i keep coming up word-less...

but maybe this is one of those times when it's okay to

hi friends,

i’ve opened my substack to make a post many, many times in the past weeks, only to close the window again and again. what do you say when a void opens up suddenly and you sense yourself, along with all your beloveds, all the smallest and least of these, moving towards it?

Photo by Juan Davila on Unsplash

i believe in the dignity of all living things and in empathy as a moral compass, so what do i say about my ideals when i see that ethos mocked, condemned, dismissed?

i believe everyone deserves access to resources that allow for life. this includes healthcare and legal recourse.

i believe in life flourishing above-and-beyond boundaries, cities, states, countries, and nations. is there any human, “citizen” or not, who doesn’t deserve to grow up with access to resources?

what do i say about the realization of my values when i witness people’s access to representation and resources being ripped away?

i believe no person should hold so much power they are never interrogated. i believe no person should be able to dictate right and wrong. i believe no person should hold unquestioned authority.

so what do i say when i witness authority rising, surrounding itself with people, enforcers, who don’t question its grip on power, who use “God” as their affirmation, and flick away dissenters right before my eyes?

the void is open, it’s growing, and it calls. we in the united states are moving towards it, and i don’t want to. but all i can do is stare in horror, as though it has already vacuumed my voice into its gaping maw.

what story do you tell when the forces of evil rise and threaten those flickering manifestations of your vision of a better future— finally, people with disabilities have a little bit of a voice! finally, white supremacy is getting interrogated! finally, lgbtq+ people have a few rights!— what do you say, now, about progress? does the moral arc of the universe bend towards justice? or will people always mess it all up?

Photo by Richard Gatley on Unsplash

and what do i say about my training to be a pastor when not only is the vision of something better, at least in the United States, fading, but religious institutions are dying (rightfully so, having failed to bring forth life, having failed to read the signs of their times, ears-to-the-ground, like that poor little fig tree jesus cursed), and people are reacting to these deaths by pulling inward, becoming more fractured than ever, staking claims, and drawing lines in the sand?

what do i say when i feel a collective scream, a demand, directed my way (from within, because i’m a pastor-in-training, a writer, perhaps?)— say something! say something that will help us! something that’ll give our lives meaning!

what do i say, when i’m standing there in it with everyone, staring at the void as it opens, wondering if there is anything left to believe? to live for, or strive towards?

most of us who live life with eyes wide open gave up long ago on a god-who-interferes, a god-who-rescues.

what about a god-who-gives-purpose? a compass-god? a greater-story-god? do we give up on that too? if i’m honest, if i have any integrity, i’ll admit i can’t hold onto that god. i’m right there with you, staring into the gaping maw.

i have no words of wisdom, no how-now-shall-we-live, no guiding light, let’s go here, but turn there first.

as i perch along the abyss, i find myself suddenly interested in rocks. they’re strewn everywhere along the ground, unmoving. i want to pick them up, cradle them in my palms, pocket them. i have a little pile of them i keep on my desk.

Photo by Martin Turgoose on Unsplash

rocks are mystery. they defy categorization— are they sentient? living?— yet they are an ancient planetary relic, having existed long before human decided to become maker.

rocks are mystery. they exist and keep existing, silent, defying boundaries. their bodies, weather jagged or water smooth, tunneled by ancient worms, fossil-imprinted, testify, truthfully,

to history and the passage of time.

there’s this story in a book i read titled The 23rd Psalm: A Holocaust Memoir. it’s about a holocaust survivor who survives one concentration camp after another. over and over again, the Nazi’s load him, along with his fellow victims, onto a train car and transport him to a new location. over and over, he is forced to march through towns on his way from train car to concentration camp. in most cities, townspeople mock him and his fellow prisoners while they pass through. sometimes, children spit on him.

but then, towards the end of the war, when he knows he is close to death, he is marched through yet another town, and he notices something strange— townspeople have lined the streets and are standing silently by, rock-like, as he and his fellow captives are herded along. then, as if bidden by some invisible force, they begin to chant, “Shame! Shame!” at first he thinks the chants are directed at him, but then he realizes the townsfolk are actually chanting at the Nazi guards— and suddenly the young man on his march-to-death remembers the simple truth that he, too, is worthy of life.

i wonder at the wisdom of rocks, of witnesses and testifiers to truth, as I stare into the void.

Photo by Juan Davila on Unsplash

Shame! Shame.

god be with us

-Carissa