Not Ready to Mourn

BLESSED ARE THOSE WHO MOURN…..

I want to mourn, I want to grieve, but I’m not ready to be comforted, not yet. I won’t be rushed to be comforted. I won’t be rushed to let go of my anger. I won’t be rushed through my rage. I cannot be. I don’t want to be. I want to linger. 

We have been lulled into a weak theology of suffering. That’s not to say receiving comfort is weak! It is not! But, because of this premise of suffering glossed over and the move on approach, if I rush, I will be left holding remnants of anger, sadness, despair, and the rot of my gut. I don’t want that, either. 

There may be a time to be comforted, but I wonder when? Maybe in the midst of cries after the lynchings, the impossible fight against injustice, the increase in domestic violence, the neighbor kid whose parents aren’t feeding him regularly, mothers stressed beyond their capacity, disproportionate impact on communities of color (specifically the systemic oppression and African American community) there will be moments of comfort. But I wonder when? 

Last night I hosted a webinar on “grief” for leaders of color. And, today I woke up feeling the weight of the trauma carried across the inter webs. 

“How long will I grieve? Will the grief end? Will my body find rest?”

Questions rightfully asked and answers not easily given. In the daily grind and struggle there aren’t many moments of comfort. The onslaught feels heavy, and our bunkers are already so damaged. Can we withstand? Will there be rhythms of grief, and comfort for those whose trauma and harm is ongoing? 

Almost always Psalm 13 is read for the first verse, “How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?”

But, what if we read Psalm 13 in its’ entirety? What if we inserted the names of the fallen, the named and unnamed, the harms named and the ones we cannot yet name? Then, would we find comfort?

Psalm 13

1 O Lord, how long will you forget me? Forever? (say indigenous peoples of the United States and across borders)

    How long will you look the other way? (say Asian Americans suffering again and again, under the weight of white supremacy, the victims of abuse locked in unsafe homes)

2 How long must I struggle with anguish in my soul,
    with sorrow in my heart every day? (say the mothers of sons and daughters lynched - the mothers of children who are locked up at the border, the men and women incarcerated)
    How long will my enemy have the upper hand? (Say peoples of color to the Lord who is watching white supremacy run rampant year after year, decade after decade, century after century)

3 Turn and answer me, O Lord my God!
    Restore the sparkle to my eyes, or I will die. (Say fighters and allies of justice)

4 Don’t let my enemies gloat, saying, “We have defeated him!”
    Don’t let them rejoice at my downfall. (We join together - the families of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, the immigrants in “essential” jobs)

5 But I trust in your unfailing love.
    I will rejoice because you have rescued me.
6 I will sing to the Lord
    because he is good to me.

I say, Lord, I trust you. I trust you because you have rescued me. I will sing to you, because you have been good to me. In the midst of hopelessness and despair, I have found goodness in the trees, the smiles of my children, small victories in my community. I have seen your face, God, in the face of my neighbor.

Because, as my friend, a wise Latina woman, said (in Spanish), “Siempre estamos en crisis. Siempre. Estamos en tiempos de ser mas humanos…tiempos de ver el otro…y en estos tiempos tenemos que ser mas humanos.” 

Translated, “We are always in crisis - before the pandemic and now. What do we have but to be more human, we are in a time of being more human to one another, a time to reach out and find that face of the other in ours.”

I find such comfort in this. That even in the middle of hopelessness and injustice and exhaustion, there is the opportunity to see the other’s face. 

So, I declare, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” 

May I see your face, and you see mine. May we start there. May there be comfort in reminding me and you that we are in a time - an opportunity to be more human.

May it be Lord, May it be.