Tag Archives: grief

Look for the helpers

15 Monday Apr 2013

Posted by in Prayers, Reflections

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27116_10151347053856954_40812581_nOur nation is saddened by the tragedy that took place at the finish line of the Boston Marathon today. It is a reminder that there is evil in the world and that innocent people often suffer because of it.

When my children were young and 9/11 occurred, I remember holding them close knowing that something changed that day. A sense of vulnerability to the whims of ideologically driven terrorism shook me. A feeling that this world in which I was raising my children had become even less safe saddened me.

As I write this post, among the three confirmed deaths is one 8-year-old boy. Well over a hundred people were injured. As I processed what happened today, I was helped by what some people posted on social media.

Singer James Taylor wrote, “Bostonians are rightly proud of our Marathon. It is a uniquely American event that opens its arms to the world. Any and all are welcome: men and women, able-bodied and disabled, young and old across the races and religions of the planet. That anyone could target this celebration of global family is impossible to conceive.”

A popular quote by well-known TV personality Fred Rogers circulated today: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster,’ I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.”

Performer Patton Oswalt wrote, “If it’s one person or a HUNDRED people (who caused this), that number is not even a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a percent of the population on this planet. You watch the videos of the carnage and there are people running TOWARDS the destruction to help out. … This is a giant planet and we’re lucky to live on it but there are prices and penalties incurred for the daily miracle of existence. One of them is, every once in awhile, the wiring of a tiny sliver of the species gets snarled and they’re pointed towards darkness.

But the vast majority stands against that darkness and, like white blood cells attacking a virus, they dilute and weaken and eventually wash away the evil doers and, more importantly, the damage they wreak. This is beyond religion or creed or nation. …

So when you spot violence, or bigotry, or intolerance or fear or just garden-variety misogyny, hatred or ignorance, just look it in the eye and think, ‘The good outnumber you, and we always will.’”

Poet Jelaluddin Rumi, many centuries ago, wrote,

A dragon was pulling a bear into its terrible mouth.
A courageous man went and rescued the bear.

There are such helpers in the world,
who rush to save
anyone who cries out. Like Mercy itself,
they run toward the screaming.

And they can’t be bought off.
If you were to ask one of those, “Why did you come
so quickly?” He or she would say, “Because I heard
your helplessness.”
Mathnawi II, translated by Coleman Barks in Delicious Laughter

Finally, as a person of faith, the words my Bishop, Minerva Carcaño, posted today resonated with me: “This is an opportunity for all of us to be in holy conversation with our God, with each other, with our neighbors, and with our children about violence in the world. We live in a time in which we can raise our voices for peace and commit to being peacemakers in the world, the very peace of Christ Jesus. May Christ the Prince of Peace be with us.”

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Prayer for a Holy Christmas

22 Saturday Dec 2012

Posted by in Prayers

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nighttime_paradise_blog

Prayer for a Holy Christmas

We come to this holy season with mixed emotions.
We want the hopefulness of the Christ event to wash over us.
We want to encounter the living presence of the one
who comes to live among us, full of grace and truth.
Yet we are troubled by the problems we see worldwide.
We see the people of Syria struggling to survive.
We see neighbors trying to rebuild their lives after severe storms.
We see communities indelibly harmed by needless gun violence.
We see hunger, poverty and disease affecting millions of people.

Still this season remains a season of hope.

It is a season to look outward to the places
where suffering needs to be alleviated,
where food needs to be delivered,
where homes need to be rebuilt,
where hope needs to be tangibly restored.

It is a season to look inward to the places
where hearts need to be softened,
where minds need to be stretched,
where plans need to be carried out,
where life needs to be given another chance.

It is a season to look upward to the God
who is sovereign over life and death,
whose heart grieves as long as any little ones suffer,
whose vision is for the well-being of shalom for all people,
whose will is that we learn the way of love.

Grant us a holy Christmas, O God.
Grant us a deepening understanding of the story of Christ’s birth.
Grant us a time to experience anew your living presence among us.

Bless all the dear children of the world with your loving care.
Renew in us the commitment to live as people of hope.
Strengthen our resolve to pursue peace with justice.
Give us trusting hearts, ready to welcome the Christ among us,
and ready to serve our neighbors
with the loving-kindness we learn from you. Amen.

Words (c) 2012 Mark Lloyd Richardson
Photo (c) 2012 Dallis Day Richardson

 

 

 

 

The Song of the Dove

15 Saturday Dec 2012

Posted by in Peace with justice, Poems, Prayers

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white-dove

In this season when Christians await the coming of the Prince of Peace, and in light of another tragic shooting rampage in our country, this time ripping the lives of innocent young children from their families in Newtown, Connecticut, I share this prayer poem that I wrote six years ago. As we offer our prayers for God’s comfort for the grieving, I hope that we also offer our determination to collectively work as communities and as a nation toward preventing this kind of senseless violence in the future.

The dove is a symbol of peace – a peace we so desperately need in our lives, our communities, and our world! The dove is also a symbol of God’s promise that we are not alone; nor are we lacking the spiritual resources necessary to seek change in our hearts or in our world.

The Song of the Dove

In this season of crisp air,
billowy clouds,
and heightened senses,
I go in search of the place
where eternity lies peacefully in a manger.

I go in search of the place
where the humblest of God’s children
come with little more than adoration
to worship a newborn baby
whose name means “God saves.”
They come bearing unadorned gifts
of simple lives and trusting hearts,
and I see what is expected of me.

In this troubled world, this vengeful time,
with its endless supply of weapons,
its young all too ready to use them,
I hold stubbornly to life
with every ounce of hope within me,
and the prayer that forever forms in my soul
is a prayer for peace.

