We live on a little piece of woods that I love calling home... that is until I meet one of the wood's creatures that is trespassing where I don't think he or she belongs. While making some workspace in our shed this afternoon, a small black snake greeted me coiled on the arm of the rocking recliner I was hoping to use for the workspace. Why was I creating a workspace with a rocking recliner in our shed? To quote Wallace Stegner, "There it was, there it is..." No matter how puzzling the location and decor of this particular workspace may seem, you might be happy to know that when said black snake showed itself, I didn't scream or screech. I've come a long way with such things. Instead, I simply said, "Oh dear." Which I thought was hospitable enough to send Little Black Snake on its way. But no. Sadly, oh so sadly, the snake decided instead to slither back into the recliner. To which I promptly responded by turning the recliner over, multiple times, shoving it out of the shed, back in the shed, and beating it half to death. So much for hospitality. I still have no idea if the snake is in the recliner or not. Which as you might guess, poses a problem. I mean what do I do now? Do I dare sit in the chair, waiting for the snake to reappear or can I trust that my poorly executed imitation of Jackie Chan was enough to scare the snake away? The whole thing left me asking the question I sometimes ask when I can't fix something: "What am I supposed to do now when I can't fix what's wrong?"
If you're like me, it's a question I hold for a whole lot more than a little trespassing snake. It's a question that surfaces most evenings at 7:00 pm after David Muir and Norah O'Donnell have said, "Goodnight." I mean really, what am I supposed to do about what's happening in Israel and Palestine or the people in Lewiston, Maine whose community is forever changed by yet one more mass shooting? How can I possibly help the people of Ukraine and Russia whose new horrific norm is war or fix what quite honestly is frightening in our nation's Congress? And even closer to home how can I help those whose stories and circumstances are vastly different from my own? I can't make well the dear friend with cancer, fix the broken relationship between two sons, heal the heart-wrenching division among beloved church members, or mend the breaches of those who have drawn lines in the sand. I can't fix any of it.
And yet, no matter how hard it is, or how impossible it may seem, my faith calls me to respond. My go-to as of late is to watch back-to-back episodes of "Murder She Wrote. In a world where the needs seem to far outweigh the fixes, there's something very reassuring about knowing Jessica Fletcher will have it all figured out in an hour's time. However, as comforting and delightfully numbing as this can be, I'm pretty sure this isn't the response my faith is asking of me. While looking away and disengaging from the awful brokenness in the world is enticing and very tempting, if we're someone who holds fast to, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength... And love your neighbor as yourself." (Mark 12:29-31 NIV) then turning away isn't an option. Do we need to take some time to let what we read, hear, experience, and see absorb? Is it okay to have days where all we can do is take care of what's in front of us, sit still, have moments when all we know to do is cry, converse with trusted friends about how helpless and discouraged we feel, allow some comforting distractions to have their way for a time, offer clumsy vulnerable prayers, and have nights where we can't sleep? Absolutely. I'm not sure any response without some gut-wrenching reflection, pause, sincere compassion, and concern can find its way to a faithful response. The kind of response Gary Moran invited his congregation, Central United Methodist, in Albemarle, NC to consider.
Gary is a much-beloved citizen and friend in Stanly County, North Carolina. As a retired high school English teacher, still active tennis coach, a favorite in community theater, a Sunday school teacher, book club host, and dedicated community volunteer, he's someone, at least in my observation, who holds fast to Mark 12:29-31. So much so, that when he was asked to lead the morning prayer this past Sunday at his church, he did so by way of first offering an invitation to the congregation. Gary took it upon himself to find the names of all of the hostages presently being held in Gaza. He wrote each of their names on a card and placed them on the altar in his church's sanctuary. Before he offered the morning prayer, he invited his congregation to come take one of the cards and begin praying for each of the hostages.
Have you ever found yourself letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding? This was my experience after hearing Gary share this with me and a friend this morning. It's a breath I've been letting out all day. Sometimes the weight of all that's wrong can be so heavy we unconsciously stop breathing, lose hope for helping, and forget that there is still room for a faithful response. We can't trust that there is still something we can do. It usually takes a wise and discerning someone who understands that we're not called to "fix" all that's wrong and horrid in the world, only to respond as faithfully, with God's help, as we can. It takes someone like Gary to remind us, that if you're a person of faith, prayer is one of the greatest adversaries to all that's wrong in the world and is among the most powerful resources faithful people possess. It takes someone like Gary to remind us of The Light that is ever shining even in the darkest of places. How thankful I am for This Light and Gary's witness to it. So much so, that I'm changing my question from, "What am I supposed to do now when I can't fix what's wrong?" to "How can I respond to the needs I see with what I have and who I am?" I don't know how this will go with my little black snake, but I do know that I am now holding Amilia Aloni, age 5, one of the hostages in Gaza, and Tricia Asselin's Family, (Tricia was one of those who lost her life in Lewiston,) close in thought and prayer. Thank you, Gary.
May The Eternal Light holding us all, show us the way. And on those days when we can't trust that The Light is there, may this Same Light send wise and discerning someones to remind us The Light is still there. May we let out any breath we've been holding and believe that it's so.
Blessings, Leslee
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