Dear Church,
This morning we awoke to the alarming news that the United States and Israel have launched a large military strike on Iran. In times like these (which have been relentlessly repeated over the past ten years), I find it easy to get sucked into gathering and analyzing all the information I can in an attempt to figure out what’s going on and predict what’s going to happen next, and thus (I convince myself) feel a greater sense of control over the situation.
But of course the truth of the matter is that I cannot predict the future, and I am very much not in control of this situation. None of us are. We can only respond to what is actually happening in our actual lives in the actual moment. So on this Sabbath before the Second Sunday in Lent, if you find yourself fruitlessly striving for certainty and control, I invite you to disconnect from the news right now and walk through this prayer exercise:
- Take a few deep breaths, and simply feel and sink into what you are experiencing this moment in your body (i.e. anger, fear, grief, exhaustion).
- Welcome what you are experiencing this moment in your body as an opportunity to consent to the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.
- Let go by saying “I let go of my desire for certainty and control, and embrace this moment as it is.”
- Gently allow your attention to expand to include those directly suffering from this military strike, especially the common people of Iran. Hold them in God’s presence in your prayer, and then release them in the love of God.
I also invite you to consider what it would mean for you to embrace anew Jesus’ calling to make peace. To that end, I invite you to reflect on this poem by Denise Levertov.
“Making Peace”
A voice from the dark called out,
‘The poets must give us
imagination of peace, to oust the intense, familiar
imagination of disaster. Peace, not only
the absence of war.’
But peace, like a poem,
is not there ahead of itself,
can’t be imagined before it is made,
can’t be known except
in the words of its making,
grammar of justice,
syntax of mutual aid.
A feeling towards it,
dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we have
until we begin to utter its metaphors,
learning them as we speak.
A line of peace might appear
if we restructured the sentence our lives are making,
revoked its reaffirmation of profit and power,
questioned our needs, allowed
long pauses...
A cadence of peace might balance its weight
on that different fulcrum; peace, a presence,
an energy field more intense than war,
might pulse then,
stanza by stanza into the world,
each act of living
one of its words, each word
a vibration of light—facets
of the forming crystal.
In the midst of whatever the future holds, let us continue to encounter and embody the presence of Christ in word and sacrament and each other’s presence, extending the gracious welcome of God to our neighbors.
Yours in Christ,
Fr. Ben
