We who provide support and healing play a vital role in our community. And that takes a toll. So, we hold one another in tender care.
For those who carry with them the memory of their own personal trauma.
Peace be upon them.
For all who are especially fearful about the safety of the children in their lives.
Peace be upon them.
For all who are tired and overworked after 27 months of pandemic.
Peace be upon them.
For all who are experiencing numbness.
Peace be upon them.
For our patients and their loved ones.
Peace be upon them.
For all of us. May we receive comfort and peace from supportive colleagues, friends, and family. May we, in turn, be that comfort and peace for others.
Peace be upon us.
By Sharon Dickinson
I’m starting to wonder if Texas is the biggest small town globally. Several people in my orbit are friends or family members of those affected by the shooting in Uvalde. I’ve been there for them, and I am here for you. Please don’t hesitate to reach out to me by email or phone or contacting a unit clerk. The chapel is open 24/7 for prayer, and if you contact me, I’d be honored to meet you there, listen to what is on your mind, and/or pray with you.
Have you ever had one of those “Kitchen Floor Moments?”
That’s what Rev. Kelly Isola calls them. Sometimes they are bathroom floor moments. Or bedroom floor moments.
I have. Overwhelmed with grief and pain, I've made that awful deep guttural sound of profound grief. The weight of a tragic event is too much. So much so that I wind up on the floor, usually sliding down along a wall that I thought might support me.
I’ve seen countless “Hospital Floor Moments,” too. The weight of losing a loved one too much, family and friends sink to the floor in pain.
I’m sure in Uvalde, there have been so, so many – too many “Kitchen Floor Moments.” And they are all spiritual practices.
Have you ever felt like you were about to cry and choked it down?
Please don’t do that. You are loved; your grief and pain are legit. They are important; they are spiritual.
How do I know? Well, I’m not sure why else there would be a book in the Bible entitled “Lamentations.”
The book of Lamentations is a book of profoundly sorrowful poems. The name implies expressing grief (to lament). Jeremiah, also known as the “weeping prophet,” writes the verses after the destruction of Jerusalem (including their sacred temple) by the Babylonians. It was written after the fall of Jerusalem in 586 B.C.; he was an eyewitness. He predicted this destruction, watched it take place, and sadly reflected on it.
The Bible documents countless times of lamentation. In Job, in Psalms, by the disciples during the crucifixion, by Mary, and so on. My friend Kelly puts it succinctly in her blog:
"To lament is an old-fashioned word that means to mourn or grieve out loud. Weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth are all signs of lamenting. Jesus used the practice in his teachings, and certainly the practice was well known in his middle eastern world. We often see lamenting taking place in other countries when we watch TV after horrific events. Many of us in the U.S. would say that they were just carrying on.
Yet grief is a natural part of life, it happens to us all. Because of this, lamenting becomes a necessary step in our journey of healing, of moving through the anger, despair, frustration, grief, and powerlessness."
Lamentations and other lamenting scriptures serve as:
A form of protest for wrongdoing (bring attention to, including God’s)
A way to process emotions
A place to voice confusion – (about God and the human condition)
These scriptures restore a sacred dignity to human suffering. None of this is looked down upon in the Bible.
Lamenting, to me, is easily considered a spiritual practice. One that none of us should deny to ourselves.
Broken-hearted over what happened in Uvalde? I think we all are.
Lament freely, please.
Support those who lament with your presence. If you don’t know what to say, that’s fine. Your company is far more potent than any words.
Let the healing begin. Let us lament.
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