Psalm 16:7-11
I bless the Lord who gives me counsel;
in the night also my heart instructs me.
I keep the Lord always before me;
because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.
Therefore my heart is glad, and my soul rejoices;
my body also rests secure.
For you do not give me up to Sheol,
or let your faithful one see the Pit.
You show me the path of life.
In your presence there is fullness of joy;
in your right hand are pleasures for evermore.
Nahum 3:18-19
Your shepherds are asleep,
O king of Assyria;
your nobles slumber.
Your people are scattered on the mountains
with no one to gather them. There is no assuaging your hurt,
your wound is mortal.
All who hear the news about you
clap their hands over you.
For who has ever escaped
your endless cruelty?
Sorrow Be the Bird by Lula Wiles
Sorrow be the bird and the wind is love…
Crowded Table by the Highwomen
You can hold my hand
When you need to let go…
Relief from the Storm
God speaks through the prophet Nahum—a word of promise to the exiled people of Judah and a word of judgment against their captors, the Assyrian Empire and its capital city, Nineveh. “O king of Assyria,” Nahum proclaims, “your shepherds are asleep; your people are scattered on the mountains with no one to gather them.” Even more than this, all who hear of your demise applaud the news, “for who has ever escaped your endless cruelty?”
There are times when life itself feels endlessly cruel. The child dies. The widow lives alone. The innocent suffer. The guilty are condemned. Hate defeats love. War rages. Relationships end in bitterness. Poverty kills. Addiction destroys. The storm rages and there is no relief.
Is our shepherd asleep?
I don’t know what makes the difference between those times when all I can perceive is the endless cruelty and those times when I’m aware of the beauty that persists—those times when God seems to be asleep and those times when God feels so incredibly close.
What makes the difference for you?
I do know that last night I was finally able to join my family at midweek Advent worship at Good Shepherd. (Usually, on Wednesday nights, I’m in Dubuque.) Aidan arrived late and was recruited to light the candles on the Advent wreath. I sat between Keaton and Logan and could hear their voices so clearly as we sang “Canticle of the Turning.” I heard my own voice, strong and full. As a community, we prayed in silence—an embodied prayer of breathing, releasing, receiving, and rejoicing. I felt connected to this community of people who show up—for themselves and for one another, in grief and in joy.
It made a difference.
A beloved member of a congregation I previously served often reminded me of words from former presiding bishop H. George Anderson. To paraphrase, “What people want is to be left alone. What they need is to be brought together.” That was my experience last night, certainly.
In the summer of 2021, I managed to overcome all my reasons for resistance and became part of the New Minowa Players production of Unexpected Moments. The show was made up of a series of stories, written by community members, about pandemic life in 2020. I didn’t realize how much I needed that experience until I was part of it. The show concluded with a new-to-me song, “Crowded Table.” We sang with gratitude and longing, aware of what we had lost and attentive to that for which we yearned, “I want a house with a crowded table and a place by the fire for everyone.”
It made a difference. That production, in community, felt like an end and a beginning…and an experience of shelter and nurture right in the thick of the messy middle.
(You can still watch it here if you wish.)
There is relief as the storm rages. There is beauty that persists. A mother organizes other basketball parents to put together a care package for the injured player. The snow plow driver does his job faithfully. High school students and alumni sing Handel’s “Hallelujah.” She rings the bell to celebrate the end of treatment. Wise women share freely at Al Anon. The baby born prematurely is released to go home. The marriage thrives on the other side of heartbreak. He holds the door open. She preaches from a place of deep knowing. The children tell the Christmas story. The school raises funds for the food pantry; the teacher takes a pie in the face for the sake of encouraging the students to meet their goal.
In the chaos, there is joy. In the singing, there is peace. We are not scattered and abandoned. We are held together with love.
Our shepherd is not asleep.
“Therefore my heart is glad, and my soul rejoices; my body also rests secure.”