Sitting WITH: A Response to the Squirrel Hill Synagogue Shooting

(Click on the picture to pray Rev 7:13-17 with me in lectio divina. Subscribe here to receive them weekly.)

He who sits on the throne
will shelter them with his presence.
Never again will they hunger;
never again will they thirst.
The sun will not beat down on them,’
nor any scorching heat.
For the Lamb at the center of the throne
will be their shepherd;
‘he will lead them to springs of living water.’
‘And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.

Dear Friends,

Oh my heart. After the shooting at the Squirrel Hill synagogue a few days ago, we scoot up to this scripture of Rev. 7:15-17 and lay down our heavy grief on the table between us.

It was just a small naming ceremony when Robert Bowers forced his way through the doors of the Pittsburgh synagogue desiring (as Madeleine L’Engle would have said it) to un-name. And so we speak their names once again: Cecil. David. Jerry. Irving. Melvin. Rose. Bernice. Sylvan. Joyce. Richard. Daniel.

We name you.
We embrace the truth scored in the earth that you were made in the image of our Creator and together we pray: Be at rest. Rest in peace.

And today Friends as we come to the table of this Slow Word we bring our fresh grief.

Once again we know down deep in our bones that we were formed for Eden and that we have lost our way a hundred thousand times. The large flag across from the Panera where I’m writing is waving slowly at half mast. In Romans 8, Paul wrote that the earth is groaning for redemption. Today we groan with it.

In Rev. 7:13-17 we look through the keyhole on the door to the Kingdom and glimpse glory, the earth gorgeously righted. Luminous.
God is squarely on His throne.
The Kingdom is made manifest.
The Presence of God tents over His people.
No pain.
No hunger.
And God gets down on his knees to wipe away tears.

We are stunned by the beauty of the vision: Provision. Presence. Healing. Final hope.

And then as we read our online news magazines we are once again stunned by the chasm between us.

We are so very far from home.

We stand with sorrow in one hand and a vision of the Kingdom in the other.

We stand in the gap between the glory and this sin-ravaged planet and our lament grows hoarse and tired. How long O Lord?

 

Maybe you sit stunned with a different kind of loss. You walk with the type of pain that sneaks up behind you and leaves you raw and gasping. The question still stands: how do we stand in the gap between the resurrection and the second coming? My twelve-year-old daughter is asking this same question: How do we live between the already and not yet.

We lament. To God. Uncensored. We pour it out into His arms.

We sit patiently with other people’s laments and offer a hospitality of presence. We remind them that new grief often needles old grief and pulls it right back up. We remind them that grief is messy and inconsistent, that it can surprise you with the force of a fresh wave. We promise we’ll be with them as they ride it out.

We act. We let grief lead to righteous anger and lead to fierce focus and action. Righteous anger can be extremely productive. Don’t let it be wasted.

We invite strangers to sit at our kitchen table and listen to their stories. We open our door to the people right on our city block. We widen the circle. We gather with curiosity, an open hour, and a hot teapot.

We walk and we pray: We pray Your Kingdom come in my heart, around my fire, around my suburban neighborhood filled with people asking these same questions.

Your Kingdom come here as it is in heaven.

Your Kingdom come to hate-clutchers, hate-spreaders, and those who are just dipping their toe into the poison now.

And of course we pray Your Kingdom come to those still trembling in trauma after the hate-made-manifest in the synagogue of Squirrel Hill.

And we pray Your Kingdom Come for those who are facing next Sabbath wondering if their family is safe from copycat crimes. May our prayers form a barrier for you to worship Yahweh in peace within the walls of your own synagogue.

But friends, in the midst of the cognitive dissonance, don’t turn away from this vision of glory. Feast on it. Memorize it. Fix your eyes right there.

Because this is NOT the end of the story:

Christ is on His throne,
he desires to wrap us in His Presence,
to lead us to living water,
and wipe away every tear from our eyes.

Keep looking, my friend. Don’t turn away.
The King is coming, my friend.
He is coming.

Warmly,
Summer

 

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