The Words of Our Mouths

The thought first came to me on the campaign trail. Psalm 19:14 isn’t meant to be just the postlude to a wonderful Psalm, or the prelude to a sermon. It is something we should be praying without ceasing.

“May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.”

I think about the beginning of John, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

I think about the beginning of Jeremiah, “Then the LORD reached out his hand and touched my mouth and said to me, "I have put my words in your mouth.”

I think of Matthew, “But when they hand you over, do not worry about how or what you are to say; for it will be given you in that hour what you are to say for it will not be you speaking, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.”

I tend to shy away from these thoughts. Too often, those whom I hear claiming to speak in the name of God are saying words that don’t fit with how I understand the Gospel, how I understand God’s love for all of us.

Yet God touched my heart, and perhaps my mouth, in unexpected ways a couple months ago, and now I need to struggle with my words, or are they God’s words, and pray without ceasing that they may be pleasing in the Lords sight.

There have been times that I have been called to comfort the grieving, and there is more than enough grief to go around. I feel awkward doing this. I feel like I don’t know the words. I’ve written eulogies on my blog, and have been thanked for that, but that is just a regular part of writing, or at least, that’s how I’ve looked at it.

Yesterday, I received a message on Facebook that caused me to think more about my words. It is one thing to try to do no harm with my words, something I wish we’d see more of in politics. It is another thing to comfort. Yet can words bring healing? Can words save lives?

The Facebook message repeated, “Your article saved my life”. It is frightening to think that my words, our words, God’s Word has that much power. Please pray that my words, that all our words, may be pleasing in the sight of our Lord.

Buen Camino

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Rachel's Children

Holy Innocents

When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi. Then what was said through the prophet Jeremiah was fulfilled:
A voice is heard in Ramah,
weeping and great mourning,
Rachel weeping for her children
and refusing to be comforted,
because they are no more.

Saturday is the third anniversary of the death of Junaid. I never met Junaid, but I met his mother a few weeks afterwards at the height of her grief. Junaid died from brain cancer, but, like all stories, it’s a lot more complicated. He came from a family wracked by domestic violence.

I thought of his mother this week, as we mourned another young child whose life was taken way too early. How would the death of Aaden affect Junaid’s mother, especially as we approach the third anniversary of Junaid’s death? His mother is a devote Muslim. How would all of this fit together during the holy month of Ramadan?

In the story from the Gospel, we don’t hear about the mothers of the children that Herod slaughtered, except as Rachel as a metaphor for them.

Rachel’s children: the children of the Babylonian captivity, the children of Bethlehem killed by Herod, the children of the holocaust, the children of domestic violence, of Junaid’s mother and of Aaden’s mother. Junaid and Aaden are part of this very special group.

Grief can be especially painful when we think we have it under control and it comes back at an anniversary or with some other event reminding us of our grief, and so I, in my Episcopalian ways, keep Junaid’s mother in my prayers.

I don’t understand suffering. Sure, I’ve heard it put into one theological context or another, but that rarely seems to ease the suffering. I don’t understand God, or as Junaid’s mother calls God in Arabic, Allah. I don’t understand why God has place Junaid’s mother in my life or called me to pray for her. It would seem as if I should be praying for Episcopalians and Muslims should be praying for Junaid’s mother, but God seems to do things differently.

So, I’ve written about Junaid and his mother in the past. I’m writing about them again now and will probably write about them again in the future. I think of the Psalm:

May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart
be pleasing in your sight,
LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.

Will the words of my mouth be a blessing to Junaid’s mother and to others? Will Allah give words to Junaid’s mother to be a blessing of others? I pray that this will be the case.

Perhaps that is what we all need to do, find words of comfort and encouragement for whomever God, or Allah, puts in our paths.

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A Birthday Thank You!

It’s been a very long day, between work stuff, family stuff, and my birthday. Every day, I look at Facebook to see which friends have birthdays and I wish them a Happy Birthday. Today, hundreds of people wished me Happy Birthday. As much as I could, I thanked people and wrote them brief notes, but many more went unthanked, so I am thanking you here.

Some of the wishes came from childhood friends and neighbors. Some were high school or college friends. Others were from the church I attended after college in New York City. There were birthday greetings from co-workers past and present, from people whom I’ve campaigned with. Elected officials wished me happy birthday, as did friends who ran for office and didn’t get elected, and of course, various people from social media.

So, while it has been a long day, with its various difficulties, it has also been a great day. Thank you to everyone who was wished me happy birthday. Thank you to everyone who has been part of my life over these past fifty-six years.

Some people’s wishes were in the form, may this coming year be a great year. I believe it will be, partly because of so many great friends.

Thank you.

Update: Facebook has blocked me from commenting. Here is the question I asked:

How many birthday wishes can you comment on per day before Facebook blocks you?

Today was my birthday. I have received over 300 Happy Birthday wishes. I try to thank each person individually, However, starting late this afternoon, I started receiving the message:

"The content you requested cannot be displayed right now. It may be temporarily unavailable, the link you clicked on may have expired, or you may not have permission to view this page."

whenever I attempted to comment on any post.

How many friends' birthday wishes can you reply to, before Facebook stops allowing you to post comments? How long do they prevent you from commenting? And why doesn't Facebook want people to respond to birthday wishes?

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#BabyAaden

Last night, they found the body of the seven month old baby thrown from a bridge by his father when his father attempted suicide. How do you make sense of this? I’m not sure you can.

In the evening, I stopped at the vigil.

Perhaps art can help us as well. I’ve been listening to the playlist of 2015 Falcon Ridge Emerging Artists. One of the songs that jumped out at me was Camela WIdad’s My Turn. It reminds me of another moving song, David Silva’s It Will All Be Perfect.

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Balance

In “My Bright Abyss”, Christian Wiman writes about the tension he felt between art and “the hunger for an experience of life that was immediate, unmediated”. It made me think of the great labor chant, “our life is more than our work, and our work is more than our job.”

For me, this resonates deeply with additional layers. Wiman goes on to talk about this in terms of one’s experience of God. For me the layers are even more complicated.

Over the past few days, as I’ve driven to work, looking at the beautiful scenery, the mist and the clouds, I’ve been listening to my Spotify playlist of 2015 Falcon Ridge Emerging Artists. There are some beautiful songs on the playlist. I especially like the songs that tell stories, the ballads. Mediated experiences of other people’s lives. It strengthens my empathy. It broadens my perspective. While the songs are telling their stories, I’m living out mine in the car. Do I have time to stop and play a little bit of Ingress along the way? Can I take in the scenery as I think about the work for the day?

In a few weeks, I’m planning to take time off to go see several plays as part of the New York Fringe Festival. There, I will live out my story again, as I experience mediated versions of other people’s stories.

I plan on writing about the songs I like from the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival Emerging Artists. I plan on writing about the plays I like at the New York Fringe festival. This will be my experience too, as I write my thoughts about other people’s art about other people’s experience. Underneath all of this, is the experience of God’s love, the beauty of God’s creation, contrasted with suffering, and times that God feels remote, far away, like an abstract concept, or perhaps even non-existent.

So, I get up early and go to work. I try to find time to write. I try to find time to experience life unmediated. I try to find time for family. I try to find time for God. Yet I also must try to find time to relax, to keep the Sabbath holy, “for He gives to his beloved rest.”

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