Boston Strong

When the Marathon bombs went off, I could not bring myself to post my usual drivel because it seemed meaningless. I also could not find any words to discuss the event itself. I hear the expression 'deeply saddened' a lot, but I never have heard it used in a way that I thought was sincere.  But I am sad… and the sadness is very deep. I found hope in the kind acts people from my corner of the world engaged in. I found hope because in the midst of tragedy, people responded with kindness… my people. I am so proud that I am from a place who takes strangers into their homes and businesses to feed and shelter them. If we can recognise ourselves in our fellow human beings, even in the face of grotesque violence and hatred… well that is something. It is all too easy to get caught up in the fishhook that is hatred and violence. It always breeds more. These acts of kindness say to me that there is hope for us after all.

For my UK friends, it may be hard to fathom, but very soon some of the families of those treated in hospital will be receiving bills…very large bills. One family, who most will know from the pictures in the newspapers is the Richard family. I don't know them personally, but I know several people who do. If so inclined, help them here: The Richard Family Fund. There is also a larger fund that will try and help all the people wronged by this senseless hatred here: The One Fund. Even a dollar will help.

Finally, I want to thank my brother-in-law who inspired me to break my silence. I love his honesty and thoughtfulness as he speaks about what this last week has meant to him, even though he also was at a loss for words. His usual show is comedy, but in this one, you will get insight into complexities that I also feel: Podlast: Episode 33. I have never lived in Boston, but I have spent many many many hours there… and it feels like home to me.

Photo Credit: The Boston Globe

Seven Words at Saint Pauls

This year I did the Seven Words at Saint Pauls. For those who are unfamiliar with how this service works, it is mostly readings, sermons, music, and silence. During this year' silence I got to thinking about why I identify with God suffering. Perhaps it has to do with the suffering that I witness. My workplace is the home of some of the greatest suffering possible in a country as wealthy and technologically advanced as this one. I am regularly face to face with people being assessed for consciousness. Others are receiving treatment to stop them from harming themselves or others. Others are fighting against the devastating, unfair new reality into which they have been thrust. Others are not fighting at all and are surrendering the idea of life itself. Some suffer frequent or nearly constant pain. Some are amazingly valiant in the face of their tragedies. I am grateful to be in a position to offer these people as much humanity as I can muster. I fail them sometimes due to my own limitations. Institutional and societal constraints also limit our efforts. While therapeutic gains could always be better, at least I am present in a place where I can contribute.

Sitting there in the Good Friday silences, my mind wandered to some people in this and other equally wealthy and technologically-advanced countries who are quick to credit their own good fortune to some quality they possess or some act they have perormed. Such a view insists that my clients deserve their fates, but no one could deserve these fates. I suppose mankind has never been short of people who claim that they have all the answers to life's mysteries, demanding, as if they are gods, that everyone live by the rules that they have picked out for all of humanity to live by. Those people only wish to wield power over others. Perhaps that is what I like about Good Friday. Instead of spouting off rules and wielding power over us, Jesus chooses a fate no one could deserve. In those moments on the cross that we contemplate on Good Friday, there is no resurrection, no celebration of a certain end. I relate to those moments. War, famine, poverty, my clients: suffering is all around us. I can relate to what my mind's eye sees when it looks up toward an innocent carpenter being tortured. Sure, I can imagine salvation too. But I do not have to imagine suffering. It is all around me. But suffering often reveals the grace and beauty of real people who react to suffering with recognition and kindness rather than with demands and judgements. Their altruism speaks much more powerfully to me than some paradise that is not consistent with anything I have ever experienced. The people who judge everyone but themselves: who are they behaving like in the Christ's passion? The God on the cross is not dictating prescriptions of behavior.

In the end, I do not have the skill to write exactly why I identify with a suffering God. As a man, I do not have any answers, behaviors or otherwise, that are useful for anyone but myself. Do not follow my example; I am no god. But as a human witness to suffering, my heart is more inclined to a God who suffers with me than one who spouts inflexible rules devoid of compassion or glares down a condemning, pointing finger.


Photo Credits
Saint Pauls Interior
Jesus Suffering