Lamenting the Violence (Pastoral Letter on the Uvalde Shooting)

"Thoughts and Prayers" by A. Mattson

“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? … How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?” (Psalm 13:1-2)

The past two weeks have been punctuated with awful violence. 

On May 13, a public playoff party in Milwaukee turned into chaos when gun battles broke out and injured 21 people. The next day, a racist gunman entered a grocery store in Buffalo, New York, and killed 10 people. Then the next day, a man walked into a church in Laguna Woods, California, and shot 6 people, killing one, because of political hatred towards Taiwanese independence. And then this week, we saw yet another school shooting in which a young man killed 19 children and 2 adults, and wounded 17 more. 

And if all of that weren’t horrifying enough, the war in Ukraine continues to kill over one hundred people per day, according to one estimate, and a bombshell report came out over the  weekend that the Southern Baptist Convention has spent decades ignoring or belittling victims of sexual violence by church leaders.

Following previous tragedies — like Sandy Hook, the Sikh temple shooting, the Boston Marathon bombing, the Charleston Nine, Parkland, the Miller Brewery shooting, and probably more —  I have written a pastoral letter (such as I am now) to offer perspective and hope. Each one gets harder, and I must admit I am struggling to find the words to write this time. The words that keep coming to me are from a hymn based on Psalm 13: “‘How long, O God?’ The psalmist cries, a cry we make our own, for we are lost, alone, afraid, and far away from home” (“How Long, O God,” Ralph F. Smith).

How long, indeed. 

In the midst of my pain and frustration at yet more violence, these words remind me of a gift from Scripture that we often forget: the practice of lament. In our culture, we often focus on the positive and dismiss the negative, but this isn’t what we find in scripture. Almost half of the Psalms are laments; the book of Job is pages of complaints about the injustice of the world and demanding to hear from God; the prophet books are filled with commands to repent and weep over the evil people have done; and there’s even a whole book called “Lamentations.” 

Instead of ignore the negative and focus on the positive, the Bible encourages us to name the negative and pray for the positive. After all, it’s not a surprise that the world is not as God intended it. Since the beginning, humans have been rebelling against God’s plan for the flourishing of life on earth in favor of our own ideas. (That rebellion is what we call sin.) 

Lament is a way of naming the world’s brokenness and that we are victims (and perpetrators) of that sin. Though lament can feel overly critical or negative towards God, it is one way of us turning back to God for answers, which is what we should be doing anyways. If human rebellion created these problems, we need holy wisdom to solve them. 

So I have words of hope that I will continue to share and suggestions for steps forward, but I also invite you to join me in lament. I have been crying to God about the evil in this world, and I will pray for “Your kingdom come,” and I will listen for the wisdom of the Holy Spirit to lead me forward so that I can be part of the healing. And then I will hope in the last stanza of the hymn: “‘How long, O God?’ The psalmist cries, a cry we make our own. Though we are lost, alone, afraid, our God will lead us home.” 

In God’s Grip,

Pastor Ari

"I'm trying, I'm trying to sleep, but I can't, but I can't when you all have guns for hands." -twenty one pilots, "Guns for Hands"

Suggestions for Faithful Responses

Pray Honestly and Personally

Pray to God and don’t be afraid to ask questions like “How long?” Or “Where are you?” Martin Luther said prayer is “rubbing God’s ears with God’s promises.” (“Hey, God! You promised life and peace. Where is it?”) But it’s also helpful to pray, “How can I help?” Ask for help in being a peacemaker. 

Read the Psalms 

Whatever you are feeling or experiencing has been seen by God’s people before. The Psalms are a wonderful record of the highs and lows of our experience with God. They make beautiful prayers, conversation starters, or just reminders that we are not alone. 

Be Aware of Your Feelings…

Sometimes we dismiss our feelings, but they are an important part of how God created us. Anger and pain can be warning lights that something isn’t right and needs to be fixed. When we are aware of them and ask, “Why am I so upset?” or “What specifically is making me feel hurt?”, those questions can help us get to the root of the emotions and how to respond constructively. 

…But Not Driven by Them

At the same time, if we let our emotions control us, we can create more problems. If fear or anger hardens into hate against a person or group (“it’s their fault…”), it continues the cycle. Sin is a disease in all of us and indulging it on one side does not correct it on another. The men who took guns into public places did so because there was a “they” who needed to be eliminated. 

Connect With People

One root of violence is frequently social isolation, loneliness, and a lack of loving relationships. The pandemic and other trends in our society have created more, not less, of these. We can’t prevent all evil and no one action is guaranteed to prevent evil, but many drops of water turn a mill. Chat with a neighbor or relative, send a note or text, meet someone new, or just smile at everyone for a day. We are called to love God and our neighbor; the best way is often to love God BY loving our neighbor. 

