Two people “clink’ their Panera coffees together. Photo, Panera, Instagram.
I walked into Panera to get my morning coffee, as I often do. (By the way, I don’t intend to be a commercial, but do you know that you can get a coffee subscription at Panera for a monthly fee, and then you can receive unlimited coffee? It’s amazing!) When I opened the door, Bill Wither’s “Lean on Me” was playing inside the restaurant. As I walked over to the coffee station and began to fill up, I was singing along under my breath.
Sometimes in our life, we all have pain, We all have sorrow. But if we are wise, We know that there’s always tomorrow.
“Listen to us,” a woman nearby said. I hadn’t noticed, but three other people were singing quietly, just as I was.
We laughed, smiled big, and then all four of us started singing together, and right at the moment of the chorus too — Lean on me! When you’re not strong!— in harmony.
A nativity scene this year among rocks and rubble in Christmas Lutheran Church in Bethlehem
Jesus Christ, I think it’s much easier to picture you in a stable, cozy among the hay– Then in the cave that they showed me in Palestine, where all the animal are stabled.
I remember, when I toured Bethlehem among the Christians hearing talk of building permits and dirt roads the lack of passports and that a lot of the fighting was really about water access “Is it like Syria?” I asked?
Aware, that Syria was is turning into a desert before our eyes
“Exactly” they answered Like a deer thirsts for water So our soul longs for God “But I never hear that people are fighting over water?” I wondered
Christmas Day Eastern Orthodox Christmas we went to the tomb of Jesus Where seven (the holy number) crowded in
Each with clear ropes labels and signs claiming this piece of the Savior is mine.
“Merry Christmas!” Our Eastern Orthodox Brethren Proclaimed “Here touch the head of the tomb, Normally, it is not allowed, But today is a merry day”
I do not know, if I wanted To feel so closely the desperation Of occupied wartorn Gaza must have felt like at your birth Jesus
But when I visited Lo those 13 years ago
I remember–too The hope of Love among the rubble
The joy of “Merry Christmas” amongst many faith The sharing of a a meal with Muslims, Christians, Jews and Druze
Love among the rubble As real as a Savior born in a cave– as real a glimpse as peace, in war. As real as hope, in a capitalistic, political scape. As real as joy, in the midst of weariness.
As real as faith, in the midst of doubt.
As real as Christmas, in the midst of the Advent of Life.
That’s my God the one who shows up in the rubble of life. Amen, Alleluia, Amen.
–Rev. Katy Stenta
You can find this poem and more of Katy Stenta’s writing at KatyandtheWord.
Grief is love. It can be felt. It can be known. It can be supported by others, and it can be supportive of others. However it feels, may the love within it bring tenderness toward yourself.
As Jamie Anderson says,
“Grief, I’ve learned is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.”
One of my favorite books is Gregory Boyle’s Tattoos on the Heart: The Boundless Power of Compassion. I admit that I cry easily, but still, I do not exaggerate: The first time I read this book, I had to close it and pause at least 20 times due to tearing up.
Greg Boyle tells powerful vignettes about his community at Homeboy Industries in Los Angeles. Homeboy Industries provides jobs, counseling, and classes for people who are looking to exit gangs. Many of them are teenagers and young adults. Many have known long spells of incarceration. But long before they ever joined a gang or experienced that incarceration, they have carried deep burdens of trauma. As Boyle says, “Kids who join a gang are not running toward something. They are always running away from something.”
The whole book is filled with compassion, and it works to address an internalized belief we tend to carry, one that distorts our views of others and ourselves – that is, “the sneaking suspicion that some lives are worth less than other lives.” That is the lie we must confront.
Greg Boyle tells a sweet story about a man and his father, and he opens that story up to speak a conviction about human worth. I want to leave it with all of us today for own thinking and our own loving.
As his health was failing, an old man moved in with his adult son, someone that Greg Boyle knows personally. In the evening before bedtime, the son would read aloud to his father. In a beautiful role reversal, the adult son put his father to bed every night.
The son would often invite his father to close his eyes while he read aloud, but over and over again, he would catch his father looking at him. He would say, “Look, here’s the idea. I read to you, you fall asleep.” The father would apologize, but at some point, one eye would eventually pop open. This went on every single night. When it was time to sleep, the father could not take his eyes off of his own son.
Greg Boyle says that God is like this: “God would seem to be too occupied in being unable to take Her eyes off of us to spend any time raising an eyebrow in disapproval. What’s true of Jesus is true for us, and so this voice breaks through the clouds and comes straight at us. ‘You are my Beloved, in whom I am wonderfully pleased.’”
One eye open, looking at us with love and wonder.
Maybe we need to pop one eye open and view each other with this kind of love too – no longer heaping shame upon shame, accusation upon accusation, or stereotype upon stereotype, but viewing one another love and wonder.
Yesterday, I told this story to a friend, so I thought I’d share this post once more. Also, I hope you got to eat some mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving. 🙂
A framed painting at Parables. Four fish are swimming in a river. The red fish is moving in the opposite direction of the orange, green, and white fish. There is a bridge above the fish that reads, “Love is the bridge between you and everything” — Rumi. On the bridge, there are three flags that read, “Understanding,” “Belonging, and “Friendship.” The painting is signed, “J Herman, 2019.”
Once a month, I have the privilege of leading a Sunday morning service at a local church among a community called Parables. This community centers the needs of disabled and neurodivergent community members. I have loved building friendships with this community.
Recently, as I began my time to speak, I read Matthew 7:3-5, where Jesus asks pointed questions about judging others: “Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye but do not notice the log in your own eye? Or how can you say to your neighbor, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye’ while the log is in your own eye?'”
After reading that, I asked the gathered community, “As you heard that parable, was there anything that you noticed? What did you hear? Did anything stand out to you?”
Someone spoke up, “L is my best friend. I know that even if life gets hard, L is always going to be one of my best friends.”
That wasn’t the answer I was expecting, but it was the right one. L was there too, and she smiled when she was affirmed.
We never know what someone will bring to a passage, how they’ll hear it, or how they’ll apply it. But isn’t this response just as valid as a comment about what’s in the text itself — i.e. what it literally says? Somewhere within it, this is what it meant to A, the person who answered. And love was lifted up.
Smuggling Grace 