An American Lament

Vincent Castiglia – “Lament”

When life began shuttering for all of us back in March, I found myself once again on the run and beginning to feel as if I couldn’t breathe.  If you read back to the blogs I posted back in March, the sense of darkness was surfacing, tossing and turning at night, overwhelmed by once again the feeling of drowning.  It was the sense of loss, feeling homeless, a looming pandemic, and admittedly, the humility it takes to move home, even if temporarily, after more than twenty years away.  I could literally feel it on my chest, like I couldn’t breathe.

If you’re a regular reader, you know it’s nothing new for me, the sense of having my breath taken away.  One of the most pivotal moments in my life was nearly drowning while whitewater rafting on the Ohiopyle River in Western Pennsylvania.  It was not only the weight of a raft atop me, but the weight of the handful of men in the raft, and even the weight of a life flashing before my eyes, my life as it seemed to be coming to an abrupt end in a matter of seconds although feeling like minutes.  I couldn’t breathe.

If we can ever admit, or take the time to become aware, most of us at one time or another know that feeling of drowning or being unable to breathe.  We’ve witnessed the story of George Floyd this past week, a man pinned to the ground for what we now know to be nearly 9 minutes with a knee to his throat.  I’ll never admit to understanding I know what it feels like, but I do know the feeling of oppression and the weight of the world and all powers plopped down on top of me, unable to move, breathe, or even live life fully.  It’s the point which often goes unspoken, but believe it has more to do with the fact most don’t know their drowning because it’s often in their own grief.

It takes a great deal of humility to admit something is wrong and needing help, especially for men.  It’s not a surprise to anyone, men are more prone to suppress and repress how they feel and takes a lot of pushing before it begins to spill over.  We’re much better at taking it out on others than we are on allowing the pain to be transformed within us.  If we compound years of anger, hurt, and resentment, with now nearly three months of quarantine and lock-downs, it shouldn’t shock us when it begins to reach a boil and no one willing to turn back the heat.  It becomes, sadly, a political game with each of us as pawns, pushed to stand against so-called beliefs rather than with a hurting people.

We have before us many failing institutions.  It doesn’t mean their surmise; however, it does mean change is necessary, now more than ever.  We find ourselves surrounded by institutions which have become self-serving, which naturally take an oppressive approach because they become about power, and inevitably, an abuse of power.  We certainly see it in our political system, crumbling infrastructures, waffling cities, irrelevant religious institutions driven more by politics, money, and keeping the natives intact.  Is it any wonder we find ourselves now at a boiling point with the fear of only getting worse as this political season heats up?

I, of course, can only speak of my own experience.  There is even a part of me lamenting the rush of churches reopening.  As someone who’s been on the inside, there is great value and still have a resounding faith, but like most institutions, we refuse to look at the whole.  Now more than ever, churches need to move beyond the walls and out into the streets.  The thought of closing church into the confines of a wall gives the sense of suffocation, unable to breathe.  Over time we gradually are lulled into believing the world is bad, dark, evil, or any word you choose to describe.  However, it’s no different than an individual closing in on him or her-self. 

Over time, we become isolated, self-consumed, and breakdown communication.  It doesn’t mean we can’t function in the world; we still work, gather around people, and do what we need to do, but all in anticipation of locking ourselves back up again, feeling like we can once again breathe as we “leave” the world.  Before we quickly return to get our “fix” of comfort, we need to take a look at the world and what’s happening.  Again, I must say, I’m not against any of it; however, more needs to be expected of such an institution claiming transformation at its heart.  It’s also not simply my own faith background; it’s religion in America which fears the world and change and yet paradoxically choosing death over life by not changing systemically.

There is much to lament these days.  There are the countless people killed, hundreds of thousands dying of disease and viruses, at times looking like we don’t care, inequalities we prefer to make judgment of than deal with, failing institutions, increasing debt, anxiety through the roof, thousands upon thousands on prescription drugs for depression and other mental health issues, people yelling at one another unable to listen, pain boiling over, lack of care or concern for the other, selfishness, survival over living, transactional mindsets, empty words and speeches, generational trauma, and the list goes on an on.  Who are the people benefiting from this “normal”?  Is it “normal”?  Why is there a rush to return to “normal”?  Do you see why we shouldn’t rush to once again close off from the world?  It’s understandable why we make it “normal”; who wants to confront the pain of others when we can’t deal with our own!

When we break it down, we’ve lost our ability to dialogue as humans.  We’ve disconnected from our heart and try to understand through an ego which will always try to defend and protect.  Our greatest lament is the loss of our humanity in our institutions and beyond.  People are suffering on levels requiring self-aware leaders, free of the confines of institutional boundaries of cufflinks, dress and three-piece suits, a willingness, as Pope Francis says, “to smell like the sheep”.  The more we allow ourselves to be immersed in the pain and suffering of the world, we find ourselves unable to breathe by our own hypocrisy as a fellow human on the journey.  I know; I’ve been there.  Even writing about it brings up the feeling within me, reminding me of a life once lived not my own.  We lament the institutional freedom for true freedom.

