. This blessing is for when we are in the midst of something really hard–like a pandemic, or economic hardship, or social unrest or political polarization, or any other truly challenging circumstances that we face. For in these times, like the ones we are in now, the only way out, as they say, is through. Or maybe there is another, less difficult way out, but you choose–you feel called–to stay for the sake of someone else. It’s really hard, but you don’t look away. You don’t run. 

Hear again Jesus’ litany of blessing: Blessed are the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, the pure in heart, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness; blessed are the peacemakers and the persecuted. There’s nothing easy about any of these things, and the blessing isn’t easy either, in the sense that it’s not a bandage or a means of escape. Rather it is grace that gives us hope for a better future, a better way, and resolve to transform that hope into reality. 

This is a gritty, messy blessing. And we are not perfect vessels of it. Part of what we learn is to accept the imperfection of it all, the imperfection of our lives and our ways of coping, the ups and downs of our moods and responses, and those of others. We even come to accept that we may be the ones to see the better day for which we hope but we carry on, because the only way out is through. And for reasons we will never know, we are the ones to see this through. 

I don’t know about you, but this is what I feel called to now–to accept the fact that I am among those called to live through this time, and to see others through. I don’t like it; I’m not always good at it; it doesn’t always bring out the best in me, but here I am. I’m not going anywhere. And the blessing is and will be as we make it through. 

Making it through involves continual improvisation, adaptation, and trying new things. Sometimes we succeed; often we fail, and then we try again. We mess up, and so we ask for forgiveness. We fall down, ask for strength, get back up, and keep going. This is, my dear friends, the path of life, the path of sainthood–not the sanitized version of purity, but the real one of grace shining through broken glass. 

We will get through this. We will because we must. It won’t always be pretty. We won’t always get things right, but perfection is never what God asks or expects of us. And as the poet Marianne Moore once wrote about roses, may we remember that our thorns are the best part of us.3 They are what make us real. When blessings shine through our thorns, others can see the power and the love of God. Incredibly enough, we may be their saints of blessed memory because we persevered and saw one another through.  

~~~

1 John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings (New York: Doubleday, 2008), 186.
2 Joan Chittister, In Search of Belief (Liguori, Missouri: Liguori Triumph, 1999), 24. 
3 Marianne Mooore, “Roses Only,” found on the website poets.org.