” He told me about a farmer who would wait until he came to a spot bare of grass to scrape the manure off his shoes: “That’s what I mean. You have to keep it in your mind.”
Wendell Berry The Art of Loading Brush
I have written some earlier posts on lament. HERE and HERE Those posts were prompted by our grandson’s suicide and our subsequent struggle with grief. Lament has been on mind ever since and is now becoming more acute as we approach the one year anniversary (Dec 10) of Ryan’s death.
Recently, there have been two encounters which I think worthy of another post. The first was attendance at the Wilmore Anglican Church. My first Anglican worship experience, I was pleased and encouraged by a liturgy that recognized and provided space for lament. I have struggled with conceptualizing how such expressions can fit into my usual evangelical worship experience. I believe we can learn from the Anglicans. I wondered, as I listened to the prayers of the people, what that kind of opportunity would have meant for us in our grief as we worshipped the Sunday after Ryan’s death.
The second encounter came in my reading of Richard Beck’s recently released book: Trains, Jesus, and Murder: The Gospel according to Johnny Cash . I am enjoying the read and intend to post more about it later. But, particular to this post, Beck had some thoughts on lament that I find helpful and profoundly insightful. The following are excerpts from a longer commentary in the chapter “San Quentin”
We get to the good news of Easter Sunday only after crying out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Lament isn’t a failure or lack of faith. Lament is an act of bold, trusting faith in the midst of pain, suffering, and confusion. In fact, if we ignore lament, if we avoid giving voice to despair and rage, the gospel loses its ability to speak honestly, realistically, and truthfully. Without lament, faith grows naïve and superficial—a happy, fake, glossy façade we paint over the pain and confusion. In addition, lament is the cry of the oppressed, a song of resistance. When we avoid lament, we are marginalizing the voices crying out in pain around the world.
In sum, lament is the shadow of the gospel, the moon to the gospel’s sun. The bright hope of the gospel creates sharp, dark outlines of contrast around all that is unjust and broken. Lament is that gap separating the new heavens and the new earth from the shattered world we find around us. In pointing toward that gap, we are not failing or denying the gospel; instead, we are praying with tears and raw, cracked voices, “May your kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven.”
I immediately recognized him. Sitting on the edge of the children’s group called to the front for their special time before the congregation.
Bight and happy, the children were eagerly anticipating an opportunity to express themselves. The congregation joyfully anticipates unexpected and precious wisdom of little children.
A visitor, I was unacquainted with Jason, but I know him. Somewhat larger than the other children, he was enthusiastic and anxious to be acknowledged. Almost before the children’s pastor could offer a welcome and invite their participation, Jason’s arm was raised high.
Cheerfully the children’s pastor thanked God for each of them and invited all to share what they were thankful for. Further energized by her request, Jason became more insistent that he had something to share. Waving his arm urgently, he raised himself higher to gain some advantage.
Numerous children were waving the arms and excitedly sharing their thanks. Although, the children’s pastor did not look Jason’s way, she was acutely aware of his persistence. Finally, after calling on several children, she turned to Jason, saying, “Just wait, Jason, I’ll get to you in a minute.”
Jason retreated, dismayed that he was put off but cautiously optimistic. As I watched, his face betrayed the truth that he was once again destined to he unheard.
As children’s time concluded, Jason dutifully returned to his family.
I think a lot about culture and its impact on faith and ethics. Of particular interest, are social media and media in general. It seems to me that media’s objective is to create a alternative reality that fuels our imaginations. Social media enables me to create and shape an identity that, may, or may not, have any relationship to who I really am. Media, in general, as exemplified in advertising, rarely portrays reality, but appeals to the imagination. This a powerful force that appeals to my self-deception. When is the last time you watched a commercial depicting reality? Essentially reality becomes a social construct.
My musings attracted me to Fr. Stephen Freeman’s latest post related to the idea of reality as a social construct. A pertinent excerpt follows with a link to the entire post.
The further we move away from the hard reality of the material world, the more deeply we press into delusion and fantasy. Part of the brutality of our modern age is bound up with our drive to force hard material reality to conform to our imagination. We find the undeniable humanity and personhood of a child in the womb to be an inconvenient obstacle to our lifestyle. Our fantasy and delusion turn to murder.
The goodness of God, however, abides in the very materiality of the world (and of our own selves). No matter how we might distort the thoughts of our minds, material reality remains unchanged. At most, we can only urge and coerce others to agree with false configurations of what actually is. Such efforts can only be maintained through some form of violence (and coercion) for they have no reality of their own to argue their case. Left alone, reality has an eloquence of its own. Gravity speaks with a clear voice as we fall from the heights.
FR. Stephen Freeman
Curious things start to happen to people when they listen generously. At the most superficial level, one hears things that he or she might not like. But one also hears the sincerity of people’s convictions, the authenticity of their experiences, and the nuance of their narratives. Being open is transformative because, almost inevitably, one finds that the stories they’ve been told about what people believe oversimplify reality.
What Teaching Ethics in Appalachia Taught Me About Bridging America’s Partisan Divide. There’s a language for talking about hot-button issues. And we’re not learning it. John F. Harris
I continue to be intrigued and troubled by the political, ideological And theological divisions that prevail in our culture. The referenced article presents some challenging thoughts about how we can move toward a a more civil and productive society.
Finding the idea of “Generous Listening” attractive, I initially thought I would just share the quote. Then I realized that would be nothing more than a meme, a cute, but pithy fleeting glimpse. The idea deserves more than a glimpse. The subject of division is too important to be dealt with memes and 140/280 character tweets. It is the character of our media saturated society to inform ourselves, shape our beliefs and influence others with annotations.
I perceive that condition is a product, at least in part, of our desire for utility and efficiency; driven by ever increasing demands on our lives. The issues that face us as a society and the church, et al , are far too deep and complex to be addressed so casually. Compromise, reconciliation and peace do not come cheap.
The attendant article provides opportunity gain insight into the challenges, as well as, possibilities for progress.