Dare to Feel Joy

IN TIMES LIKE THESE by Phyllis Cole-Dai

The wound is the place where the light enters you.  —Rumi

In times like these we must dare to feel joy.
We cannot wait till every line

of thunder has marched through to the east.
Our job is to make love to this world now

when the luminosity of love being made
can reveal how everything matters.

There is no storm this light cannot enter,
no dark so turbulent, dense, and hard

this light will not break through— 
light will keep coming for you

like a mama bear who hears your forsaken cries 
and huffs over the river rocks to save you. 

It’s still the dead of night when she spots you
high in the pine tree fear made you climb.

Are you not glad to be found?

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To see images of reunited families has brought me to tears this week— how rare it has become to see any embodiment of joy on the faces of Jewish or Palestinian people for the last two years. Seeing the relief and joy of the hostages coming home felt like watching a miracle. Likewise, to see Palestinian prisoners released to their families was like watching rain fall in the desert. 

With this amazing joy there is also so much grief, rage, and wreckage left behind. It feels like only a courageous path of vulnerability will be able to transform deep-seated resentments toward a way of hope and healing. My prayer for peace in the Middle East is a prayer for the kind of deep, ongoing reckoning exhibited through the process of restorative justice.

In the wake of news we have prayed for and news we are weary of, I take on Phyllis Cole-Dei's words to heart "in times like these we must dare to feel joy." Always we are on the brink of beauty just as we could be on the brink of breaking, so let us find ways to find joy in the hope of right now. Let us remember what it's like to be held tightly by those who love us. From that space of love, let us have ears like the mama bear who hears the cries for rebuilding, for healing, for peace-making, and finds a way to create a safe place for those in our care. Perhaps it is in these actions we can find a way toward that kind of abundant hope we so crave in our world. Perhaps it is in these things our true purpose resides: to hold what is good, keep safe the vulnerable around us, and dare to feel joy on the journey.

With Joy and Gratitude,
Pastor Laruen

The Psalmist Who Cries, Laments, and Rages

Beloved Community,

My bones and my heart continue to ache these days. We are living in a time of deep violence. And perhaps, truthfully, we always have been. Earlier this week, two lives were lost in ways that demand our attention. A 21-year-old Black man from Mississippi, Trey Reed, was found hanging from a tree. That very same day, Cory Zukatis, a 36-year-old white, unhoused man, was also found hanging from a tree.

Within hours, the police disregarded the details surrounding his death and ruled out foul play in Trey Reed’s death. To accept vague explanations surrounding his death without deeper investigation is to echo a long legacy of silence, denial, and complicity. We cannot and will not forget the long and devastating history of racial terror and anti-Black violence in Mississippi and across this nation. It dishonors Trey, his family, and his community who loved him so dearly. His loved ones deserve truth, transparency, and justice. And we, as part of the human family, deserve the same. We must hold onto truth. We must demand truth. We must speak truth even if our voices shake. We must speak up even when we don't always know exactly how to say it.

As we dwell in the psalms together at church, I am reminded of the psalmists who cry out, who lament, who even rage at God. They remind us that it is faithful to grieve, faithful to cry out, faithful even to shout our anger at God. It is faithful and holy work to name violence, to grieve, and to cry out for something better. And still, in the midst of lament and fear and the unknown, the psalmists remind us that hope has the last word. Love has the last word. Justice has the last word. 

Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Change is often slow, and often painful, but it does come. Love will win. Justice will win. Truth will win. And we do not say these words with empty actions. We must know that the arc does not bend on its own. It bends because we refuse to let white supremacy, state violence, and systemic neglect be the final word. We are invited and called to be part of that love, part of that justice, part of that hope that makes the world a better place for us all.

So let us pray and dream together, with the words of Mark Miller’s song, “I Dream of a Church”:

I dream of a place we all can call home
I dream of a world where justice is flowing
With hope and peace growing,
Where God’s will is done

O God fill our hearts to reach out in welcome 
Make us to see your vision once more 
Let's dream of a world 
Where our hands are your hands 
We offer ourselves O God make it so

O Holy One, we truly pray for the day when we believe our hands are Your hands. Your hands of healing, of welcome, of justice, of peace. Make it so, God. Make it so.

With love, grief, outrage, and hope,

Pastor Eli