Dear church family,

These last few weeks have thrown many of us out of joint. As well as the thousands of little cuts we experience each day from just being human, we are also reckoning with several national wounds torn open by a culture of decay and death. The most recent wound comes from a town in Texas most people have never heard of, Uvalde. Enough kids to fill a church choir were killed in the latest mass shooting, close on the heels of a racially motivated mass shooting in Buffalo, NY weeks earlier and a church shooting in our own city. Between these events is the recent revelations from the Southern Baptist Convention of systemic sexual abuse and cover ups. Each injury is unique in its symptomatic appearance, but I believe these are all signs of the same cultural sickness.

We are living in an age of decay, best understood as a culture of Death. While this is not a new pattern, its manifestations are becoming more pronounced and explicit. Which means that all of us can see and feel the spirit of Death all around us, and it understandably sets our teeth on edge. You will notice that I am capitalizing “Death” in this letter, because I want to highlight its power as a moral force, not simply the medical definition of bodily death. I also want to keep the force of Death in focus because it is precisely this kind of Death that Jesus exposes and defangs. Death enslaves us in fear, which is why the New Testament tells us that Jesus emancipates us from the fear of Death.

Let me say it plainly once more from this letter and our pulpit and the rafters and my bullhorn: Don’t be afraid. If I could bring one truth into focus for our church, it would be the paradoxical message that death reigns, and we are free from its power. Both sides of that statement are true, at the same time. Hence the paradox. It can seem like the first task of the church is to save and repair the world, but I do not believe this is our first task. The first calling of the church is to be the church, which exists as an alternative reality to the culture of Death that defines “the world.” Another way to say this comes from my graduate professor…

Practically this looks like developing theological language for these moments of national wounding, binding them within the confines of Death’s power, and exposing the futility of such power in light of the Jesus event. It means showing up for one another, bearing witness to our suffering while being physical reminders of God's love and presence in the midst of pain. This is what we do when we gather for worship each Sunday. We recite and embody a counter-story, become witnesses to another world, namely the kingdom of God. Our gratitudes on Sundays become little acts of resistance to the power of Death as we cultivate joy within suffering. Moments of communal blessing infuse our body with dignity and grace as an antidote to the destructive powers of Death on our moral formation. A simple embrace or conversation pulls us back to the larger story that God is telling. Jesus calls us to be in the world, but not of it. I cannot pick up our beloved community and relocate us to a commune or a utopia or a mountain oasis; I can only lead us through the world as a tabernacled people. We are inhabited by the living God, who is quite familiar with the suffering of our world.

We are also entrusted as keepers of God’s hope, no longer permitted to bathe in the nihilism of our present age. Yes, it is as bad as its seems, and much worse. But we are held at a depth of embrace that can carry us across this storm and will enable us to remain fully human in the face of Death. This is another way to understand the concept of eternal life, life lived fully right now in the presence of God who has reconciled time and space.

So what is our church’s response to the current crisis? We do not have a response; we exist as a response! We gather in the face of Death and do not tremble. We do not worship at its altar. We bear witness that Jesus is Lord, having defeated Death on the cross by absorbing its violence and undoing its power through exposing its deceits. We are free to love and embrace all we are told to fear. We are free to hold grief and hope together.

So we will gather on Sunday to worship, crying out our need for God’s presence among us. Our hymn for the week is “I Need Thee Every Hour,” a fitting song for this moment. I hope to see you there, because we are…

Less without you,

Pastor John Jay

A Prayer for this Moment

Merciful God,

Tonight you hear and see us as we cry out for justice, peace, and goodness to prevail. Thank you that you understand our groans, sighs, and deep pains that words fail to express. Liberation is at the heart of your gospel, but there is still so much we are not free from. We see our country imploding and entangled in sin; the division feels permanent and the wounds too deep for healing. 

But we proclaim that You alone are God and that You are good. You are enough for us even when we feel helpless and become weary. You remain enthroned above it all, but You also promise to be with us in the midst of chaos and fear. So we ask that your Spirit and Your Presence would fall afresh on us this evening. Where we have been wounded and re-traumatized, begin a work of divine healing. When anger threatens to consume us, draw us near to your heart and show us your path of righteousness. Steady our trembling hearts and calm our anxious minds so that we would experience deep rest and renewed strength. 

These times call for us to root ourselves deeply in You and in the bond of love we share with one another. Knit us together as the body of Christ, and keep us on the path you have called us to follow together. We breathe in your peace and exhale our despair. As many breaths as it takes, settle us in You. And when we wake in the morning, would the sunrise renew our hope in the light of Christ.

Amen.