Let me just start by saying, I’m in a funk and I’ve been here
for about a week now. The world is without a doubt beginning to move on from
last week’s horrific murders in a Charleston, S.C. church. So why can’t I? Why can’t I seem to move on as well? Families of the murdered have begun to
publicly forgive the killer, inviting him to discover the healing that comes
from Christ.
I know in my heart of hearts that what they are doing is
right. They are clearly looking at this
killer through the eyes of Jesus.
Perhaps they are seeing what Jesus saw when he encountered a man
possessed by an entire legion of spirits as told in Mark’s gospel. Perhaps they are seeing a man possessed by
the spirits of violence, hatred, and racism amplified only by a love of guns in
a culture addicted to violence. Perhaps
they are seeing beneath these spirits to a young man who is someone’s child; a
man, who along with the rest of us, bears the image of our creator. Perhaps they are seeing yet one more broken
person to whom Jesus came into this world to love with arms opened wide on a
cross. Clearly these families embody the
words of Dr. King when he said, “hate
cannot drive out hate. Only love can do
that.”
I want to be in this place with these wonderfully loving and
faith-filled families. I want to be able
to see beneath the heinous act, to a child in need of love, mercy, and
forgiveness. But I am not yet there. I cannot even bring myself to mention the
killer’s name. I want to be able to, but
I’m just not there yet.
Maybe I’m the hemorrhaging woman from Mark’s gospel as my
ability to forgive bleeds away; as the grace entrusted to me by God soils the
ground on which I walk instead of gracing the lives of those around me in need
of mercy.
Perhaps I’m Jairus’ daughter as my faith teeters near the
point of death still haunted by the question of how one human being can callously
extinguish the lives of nine others – even after they have embodied Jesus by
welcoming him in their midst with loving and open arms.
So, here I am in my faith funk. Here I am in my shock at such a brutal act; in my sadness at the loss of so many innocent lives;
in my anger that we live in a culture
perpetuating violence and racism; in my frustration that in another news cycle
or two, we will soon forget Charleston, convincing ourselves that things aren’t
so bad. Here I am still unable to let
the killer’s name issue forth from my lips.
Regardless of who I relate to in next Sunday’s gospel story,
one reality is abundantly clear. I am in
need of healing. Like the little girl’s
father, Jairus, who begs repeatedly that Jesus come and heal his daughter, I’m
beginning to see that his pleas are my pleas.
Like the hemorrhaging woman who is exhausted and has spent all she has
on cures and now will stop at nothing to touch Jesus’ cloak, I know that a
touch is all I need to be refreshed and made whole.
And here’s the good news.
Jesus is here crossing in his boat to my “other side”; breaking down my barriers: Even the ones to which I’m rather partial; Jesus is here walking in our midst, cloak
brushing up against our soiled brokenness; violating the holiness codes of our
self- righteous anger and fear-filled confusion. Jesus is here with hands extended to my nearly
dead faith with these transforming words: “Talitha cum”: “Little child, get up.”
Maybe there is healing after all. For the victims of last week’s murders, for
my nearly shattered faith, and maybe even for… (do I dare say?).. Dylann Roof.
Peace and
Love,
Pastor Doug
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