JR. Forasteros - May 31, 2020
Pentecost vs Racism
In the last month, violence against Black Americans has once again been undeniable. How ought the Church to respond to racism in our day and time? Pentecost Sunday – the birthday of the Church, and the day we celebrate receiving the Holy Spirit – is the perfect day to consider these questions. God makes us one body that is united but not uniform. As a spiritual family, when one of us hurts, we all hurt. So how can we stand together?
From Series: "Winds of Change"
We're stuck inside. Life feels still, even stale. We long for the world as it was only a couple of months ago. And yet, as on that first Easter day, Jesus is still at work. God is on the move, working newness even in locked rooms. The Holy Spirit is the breath of fresh air we need. How can we learn to spot the Spirit at work around us and within us?
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In the years after Hurricane Katrina devastated the city of New Orleans, I went to the city to do relief work several times. It was during those trips I learned that what victims of disasters want most isn’t necessarily the relief work. Every trip went more-or-less the same:
A big group of us would show up and get to work. Maybe we were gutting a home so it could be cleansed of mold and rebuilt. Maybe we were cleaning up vacant lots to beautify a city block for the other residents. Mostly we were gutting homes – tearing out sheetrock and ripping up flooring. It was brutal, exhausting work, particularly in the New Orleans summers.
The residents would always be nearby, helping if they could or in their FEMA trailers making lemonade for us workers.
And inevitably, over the three or four days we were there, each of us would end up just sitting and talking with that resident. Despite the fact that we were on a schedule. Even though we were working hard to get their home finished.
What they needed most wasn’t a new home (though, obviously, that was important).
What they needed most wasn’t our strong backs and hard work. What they needed most, every time, was human interaction. They needed to tell their story, to be seen and heard, to know they’re not alone in their grief.
Again and again, what gave them hope was not the pounding hammers and loaded wheelbarrows, but a person sitting with them, being present with them.
What does it means to be WITH someone in times of grief? The final movement of Lament is hope, an anticipation that grief is not the final word.