As Americans we must lament.  We must grieve in these days.  We must learn to let go of our expectations, dreams unlived, our resentments and anger.  We must go out among the ones we deemed “profane” and listen to their story as well.  It’s not only our story which we find crumbling; it’s everyone’s story.  We need to write a new story for future generations, weaving together the great parts of our tradition with their own vision for tomorrow.  It’s not going to be the same.  It can’t be the same.  It mustn’t be the same.  We need to lament, most of all, a return to “normal”.  If one does not benefit from a return, then none of us do.  We must understand the one who’s been pushed from the top, being held underwater.  They have a perspective and a voice which must be heard, whether we agree or not.  For lamenting is not about agreeing or disagreeing.  It’s about grieving a heart which has hurt, a heart which will continue to scream out from underneath the raft until it’s given its voice to speak.  As Americans, it’s time to lament…

Crying out for Comfort

Isaiah 40: 1-5; 9-11; Mark 1: 1-8

“Comfort, give comfort to my people, says your God.” What beautiful words from Isaiah today; a message of hope and comfort to a people onto the other side of exile. But four or five times today there is also another message that repeats itself from both Isaiah and in Mark’s Gospel, “a voice cries out…” All any of us needs to do is turn on the news these days and you can’t help but wonder about that voice that cries out for comfort and strength. We hear the cries of injustice, inequality, poverty, oppression, and it doesn’t seem to go away. As a matter of fact, that voice crying out seems to get louder and louder by the day.

Now we, as humans, may never agree on the details of all of it. Whether it’s right or wrong, truth or not, or whatever the case, but that’s because the media and we as humans like to keep it on the surface and never really deal with the issues that lie beneath the surface of inequality, poverty, oppression, injustices that we witness. We see divisiveness. We hear hatred and fear being spewed. Someone out there just kicks back and watches it unfold, but it isn’t the God of comfort and strength. There is one thing we can agree on, though, that can possibly be the common ground that is needed to address institutions and systems that are dysfunctional at best. Can we all begin with the premise, as it was for people Israel, that there is a great deal of hurt and suffering in the world, on every side of every argument. Pope Francis has spoken of this regularly about the violence that ensues in our world. The more people hurt and are suffering, the more inequality and injustice is prevalent, people will react and quite honestly, in violent ways. We all do it. Yet, the prayer of Isaiah remains our prayer these days, comfort, give comfort to my people.

People Israel knew the realities of inequality and injustice probably more than most people’s in history. They find themselves at the moment when exile begins to end but a time to reflect upon how they have suffered and the pain that they have experienced in their lives. It was violence beyond our imagination. People crying out for a God to be with and to be present and yet, so often felt unfound in the midst of such atrocity. But they aren’t the only ones that know and knew exile. It’s our story as well. In this life we all find ourselves in exile trying to make our way and return to God within today and in the end times. Exile is a part of us and because of that, so too is violence. As much as we’ve seen enough and experienced enough in our lives, it’s not until we can begin to let go of our own judgments, our own hatreds, our own hurts and pains, seeking healing and forgiveness, can we move from violence to love. And so the choice is ours, do we give stones or bread? Do we give violence or forgiveness? Do we give love or fear and hatred? The choice is ours over and over again.

We will hear both this week and next from John the Baptist who preaches the message of repentance. This isn’t just about going to confession and seeking forgiveness of our sins, although that’s important as well. It’s about a total change of our lives, our perspectives on life, the lens by which we see one another. The people still knew of injustice and inequality at his time. They still knew poverty and oppression as we do today. They are realities. But God did something different. It was no longer going out there somewhere to find this God who offers comfort. Our God came and comes to us, in this moment. And maybe the craziest thing of all, it’s exactly in our own poverty that God wants to meet and encounter us to bring about healing and comfort.

We see so much violence, participate in it, act upon it, not always out of what it seems or appears, but about something much deeper that goes on within us. It is the voice that cries out within that we so often want to quiet and that many others want to quiet because it speaks of change; it speaks of the realities of violence that plague our relationships and our lives. In the desert of our hearts and souls, we hurt and we ache; we suffer and experience pain. Not just somewhere beyond our borders, but here in these pews and in these streets; it’s here and it can be the place that unites us rather than divide, under and within the wounds of our God who humbled himself to come into our own broken humanity. If it is divisive, then it is not from God; God unites!Not to bring about more violence, hatred, and deep-rooted fear, but to offer us healing, reconciliation, and forgiveness for all that we hold onto and has defined our lives in the exile we often create for ourselves, by what we do and say and by our own fragility as humans, as brothers and sisters. As we continue this journey through Advent allow the prayer of Isaiah to be our prayer today and beyond, “Comfort, give comfort to my people, Lord.”