The Worst Kind of Déjà Vu
As all the recent news reports of more mass shootings, more violence, and more acts of hate have broken, my heart has been broken again and again. It is quite honestly appalling to see how little has changed in the last several years. Instead of seriously addressing the white supremacy and domestic terrorism threatening our country, we have become more and more desensitized to these events of violence. Reflecting on these issues has felt like the very worst kind of déjà vu, especially as I thought back to my reflections on this same issue in 2018. Below is the response I gave to one of the ordination questions I was asked when applying for full connection as an elder. The question was "How has the practice of ministry affected your experience and understanding of suffering and evil in the world?" So many of my reflections still ring true, and the need for prophetic leadership is even more important. This is what I wrote:
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The realities of suffering and evil in the world are so stark that it can feel overwhelming. As of mid-February, the United States had already had 18 school shootings in 2018, many ending with mass casualties. We live in a culture where it almost feels like violence and traumatic events have become the norm. As people of faith, many in the church respond with our “thoughts and prayers” going out to the victims and their families. But this cyclic violence and devastation seems to be never-ending. Finding myself in a place of leadership in the wake of so many traumatic events is challenging, but it reminds me of our need for prophetic leadership. In my ministry so far, I have found myself reflecting on how to balance the priestly and prophetic roles in my preaching and teaching. I remember hearing news reports about the racism and xenophobia in Charlottesville leading up to a Sunday when I was supposed to be preaching on our call to welcome and love all people. I had to discern how I could faithfully respond to my calling to pastor to my people while also remaining faithful to my baptismal vow to, “resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves.”[1]I found myself in the same position as news reports of the shooting at Stoneman Douglas High School came out just hours before our Ash Wednesday worship service.
As hard as it is to be faced with such stark examples of suffering and evil, this is when proclaiming the hope of the gospel is the most important. The heart of our Christian faith is the promise that even in the midst of darkness that seems to consume us, light is breaking through. And that light brings new life and love with it. As Ephesians says, “For once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of light – for the fruit of the light is found in all that is good and right and true.”[2]In God we find a light that shines forth with a brightness that no amount of darkness can overcome. One of my most important roles as a pastor is to bear witness to the power and presence of God at work in the face of suffering and evil. The novel Pastrix talks about this in the wake of the earthquakes that devastated Haiti in 2012. Bolz-Weber said, “addressing pain and tragedy is one of my main responsibilities as a pastor. I’m asked to find God in suffering. And every time I go looking for God amidst sorrow, I always find Jesus at the cross. In death and resurrection.”[3]Reading this incarnational understanding of our role as pastors and our call in the face of suffering and evil resonates deeply within my soul. As hard as it may be at time, my calling as a pastor and as a person of faith is to proclaim the reality and hope of the resurrection, even in the face of death, suffering, and evil.
When I reflected on this question while writing provisional paperwork, my framework came from my experience as a chaplain during my Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) unit at UNC Hospital. While working at this level one trauma center, again and again, I was called to show up, be a non-anxious presence, and bear witness to countless people’s tragedy and pain. In the midst of that pain, my call was to acknowledge and sometimes even represent the presence of God, even in the face of the chaos and suffering. This was hard work, but it was also holy work. Because the questions that get asked in the face of pain and loss come from a place deep down within us. Questions like, ‘Why is God doing this to me?’, ‘Why is God making me sick?’, and ‘What sin has caused this to happen to me?’ all come from an almost visceral place. These questions are ways we try to grasp after a sense of control and order in a world that feels chaotic. And when I served as a chaplain, I found the grace in admitting that we don’t know the “why” behind suffering and evil in the world. I found grace in holding people’s questions and doubts with open hands, praying that God would provide assurance that God was with us, even in the suffering. I was committed to enter in to people’s pain and suffering, walk with them through it, and help them experience the hope of God’s promise to be with us always.
This is something I still have the opportunity to do as I have begun serving in the local church. Especially since the congregation where I am serving is largely an older congregation, there are many chronic health problems, hospitalizations, or seasons spent in rehabilitation centers. My role in these situations is similar to that of a chaplain, but instead of ministering to short-term, critical needs, I encounter more long-term, ongoing care needs. This is difficult work, but it is also some of the most meaningful work I get to do as a pastor. I have learned a lot from Henri Nouwen’s writing on this subject. In one of his books, Nouwen writes,
Let us not underestimate how hard it is to be compassionate. Compassion is hard because it requires the inner disposition to go with others to the place where they are weak, vulnerable, lonely, and broken. But this is not our spontaneous response to suffering. What we desire most is to do away with suffering by fleeing from it or finding a quick cure for it. As busy, active, relevant ministers, we want to earn our bread by making a real contribution. This means first and foremost doing something to show that our presence makes a difference. And so, we ignore our greatest gift, which is our ability to enter into solidarity with those who suffer.[4]
The practice of ministry reminds me daily to remember the power of compassion. It reminds me to never underestimate the importance of entering into the suffering and pain of the members of the congregation where I serve. Because it is there, in the wake of suffering and evil, where I can bear witness to the enduring presence of God. As I am serving in ministry, this is how I am coming to understand my calling to respond to individual experiences with suffering and evil.
But, I am increasingly convicted that in the face of communal or corporate expressions of suffering and evil, that I am called to do more. Pastors and all people of faith are called to do more than just send our ‘thoughts and prayers.’ And I believe scripture is calling us to do more, because as James teaches us, “What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,’ and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So, faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.”[5]As a pastor, I am coming to understand that in addition to extending love and compassion in the face of suffering and evil, I am also called to advocate for policy shifts and change. I am called to prophetic preaching, speaking truth to power, and being transformed by the power of the Gospel. And I must equip and empower those in the church to do the same because as Walter Brueggemann writes, “all functions of the church can and should be prophetic voices that serve to criticize the dominant culture around us while energizing the faithful.”[6]
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