Write to Your Legislators

We are blessed to live in a country that allows us to elect and petition our government and as people of faith, we are called to speak up for the vulnerable and suffering. I will be the first to acknowledge our government is not as responsive to voters as it should be, but it is an important tool we have and I have seen letter writing change policy before. 

I Want to Scream (A Pastoral Response to Kenosha Violence)

I've been struggling to blog and respond to a lot this year, partly because the news keeps coming so quickly. Last week I had stared at a blinking cursor on my computer for way too long, so I recorded myself rambling to my iPhone instead and shared it with my congregation's facebook group. Since it's right in line with my blog's themes, I share it here, too. 

Be safe.

Be kind. 

I love and miss you.

God be with you all. 

From the Gray,

Pastor Ari

The Cry of the Prophet: A Response to the El Paso and Dayton Shootings

"O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not listen? Or cry to you 'Violence!' and you will not save? Why do you make me see wrongdoing and look at trouble? Destruction and violence are before me; strife and contention arise. So the law becomes slack and justice never prevails." -Habakkuk 1:2-4a

"Lament" by Jeffery. flickr.com

This past weekend, our nation was once again rocked with news of mass shootings. This time they were only 13 hours apart in El Paso, Texas and Dayton, Ohio. As of this writing, there are 31 people dead and 50 injured, not counting the people killed and injured a week before at a Walmart in Mississippi or a festival in Gilroy, California or the dozens of others this year alone.

Mass shootings are a crime that always grab my attention, partly because one of the first took place a few miles from my home in Oregon. And whenever there is a national tragedy, I feel compelled to offer a pastoral word in sermon or letter to my congregation.

I've done this after the Sikh temple shooting in Oak Creek, WI...

and the Newtown shooting...

and the Boston bombing...

and the Charleston shooting...

and the Ferguson protests...

and the Charlottesville violence...

and... and...

This week, however, I found that I didn't know what to say. I've spent the past four days staring at my screen at a loss for words.

How many times can you say, "God weeps with us" and "Jesus is making the world better" before they just feel hollow and cliché?

How can I proclaim hope when it seems that nothing ever changes?

It was in the midst of this that I stumbled upon Habakkuk and found the words I needed. Habakkuk is one of the Minor Prophets in the Hebrew Scriptures (or Old Testament) and I mean minor. It is about a page and half long in most Bibles and it is not a favorite for pastors to preach or teach because it is a lament. But that is why it is perfect for me this week.

Habakkuk is a prophet crying out to God about how violent and corrupt and terrible the world is. "Destruction and violence are before me... and justice never prevails," he says in his opening words. He's basically writing a letter to God to say, "Dude! What the hell?"

It is a type of writing that is actually pretty common in the Bible. Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, portions of the prophets and MANY of the Psalms (e.g. Psalms 13 and 130) have a similar theme and they hold a great lesson for us: we can be honest and frank with God. Sometimes we find the strength to say or do the right thing, but sometimes we just need to scream or cry or fall apart and God knows that.

So if we are angry about the state of the world, God can take it; if we need to cry over senseless deaths, God will listen; if we can't figure out how to move forward because we feel lost, God is patient; if we can't do or offer anything positive because we just feel empty and overwhelmed, God understands.

Habakkuk eventually hears from God ends his letter with a word of hope: "Though the fig tree does not blossom, and no fruit is on the vines...yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will exult in the God of my salvation" (3:17-18).

Hopefully tomorrow I will rejoice in the Lord, too, but today I'm angry and sad. And that's okay because it puts me in the company of God's saints through the ages.

Come quickly, Lord.


Standing in the Gray,

Pastor Ari

“But you don't get thick skin without being burnt.” -twentyone pilots, “The Hype"

(Even pastors need to hear the Gospel from others. Thank you to those who spoke to me this week.)

What I Learned at the Grand Canyon

Last month, I found myself standing on the rim of the Grand Canyon for the first time in my life. And it taught me something about Christian stewardship.

For vacation this year, my family took an epic road trip through the Southwest that included this amazing natural wonder. It's hard to overstate the enormity of the canyon. I frequently felt as though my eyes were playing tricks on me because my brain couldn't process the scale of what was in front of me.

On my last day there, I stood looking at the canyon and reflecting on the history of turning this area into a national park. As I looked at the billions of years of history laid out in front of me, it struck me that the very idea of anyone "owning" something like this was comical. It's been at work for so much longer than any one human life (or even all human life) that to think it can be controlled is silly. All we can do is to appreciate it, protect it for the sake of all people, and pass it along to the next generation.

It was in that moment that I found a new appreciation for the Christian concept of stewardship.

