Lent Day 10: Broken-Hearted and Praying into the Past

Like you, I am reeling... again... at the devastating violence in what has been known as a haven for peace-seekers, Christchurch, New Zealand. I am grieving, along with the whole world, that a white supremacist entered not one but two mosques and slaughtered people at prayer. The latest death toll I have seen is 49 souls--who, I am sure, were terrified as they were killed; but also, who, I am equally sure, are now at home with God.

That they are at home in God's infinite love and mercy does not make it all better. Not for us, here. We are left to rage, grieve, wonder, despair, hope... whatever trajectory our hearts have been flung into, they will follow.

This morning, once more, I read Psalm 27, and I read it wondering at its tenderness, at its steadfast hope in the face of real fear-- fear for the psalmist's life. And this verse pierced me:

For on the day of trouble the LORD shall shelter me in safety; 
the LORD shall hide me in the secrecy of the holy place
and set me high upon a rock. ~Psalm 27:5

But for those worshipers, that did not happen. Or maybe, it is my misunderstanding of what constitutes "safety." Maybe to die in the midst of prayer is what a devout Muslim-- or Christian, or Jew-- might hope for most fervently. I don't know.

I was in seminary in New York City on 9-11. Among my classmates, many knew or had connections to individuals who perished that day. There was much grieving, great lamentation-- as a seminary community, as a city, as a nation. There were many who sprang to action, going to Ground Zero to offer water, to staff sanctuary spaces nearby so that first responders would have a place to rest when they could tear themselves away from their task.

To the best of my recollection, classes resumed the following Monday. The first class I attended was taught by Ann Ulanov, a class in Pastoral Counseling. Professor Ulanov is a student of Carl Jung, and brings a perspective steeped in archetypes and symbols as well as science.

We did not dive into our curriculum. The professor talked quietly with us, asking us if we wanted to check in, share anything in particular, after the dreadful events of the previous week. One thing she talked about has stayed with me, and, from time to time, has given me comfort.

Professor Ulanov reminded us that God is a God beyond our understanding and imagining, and that all things, all places, all times, all people, distant past, unknowable future, all of it, are present to God simultaneously. So, we can pray into the past, since the past is ever present with God. Since we can do that, we can pray that God's love surround those who suffered and died, and trust that God hears those prayers and acts on them.

Through the years I've wrestled with this idea. Like most humans, I have a pretty linear notion of time. But I agree with my professor's description of the all-knowingness of God, and so I believe that her words on prayer make sense.

I offer it to you today, as we, as a global community, continue to take in the horrors of the week, and try to hold them together with whatever systems of faith we happen to take part in.

I believe that we have a God to whom we can pray, and that
we can pray into the past. In this way, I can find hope that verse 5 might be or become true for the people of the Al Noor and Linwood mosques. I pray that God has, indeed, sheltered his beloveds in safety, and now, has set them high upon the rock in which they might enjoy God's presence forever.