Forgive us, gentle Savior.
We, of all the earth’s people,
need to hear the song of the dove.

Words (c) 2006, Mark Lloyd Richardson

All That Is Breaking

27 Friday Apr 2012

Posted by in Poems, Reflections

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One should never explain a poem in advance. Having said that, I need to at least disclose that I wrote this poem several years ago during a difficult period in my pastoral ministry. Earlier experiences of watching the waves crash against the breakwater not far from our home became a metaphor for managing the mistreatment I was feeling.

Being human means being hurt, in big and small ways. It means acknowledging the pain when it comes, as it does to every life, in order to move through it and beyond it. Often by naming what we don’t understand or the ways we are tempted to play it safe we begin to understand that life is all about risking – love, talent, energy, friendship, certainty, ego, creativity, the inner voice – or it is not living! Often the risking involves letting go.

So, this poem may be an admonition of sorts – I am still unsure what exactly it is saying to me (or perhaps about me).

How about you? What does it say to you? I would love to hear your thoughts.

Pacific Ocean at Asilomar

All That Is Breaking

Swells crash against the breakwater,
leaping high in the salty air,
like flying walls of sea water.

We come to watch nature’s powerful display,
moving in just close enough to taste danger,
to take the risk of dread.

Otherwise we are more cautious creatures,
driving the speed limit,
minding our manners,
keeping our heads low,
risking only what we are able.

A day may come
when our own powerful natures confront us,
taking the waves of deep grief
swelling within our fluid bodies,

and watching them wash over
all that is breaking
along the turbulent shores of this life.

Words (c) 2009 Mark Lloyd Richardson
Photo (c) 2012 Dallis Day Richardson

On the sabbath they rested

07 Saturday Apr 2012

Posted by in Reflections

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The Gospel of Luke tells us that after the crucifixion of Jesus a good and righteous man named Joseph of Arimathea went to Pilate to ask for Jesus’ body. Joseph then took the body of Jesus down from the cross, wrapped it in a linen cloth, and laid it in a rock-hewn tomb where no one had ever been laid. The women who had come with Jesus from Galilee and had watched the crucifixion from a distance, followed Joseph and saw the tomb and how Jesus’ body was laid. However, because the sabbath was beginning, they returned to where they were staying and prepared spices and ointments for later.

Then the text reads, “On the sabbath they rested according to the commandment” (Luke 23:56b).

I find myself wondering what that sabbath felt like to those who loved Jesus and had witnessed his cruel death.

What are the emotions you and I feel as we hear the story of Christ’s Passion told again during this Holy Week?

What do we do with ourselves following Jesus’ death?

Where do we find “rest” on the sabbath?

Here is a poem I wrote touching on these questions.

On the sabbath they rested

The room where lost dreamers came
in search of repair and a promised peace
looked like any other ancient room,
windows open and chanting to the sky,
walls thick with the prejudice of time,
echoing the desolation of unwelcome grief.

An ageless question hung in the air –
What awaits us between hopefulness and uncertainty?

We cannot know.

So for now we lie down among broken bodies,
we take our rest beside other ragged souls
who rummage around for redemption,
who long for peace in a world at war with itself.

Words (c) 2012 Mark Lloyd Richardson
Photo (c) 2012 Dallis Day Richardson 

The First Heart to Break

06 Friday Apr 2012

Posted by in Reflections

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Several years ago, following the tragic death of her fifteen year old son, our Christian Education Director took a leave of absence and spent her time taking long walks with her husband, caring for their daughter, going to the ocean their son so loved, and allowing her grief to unfold.

The season of Lent arrived and she put her hand to creating art. She used scrap pieces of wood in various shapes and sizes and fashioned them into three mosaic crosses. They were of simple design, about two feet high, and set side by side they formed a Lenten display.

On Good Friday she brought them to the church and set them up draped with black cloth, and on the Saturday before Easter came back to transform the crosses with gold and white fabrics symbolizing the resurrection.

During Lent and Easter that year her art was her primary connection with the church and her expression of what little faith she felt she had left. She was unable to come back to work or worship for months, because her grief was too raw.

The crosses remained on display through the fifty days of Easter and as Pentecost approached she said to me, “I think I have an idea for transforming the crosses into a Pentecost symbol.”

So she took the crosses home, and when she brought them back, she set them up on a table covered with fabrics of rich gold, red and earth tones. A light shone through dark openings within each cross and a fan blew on the fabric to create movement.

The whole project from beginning to end felt like it was important to her grief work and her struggle with God, that she needed the safety of symbolically expressing to God her deep pain and sense of loss – not that she hadn’t had those conversations elsewhere, but this was on God’s turf. Her art seemed to say, “Look at the darkness that attends my life now through the loss of my son.”

It is significant that she chose crosses – the instrument of death that took the life of God’s own beloved Son – as the focal point. Maybe this choice was her acknowledgment that God knows sorrow. I do not know. I am not an art critic. I am a lover of God and a lover of people, and while some were made uncomfortable by her art, I did the only thing I could think of to do – I encouraged her to keep on creating, to let her soul speak through her art, to offer her prayers through these physical materials and the work of her hands when words would not easily come.

William Sloane Coffin preached a sermon to his congregation at Riverside Church in New York City ten days after his own son’s untimely death. It was a eulogy for his son Alex, who died in a car accident at the age of twenty-four. His words ring true because he was a father whose son beat him to the grave. He claimed, “the one thing that should never be said when someone dies is, ‘It is the will of God.’ Never do we know enough to say that. My own consolation lies in knowing that it was not the will of God that Alex die; that when the waves closed over the sinking car, God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break.”

Words (c) 2012 Mark Lloyd Richardson