What better entry for us to be reading right now than one that ponders what you do when words fail?
Because, frankly, I struggled mightily with the words for the sermon I'm going to preach later today following the recent spate of shootings, especially the one at Robb Elementary School on Tuesday, May 24, 2022.
In my weekly email to the church, I confessed that it feels like we're living in a Good Friday world. We're experiencing something akin to what the disciples must have been feeling when they watched Jesus' cold, dead body being laid in the tomb. And again, as they watched him ascend into heaven "to sit at the right hand of God." (Tomorrow is Ascension Sunday.)
As Jessica and/or Kate write, "There is hope for someday, but someday is not now" (p 200).
Words often fail - at least, words that are spoken thoughtlessly or carelessly.
"Perhaps it is here where we might need to learn a new way to pray" (p 200).
They explain, "It's a way of paying attention that author Marilyn McEntyre calls 'the subtle difference between listening for and listening to.' It's an attitude of readiness without an agenda, an openness to what might come. Of breathing into a possibility of hearing and receiving something new" (p 201).
Have you ever experienced that kind of prayer, when you listen to God speaking in an unexpected way?
For me, it's often when I read (listen to) poetry that I hear God speaking. Especially when I listen to Padraig O Tuama's podcast, Poetry Unbound, where he reads and explores a poem that has caught his attention. The number of times what he says speaks to what's on my heart is uncanny. And providential. It's a wonderful gift to receive these kinds of words.
When my words fail, I turn to the words of others. Especially poets. Especially the psalms.
Sometimes that takes me out of myself and drops me in another place, kind of like the "forest bathing" Kate and Jessica talk about in "A Good Enough Step" on page 204. It seems so much easier to listen when you're surrounded by something so much more beautiful than anything humans could create.
"God speaks in the silence of the heart. Listening is the beginning of prayer."
-Mother Teresa
Blessed are you in your radical honesty. In the way you speak of your grief (or listen to others speak of their grief) - the long sleepless nights in an empty bed. Of the physical pain you feel - the joints that don't work like they used to, your brain fog or chronic migraines. Blessed are you who speak of your loneliness, the empty home or nest or womb. Who have the audacity to ask for the miracles you need. The healing or a new friend or a redeemed family.
Pastor Allison
I'm curious:
I am grateful to Shawnee Mental Health here in Portsmouth for their post on Friday, May 17 because sometimes our words fail because they're not the right words. Here, they offer some alternatives:
They suggest these alternatives to the question, "How are you doing?" which can be awkward and empty if asked thoughtlessly.
Why not try ...
1️⃣ How are you today?
2️⃣ How are you holding up?
3️⃣ I’ve been thinking about you lately. How are you doing?
4️⃣ What’s been on your mind recently?
5️⃣ Is there any type of support you need right now?
6️⃣ Are you anxious about anything? Are you feeling down at all?
A more specific question may garner a more caring interaction.