Stewardship is a common word in churches, and it often gets used to mean "give money so we can pay the bills." This is not what we are meant to think, however.

Classically, the "steward" was a servant tasked with overseeing the house of a master. The steward didn't own the house or goods, but was responsible for caring for and preserving the house and goods. For Christians, we start from the assumption that "the earth is the Lord's and all that is in it" (Psalm 24:1). Everything we own, even our talents, passions, and opportunities, are all from God. We don't own them, but are tasked with caring for and using them in ways that align with the Master's vision.

It can be easy to be distracted by thinking about what we own, what we want, or what we "deserve." We can be motivated, stressed, or obsessed by these thoughts. But as I looked out at the Grand Canyon, I was aware of how small I am in the great scheme of the world. Compared to the history of God and the earth, the thought of "owning" my home, my salary, and my talents seems just as laughable as owning the Grand Canyon. I've been entrusted these things for a while, but they will pass to others at some point. Will I hoard them temporarily or steward them on behalf of their true owner? Like the Grand Canyon, all I can really do is appreciate it, steward it for the sake of all people, and pass it along to the next generation.

From the Gray,

Pastor Ari

“In a world where what we want is only what we want until it’s ours.” -Train, “Calling All Angels”

How Psalm 139 Answers Our Deepest Fear

I was at a conference this week for some continuing education and the devotion one morning was based on Psalm 139. Psalm 139 is a well known and beloved poem that speaks of the depth of God's knowledge of us (You have searched me and know me. You knit me together in my mother's womb.) and the impossibility of escaping God (Where can I flee from your presence?).

The presenter asked us a reflection question about what these verses mean to us, but I couldn't help thinking about a different question: Why do people love this Psalm so much? Why do I? There seems to be something universally appealing about this passage and after a minute or so of not paying attention to what was actually going on, I thought, "It's about being known."

I think being understood by another person is one of our deepest held needs and conversely, not being known is one of our deepest fears. We are social creatures at heart and thrive on having at least one person who knows our dreams, gets our humor, loves our quirks, and can even see us at our worst and wants to stay with us until we're better. To be known is to be loved.

And yet many of us can feel lonely or isolated when we feel like we're misunderstood or insignificant compared to others or the vast flood of information in our daily lives. Why should anyone care about me?

Psalm 139 puts into the light one of our deepest fears and offers an answer because it speaks of an intimate relationship with God. It says that God knows us better than any person every could because we cannot escape or hide from God's sight. And yet, this God still wants to be close to us.  We are not unknown, unseen, or forgotten because God created us and knows us completely.

Waiting for Patience (And I Want It Now!)

I've been reading through the Psalms for my personal devotions recently and stumbled upon something this week that caught my attention. It was the idea of waiting.

Psalm 31 and 33 are both psalms of praise. The writer (or writers) gives thanks for God's blessings and answer in times of trouble, but both psalms end with exhortations to "wait with hope for the Lord" as if God hasn't shown up yet. "Be strong, all who wait with hope for the LORD, and let your heart be courageous," says the first. The second ends with the words, "Let your mercy rest on us, O LORD, since we wait with hope for you."

The writer of these Psalms is praising God not because God has shown up, but because he expects God will show up. Instead of giving thanks for what God has done, he is giving thanks for what he hopes God will do. When was the last time I gave a rave review for a movie before I watched it? Or passed along compliments to the chef before the waiter brought my meal? And yet that's what the psalmist is saying. "Sure things may be bad, but isn't it awesome what God will probably do?" It's almost like Lando Calrissian telling Admiral Ackbar, "Han will have the shield down!" except he's smiling and striking a yoga pose while he says it.

In our immediate response, quick satisfaction society, have we lost our ability to wait? I like to think of myself as patient, but I get anxious when someone doesn't reply to an email or text in a time frame I think is reasonable. If a web page takes more than one second to load, I get frustrated. And if I say a prayer to God and don't get what I think is a reply by the end of the day (or sooner), I feel ignored. I certainly don't take the time to sit down and write a psalm and end it with, "Chill out. God will show up."

As I think about it, the other word that shows up in both Psalms is "hope," which is probably related to the patience they show. Hope based on trust and past experience certainly helps give me patience. However, in this skeptical, I'll-believe-it-when-I-see-it, show-me-the-money age, I wonder how much hope is a trait I need to learn rather than an instinct to which I default?

I guess I envy the psalmist since patience and hope seem to be so natural for him when they often feel more alien to me. Perhaps it's a spiritual "growing edge" for me to address. All of which raises an interesting, zen-like question: If I pray for God to give me patience and hope, when should I expect an answer?

“I hope the days and clouds turn into something as they pass us by.” -Jars of Clay, "These Ordinary Days"