This is the third post in a series of four that Kelley Johnson Nikondeha and I have been writing over at SheLoves this Advent season. We wanted to make space for lament during our waiting time this year, so each of us wrote a song of sadness. I began the series here, Kelley responded to that individual lament here. Today, and again next Tuesday, Kelley and I are writing laments. This one was written after I read the beautiful one by Kelley that you’ll see on Tuesday and is my attempt to make space for the sadness and brokenness that resides in our larger culture. You can read all of it over at SheLoves today.
Oh, I so don’t want to do this, Lord.
I want to sit in the back,
shut my eyes,
shutter my ears,
close my mouth,
still my voice.
And yet, I cannot.
You compel me, you urge me, you call me out.
You tell me, in no uncertain terms, to stand up.
To stand up and speak.
To stand beside the mothers whose brown boys have been
violently taken from them
To stand beside the Palestinians who come home
to find no home, only a bulldozer.
To stand beside the young ones in Africa,
the boys and the girls,
who are seen as bait or kindling or meat or slaves or
anything other than who they are:
your children, created in your image.
It is hard for me to face the ugliness in this world.
I can barely look at the ugliness in me.
It leaves me feeling
exhausted, frightened, frustrated, confused and angry.
Because here’s the truth, my truth, Lord:
I’ve made it my life’s work to look for the beauty.
I don’t think that’s a bad thing,
not at all.
In fact, I think it’s an act of obedience.
Some things are not beautiful;
they are hideous,
and they demand testimony, too. . .
Please click here and head over to SheLoves to finish reading this song. . .
We Americans cover up/hide the hideous. Actually I think it started in the garden. We are certainly slow learners.