Oh God, do not keep silence; do not hold your peace or be still, oh God!
- Psalm 83:1
My spirituality tends toward optimism. I believe we’re part of a Divinely- inspired destiny, and that a loving God abides with us at all times, embedded in our daily lives. I believe that every personal choice we make is an opportunity to both influence and connect us to something larger than ourselves. I believe each of us belongs to the Body of Christ, and each of us is designed for wholeness despite the stubborn barriers we construct out of fear.
And yet, the ancient anguish of the Psalm – “Where are you God? Please speak up!” – resonates with me today. It’s as if the same question echoes across the centuries of other troubled times, so that when darkness descends, our doubts or even our despair about God’s presence rise naturally to the surface. Didn’t Jesus himself, in perhaps His most human moment, cry out from the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
As I meditate on this tension between faith and doubt, hope and despair, I reflect on how as a young boy I looked at God through the wrong end of religious binoculars. He was remote, a silent observer in the clouds surrounded by distant angels. But faith, thankfully, does evolve in order to survive. The binoculars get turned around, allowing me to see God close at hand, not forsaking the human condition but embracing and using it to manifest His presence in the world. The psalm’s question makes more sense if it too is turned around: How can God possibly be silent unless we are silent? How can His peace be withheld and not shared, unless we would have it so?
We observed Pentecost Sunday this year in a new way, remotely. But this socially-distanced observance somehow helped me imagine more vividly those tongues of flame that came to rest on the heads of Jesus’ isolated and traumatized followers. This fire that first was lit to keep Gospel stories alive, now has illuminated the darkness through generations of the faithful. It flickers on the candles we hold as Baptismal witnesses, and when we say “we will” denounce evil in the world.
So while I cherish the faith that we are “Easter people in a Good Friday world,” today I seek comfort in the belief that we are “Pentecost people” too. For me, this means speaking up so that God does not seem silent or distant in times like these. It means speaking up to give life to the words of our mission at Trinity Church “[t]o love our neighbor, do justice, and walk humbly with God.” It means speaking out against social injustice and institutionalized racism. And it means standing up to be heard in opposition to oppressive violence, hatred, and divisiveness inspired by fear of the “other.”
Some are concerned when they see religion and politics mixing. But surely the bedrock principles of our faith transcend the politics of the day. In my imagining of that Pentecost day as the disciples broke their silence, the tongues of flame burned not red or blue, but simply Gospel-true.
Musical When the World Falls Apart - Terry Barber
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace; where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. Amen.
- Prayer of St. Francis
