From Lament to Prayer -Rev. Brenda Sol

A few weeks ago, I came across a quote that really made me think and stuck with me. The author wrote: “It is precisely the parts of the body that seem to be the weakest which are the indispensable ones." At first, I considered the words, in terms of our own physical bodies, and how true that our organs, for instance, aren’t necessarily “weak”, but how we are made vulnerable by having organs, which are very much indispensable, and, yet, easily damaged.

Then, in light of us observing the Episcopal Church’s Season of Creation, I thought about bees and butterflies—how they are among the most vulnerable. Bees, butterflies—even moths—are easy to accidentally eliminate from our lives, as we clear more land to put up more buildings—and, yet, they are indispensable to our ecosystems. We need them to pollinate our flowers and to grow fruit, vegetables, and nuts.

When I realized I wanted to use the quote for this sermon, I went searching for its author. Frankly, I was expecting to find it’d been written by a contemporary ecologist, or maybe an activist writing about immigration reform. But it was neither. Those words: “It is precisely the parts of the body that seem to be the weakest which are the indispensable ones[1]," were written by the Apostle Paul in a letter to the Corinthians in the first century! 

As Paul often did, he was writing, to the initial followers of the Jesus Movement, to help them understand that, as they jostled for positions within their new faith families, they should remember that every person in the community is important to the overall system. Using the term “body” to refer to the system, Paul goes on to explain, we each have different gifts, and that the body…the system…will be lacking if the gifts of, even just, one person are missing.

The same message is present in today’s Gospel reading. Jesus uses a parable about sheep to point out that it’s not that there are bunches of individual sheep, and whether you have 90 or a hundred doesn’t really matter. Rather Jesus’s illustration insists that the sheep, all together, are a unit—they all belong to a flock. So, when one sheep goes missing, the flock—or the system—is incomplete. That, Jesus says, is reason enough to spend time seeking out the lost—or the overlooked—in order that the flock…the system…is brought back to wholeness. 

Riffing on the language used by the grumbling Pharisees, Jesus responds, “there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.” But because we know that the true definition of sin is anything that removes our focus from God, we understand Jesus is talking about all of us. 

All of us sinners—whether by our own doing or because of the systems in which we participate—have been the lost one at some point. And in many cases—especially in terms of creation care—we’ve likely contributed to another creature being lost or overlooked. This is such a core truth to our lives, that in a few minutes we’ll join our voices in confession, affirming: “We are truly sorry and we humbly repent for what we have done to harm them, and for what we have not done to help them.”

In our reading from Jeremiah, we’re reminded that this is nothing new. We humans have been losing our focus on God for eons. So, the prophet cautions that the people of God have been backsliding to such an extreme, he’s not sure they’ll ever recover. And isn’t that how many of us are feeling?

That, as a global community, we’re backsliding to such an extreme, we’re not sure we’ll ever recover. With more school shootings, people being unnecessarily harmed in ICE raids, the continuing genocide and wars around the world, as well as what seems to be an increase in political violence, we bang our heads against the proverbially wall and raise our voices in lament.

As the Jeremiah laments, he refers to humanity as: “My poor people.” Can’t you just imagine him holding his head in his hands, barely able to keep watching what they’re doing to themselves and the world around them? But Jeremiah doesn’t look away. He’s a prophet, so he names the atrocities and the trauma he sees.

As one scholar suggests, a prophet not only speaks truth to power, a prophet also "speaks truth to suffering, to weakness, to laziness, and to failure to take responsibility."[2] As Jeremiah is present with these people, pointing out the lost and the overlooked “sheep” among them, his lament becomes an intercessory prayer.

“My poor people. Wake them up, God!” He names the mess so that they might take responsibility for their part of the system. He calls them to lives of integrity; to lead with their values and remember they are God’s hands, feet, heart and voice in the world.

Our reading from Timothy touches on this idea as well—that we’re all needed, and that our faith calls us to some hard places. Places where we will be transformed, and most likely, not in ways we are hoping for or expecting. In those places, where the prophet calls us to responsibility and Luke asks us to go looking for the ones who’ve been lost, we encounter the distinction between faith and optimism.

I recently heard a panel discussion on optimism. Interestingly, some people on the panel insisted that optimism won’t get us where we need to go. That included, for instance, an economist. Others on the panel, argued that if we think optimism is nothing more than just believing things are going to get better, then, optimism is not enough.

One thought leader, however, argued that optimism puts us in a healthy place of hope, which mobilizes us to do the things that we can do. He explained that while we must acknowledge the reality of these challenging times, we ought to also practice gratitude. He pointed out how much things have actually improved over the past century.

Across the globe, more people are now educated; fewer children are starving; overall, there is less pollution; and healthcare is more available. He gave examples of how people who, optimistically, review their current circumstances, typically are more likely to take action, versus becoming overwhelmed with pessimism, or even becoming complacent.

Which is where, I think, faith enters into the equation. Jesus doesn’t say “figure this one out and then everything else will fall into place.” Instead, we are promised that as we figure out one solution, we will cultivate a greater capacity to find other solutions. We will expand our awareness of God’s work in the world. That expanded awareness will help us become brighter beacons of God’s work in the world. Most importantly, our ability to BE God’s work in the world will be increased.

I speak about all of this from a place of great overwhelm in my own life. There are moments…hours…sometimes days…when I literally feel incapacitated by everything that’s going on. In those moments…hours…days, I worry that maybe I need antidepressants. But then I realize, this is not depression. It's more of a deeply-felt malaise. But it's hard to name, because there's so much going on around us—in ways that feel almost constant. And, it seems like it did during the early days of the pandemic—that it’s harder to talk about, because we’re all going through it, all at the same time.

And even though—usually on my day off—I find ways of giving myself permission to just wallow in the feeling of incapacitation, I do so knowing that I practice the kind of optimism that assists me in pulling it back together in the next hour or day. I also do so as a person of faith, believing God is with me and that as God’s beloved, I respond by refusing to give into hate and looking for ways where I can share God’s love in my immediate surroundings.

I also take heart in the information that, even though that panel didn’t agree about the need for optimism, they did all agree that little things do make a difference. Joining others in a peaceful protest makes a difference. Making a financial contribution to an advocacy group—even if it’s only $10—makes a difference. Sending a letter or an email to our congress members makes a difference.

As we live out our faith in the days, weeks and months to come, may we seek out the lost and the overlooked, remembering the truth of that quote: that often the weakest among us is the most indispensable. And let us become more and more intentional about turning our lament into intercessory prayer.

-AMEN

[1] 1 Corinthians 12:22.

[2] Feasting on the Word: Year C, vol. 4, p. 79.