Psalm 13 (from Evangelical Lutheran Worship)
1 How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
2 How long shall I have perplexity in my mind, and grief in my heart, day after day?
How long shall my enemy triumph over me?
3 Look upon me and answer me, O Lord my God;
give light to my eyes, lest I sleep in death;
4 lest my enemy say, “I have defeated you,”
and my foes rejoice that I have fallen.
5 But I trust in your unfailing love;
heart is joyful because of your saving help.
6 I will sing to the Lord,
who has dealt with me richly.
A Luther Heights Bible Camp alumni group has asked several of us to join them online for devotions during Lent, under the theme Grief and Gratitude. This was a good assignment for me because I have been stuck in grief. Right now I grieve for those in Israel/Palestine, Ukraine, I grieve with refugees who thought their family members would soon be joining them and then plans suddenly changed, for immigrants worried about being deported, for transgender individuals dehumanized by the very legislators who are supposed to represent them, for people living with disabilities who wonder if decades of progress towards protections will be dismantled, a public education system that helped shaped me and which citizens and politicians are determinedly chipping away at. I also grieve with friends who wonder when, not if, their government jobs will be cut after being civil servants for decades, friends living with new diagnoses, and congregations worried about their futures.
The psalmist’s cry becomes my own, “How long, O Lord?” The grief somehow opens my memories, and I remember every other death, injustice, and conflict. This last week I was with the Conference of Bishops in Chicago, a busy week to be sure. I got in a few walks and found myself brought to tears, not by our work, but by the grief and heaviness in my body and soul. The tears were at once exhausting and cathartic. It is healthy to acknowledge our grief, whether it manifests as sadness, anger, or bewilderment. We also need rituals or totems or conversations to help us move through the grief. I am grateful for the funeral liturgy, for grief support groups, for conversations, and for certain psalms that remind me that people have been naming their grief with language for centuries.
It was good to be with colleagues this week, and there were a few conversations with these dear ones that helped me laugh and connect deeply. I was reminding that I am not alone. Praying the prayers of worship with the assembly helps me speak gratitude to God and be mindful of so much goodness. Walking around along the Boise greenbelt or on the Deer Flat National Wildlife Refuge gets me literally grounded and I give thanks for the natural world. Conversations around the synod, on the steps of the Idaho capital, in synod meetings, with other ELCA synod bishops, with my ecumenical collogues remind me that so many people are working for liberation and wholeness for all. My deepest gratitude comes from the well of faith, sometimes my own and sometimes the faith of another human. Memory is powerful--memories of and stories about God who is faithful, who keeps showing up with grace and mercy for the entire world. The psalmist’s words become my own again, “I trust in your unfailing love…I will sing to the Lord, who has dealt with me richly.”
The Season of Lent begins this week with Ash Wednesday. You might hear this invitation, “We are created to experience joy in communion with God, to love one another, and to live in harmony with creation.” Both the Revised Common and Narrative Lectionaries this Lent will have us reading through Luke’s gospel on Sunday mornings. One writer explained that these Lukan stories can be seen as “celebrating the persistence of God’s mercy despite stubborn obstacles.” Lent is a season of repentance, and with grief and sin and brokenness laid bare, this is a perfect time for individual and communal repentance. At the same time, I hope and pray this Lent that each of you will also witness and experience the persistence of God’s mercy and give thanks for such a gift.
Bishop Meggan Manlove