Praying in This In-Between Place and Space

In this peculiar day of the Advent season, I am pondering “living in between.” We are living within several “in betweens.” We live in between creation and the ultimate redemption. We are living in between now and the coming of the Christ child. We are living in between normalcy and the return to normalcy, if there is to be such a thing.

Some of God’s children live with a strong eye toward the end times. Some even say that the madness of the world includes multiple signs that we are living in the end times. If we read the book of 2 Peter, then perhaps we can realize that we have always lived in the end times. The living part just gets stretched out.

If indeed we are living in between, especially in between now and the coming of the Christ child, how would the Holy One of Israel have us live? Live and do what? Live and think what? Live and reflect upon what? Live and dream of what?

The Justice for Black Farmers Act of 2020 was submitted earlier this week by Senator Cory Booker of New Jersey. Some people are huge fans of Senator Booker and some are repelled by his name. For me and my house, we honor and respect him because he has his heart in the right place. That place is recovery of the Black farmer from decades after decades of discrimination, heart break, and land loss.

So, this morning in the spirit of Advent, and in the reality of living in between now and when the Christ child is born, and in that in between space of when the Bill will be signed into law, I offer this pray:

Lord, lead me to see people who will vote for or against this bill, those who are about history of discrimination and those for whom it is a non-entity.

Lord, lead us to understand the depth of the pain of those families who struggled and lost their farms, and those who are living in fear that even now, they just might lose their farms.

Lord, lead me to a greater sensitivity of what it means to be Black in America.

Lord, lead us to a great sensitivity of what it means to be a Black farmer in America.

Lord, lead me to see the log in my own eye before I point out the speck of racism in the eye of another.

Lord, lead us to be instruments of peace in a polarized world and to reach across whatever isles are created.

Lord, lead me to see the humanity and goodness in people with whom I have many philosophical and theological differences.

Lord, lead us to speak with courage in these perilous days, and to back up that speech with action.

Lord, bring forth hope upon our land that we may live and celebrate as a united people.

Lord, bring forth honesty and faith and resilience to all people so that we can live in harmony with one another.

Lord, prompt all of us to see the coming of the Christ child as a pivotal moment to grab hold of hope.

Lord, prompt the season of the year to bring about all manner of acts of kindness and generosity upon all of us.

Lord, prompt us to respect all of your children, every color, dark or light, because we are all precious in your sight.

Woe Unto Us: A Lament

Children magical and joyful
Reflections of their parents’ deepest desires
Their own little images reflecting
The glory of the maker of heaven and earth.

Across the globe, children created in the images of their parents

And the Lord of heaven and earth
Objects of war and victims of greed and
Broken humanity and its terror toward one another.

Magic in the garden one day and

Images of gasps for breath the next.
Whose children are they and to whom do they belong
If not to their parents and their country and the world
Then to whom?

In this world you’ll have trouble but

Be encouraged for I have overcome the world
Are the words of the risen Lord.
The world is troubled and we are troubled
And our troubles boil over and trouble others who are troubled.

So we drop another bomb on the ones responsible

But they knew it was coming.
The world is all inflamed even more so than before.
Who is to blame and who is to be the defender of the
Fatherless and the children and the widows.

Children. Dead children. Pictures horrify and offend.

Casualties of war. Leaders poisoning their own.
Children left on the shores of our country unable
To cross over into peace and opportunity.
Who cares for those kids and who will care for the deceased and who
Will care for their parents.

And when will wars end and who will end them

And how many soldiers will have to die and how
Many families will suffer losses unspeakable.
 
When will bombs create peace.
When will explosions bring about harmony.
When will war stop war.
When will death stop death.

The irony is unspeakable.

The contradictions have no words.
The joys for those parents and grandparents,
And the unspeakable grief for those.

Where is the justice and righteousness its kin?

Where is anguish of those children and our own?
Those children matter so let’s start a war.
These children matter, and who will fight for them?

I am a father. I am a grandfather.

I have a family. My sons have families.
Someday my sons’ children will have families.
What of them. Do their lives matter.
Whose lives matter and whose lives don’t.
Who gets to decide.

Who will send the next bomb?

Who will unleash the next gas bomb.
Whose children and grandchildren will suffocate.
Whose children and grandchildren will thrive.
Who gets to decide?

Woe unto us who care not for the children.