The spiritual challenge of being surprised by terrible news
Last Saturday morning I was at the playground with our daughter when I learned that Edwin had been taken into custody by ICE. Edwin is a neighbor, a parent of a child at PS11, someone who I have prayed with at the Tuesday Blessings at Bliss Plaza. I remember the softness around the corners of his eyes, and how they wrinkled when he smiled.
As I write this, I am on the subway to the New Sanctuary Coalition's weekly Jericho Walk around 26 Federal Plaza, where human beings like Edwin are being harassed and punished for following the law, kidnapped outside of courtrooms, torn from their spouses and children who have accompanied them to their scheduled hearings. With other clergy and faithful witnesses, we will walk around the building seven times, as Joshua and the Israelites walked around the city of Jericho in prayer—that those walls would come tumbling down. After the seventh trip around, we all scream.
I will be walking with Edwin and his family in my heart—and trying to keep my heart open in these times.
***
Getting that text on Saturday was tough. Of course it was nothing like what Edwin and his family were experiencing. But I’d like to take it as an example here of the spiritual challenge we all face in these times, especially as different forms of bad news take us by surprise.
When I got the text on Saturday morning, I was enjoying some “time off.” Dad time. Playground time. My defenses were down. And when I read the text, I had two thoughts simultaneously.
I don't want to know this.
I have to take action immediately, and I have no idea what to do.
With the first thought, I felt my body going into a defensive crouch: "this information wounds me, and I want to shield myself from it." I felt myself starting to shut down, to numb out.
With the second thought, I felt my body spooling up for a fight. I *hate* the ways that state power is being used to punish "enemies" rather than uphold the rule of law—and I was getting ready to punch back.
Both of these reactions were fast: instinctual, visceral. I didn’t choose them. Both were powerful.
And both felt out of alignment with how I wanted to be in relation to Edwin and his family. Neither of these immediate, powerful responses were going to help me show up in with the integrity I’m always seeking (and often failing to fully live out).
That’s the spiritual challenge I’m talking about here. How do we continually cultivate that integrity, when we’re being hit with bad news from every angle?
How do we stay connected to the many crises around us, without letting the urgency of those crises set the terms for our response—without shutting down, or hardening our hearts?
***
Prayer has been important for me here. A few years ago, I wrote out a riff on an ancient prayer called the Trisagion, and I’ve been leaning on it hard in these times. My riff goes like this:
Holy God,
Holy and healing;
Wounded, still open—
Open my heart.
In the person of Jesus we see the heart of God. And that heart is not afraid to be wounded in service of God’s dream of healing this world. God’s heart hurts—but it’s still open. God, I pray, help me do that, too. Help me keep my heart open, even when it hurts.
The other way I think we face the “polycrisis” and the ways it comes at us from every angle, is…NOT alone. We keep ourselves open to this reality in community. A community that can hold our anger, our grief—and hold it with tenderness. A community where we can be nourished by the stories of ancestors who knew God’s presence in their struggle, and in their liberation. A community where we can be brave enough to loosen our grip and be held in the mystery in which life and love overflow even the grave.
That’s the kind of community we’re practicing at this Episcopal Mission in Sunnyside. And guess what? You belong here. We’d love to practice with you.
