We are half way through March, and I can’t remember a day this year that I have not have read about another shooting in Columbus every time I open the local newspaper or turn on the local news. Gun violence in upscale malls and communities of color, hate crimes against my sisters and brothers who are Asian Americans, the pain of illness and aging my family members are going through! I’m mad and I don’t know what to do with my anger.
The violence became more personal this morning when a beloved Asian American sister and friend invited our church staff to a prayer vigil tomorrow to pray for an end to the fear and violence against Asian Americans. And yes I am angry at Donald Trump and those who cannot see or refuse to see the harm they are doing. I know I need to love them and forgive them, but this crap lies squarely at Trump’s feet for his racist speeches about the pandemic and China. Forgive 70 x 7? He’s gone way over that total years ago, and I feel helpless about letting that anger eat at me!
But I don’t know what to do with the anger that would be constructive. I want the temple-table turning-over Jesus right now, not the “love your enemies” one. And yet that same Jesus says “put away your swords” to those who would protect him, who forgives his executioners and their ignorance. It’s too much. I can’t love like that, and I’m ashamed to admit it. If I cannot be part of the solution I am part of the problem. If I can’t confess my white privilege and witness against the systemic racism in our country “I am a noisy gong and a clanging cymbal” (I Corinthians 13) instead of a symbol for love and justice.
I’m so longing for Easter but know we are a long way from the empty tomb, and the path that leads there goes through Gethsemane and the place of the skull. Isn’t there a short cut, a way around the passion and suffering, a way to avoid the mess and the command to take up a cross and follow Jesus?
I know the answer to that question. So I just keep praying to the source of all being to “Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, for the living of these days1” and for the faith and strength
“To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the un-rightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star.2”
- “The Impossible Dream,” Mitch Leigh and Joe Darian
- “God of Grace and God of Glory,” Harry Emerson Fosdick