Annapolis

I'm from the Annapolis area. The house where I grew up, where I lived until I left for college and then returned to during the summer until I graduated and left the country, is 15 minutes from the Capital Gazette headquarters. The Capital is my hometown paper. It's where I got my first ever letter to the editor published. Wendi Winters, one of the staff members killed, wrote the weekly "Teen of the Week" column highlighting good work being done by a local young person, and she covered local high school theatre productions.

I'm so sad for the local reporters who were killed and for their families and friends. I'm so proud of the reporters who kept going and put out a paper today. I'm so angry about the violence and the fear they experienced -- that, because trauma lives in the body, they are still experiencing.

I'm not shocked that this happened in 'my town,' because this is every town in the U.S., and we need to recognize that and respond accordingly.

I don't have anything new to say about mass shootings. I've reflected before on how I make sense of prayer and action in response to news of violence; about the inaccurate perceptions around mental illness and violence; about the unhealthy systems that we ought to be examining and diagnosing in response to violence. To that last post about unhealthy systems at play in violence, you could add something about hostility toward journalists: the killer, who had been brought up on criminal charges for harassing a woman (a history of violence against women being one of the most stable predictors of mass shootings), had sued the paper claiming libel. He felt like them reporting on his criminal behavior towards women was, well, fake news. It wasn't. I wonder how much of his decision to act on his toxic anger toward the paper was empowered by the current climate of suspicion and even urging of violence against journalists. A sitting member of Congress physically assaulted a reporter during his campaign and was still allowed to take his seat.

I keep starting and stopping this piece, writing and re-writing it. I want to say something about my memories of Annapolis. About walking around the Naval Academy with my dad -- he graduated from there in 1963. About pondering going to St. John's. About somehow dropping my wallet off the end of the dock into the cold waters of the head of the Severn River while turning silly cartwheels with friends. About music at Rams Head Tavern. About the Parade of Lights, boats decorated for Christmas. About Maryland Hall for the Creative Arts. About how crossing the Bridge with the sun sparkling on the Bay still, after more than a decade, feels like coming home.

I want to say something about all that, but the memories aren't holding still for me right now. Somehow, I couldn't even find a photo of me in Annapolis -- I know there are so many, but I don't know where they are. The images are all jumbled in my head, mixed up with breaking news about violence.

There's a motto bouncing around right now -- I think it's from Everytown for Gun Safety, but maybe it originated elsewhere, I'm not sure. It says, "We don't have to live like this. We don't have to die like this."

Annapolis is everytown. It's got all the same joy and pain and heartbreak and wonder and mediocrity of any other American town. People shouldn't have to live in fear there, or anywhere. People shouldn't have to be shot in their workplaces or their schools or their streets, there, or anywhere.

So I guess I'll end this by pulling a quote from the last time I wrote a blog on the topic of gun violence:

By all means, send thoughts and send prayers. Send prayers by extending real compassion to the people who have been hurt and killed. Pray for the wisdom and the insight to know how to respond responsibly. And think. Put your mind to work. Think systems. Think about the multiple factors that impact a person to lead them to violence. And think carefully and prayerfully -- what the Christian tradition has referred to as "discernment" -- about how you, too, and the communities you inhabit, are impacted by and in turn can impact those systems. Thoughts and prayers? Yes, by all means -- we will need both. Actions? Yes, those too. Putting them all together? That's thinking systems. That's the kind of thing that might just lead us to properly diagnose this problem. And maybe, just maybe, find a cure.

Spirituality and Solidarity ( a re-post because I don't have new words)

I originally shared this while I was working at American University, after a string of attacks around the world and bias incidents on campus. (You can see the archived original here.) I don't have any new words right now, for Las Vegas or for Puerto Rico or for Saint Louis or for Georgetown, so I'm posting it with some modifications. Some places you can take action: Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense ; ADAPT National ; Help Puerto Rico ; Campaign Zero

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Dear friends,

My heart is heavy today. News of violent attacks and the devastation of climate disasters have left us in a state of shock and mourning. Here on campus at Georgetown, we are reeling from a string of racist, sexist, and anti-Semitic graffiti. This all just in the past week or two. Not to mention that we have yet to truly reckon with the trauma of Charlottesville, or yet another police officer acquitted for the shooting of an unarmed black man. Not to mention all of the many places in this world where hatred and division seem to be winning out over love and peace.

The news of tragedy mounts, and it can feel paralyzing. What can we do in the face of such violence? How can we respond?

Of course, we pray. We join together in prayer for all victims of violence and for all those mourning the dead. We pray for peace and for justice. We pray that God will stir up in us a concern for our common humanity and a love for neighbor, even a love for those who would declare themselves our enemies. We take a moment to intentionally extend our compassion to those in pain, even and especially because many of them are strangers to us.

But is this enough? Is it enough to pray, or is more called for?

In one sense, no — prayer is not enough. Action is needed. But in another sense — yes, prayer is enough. For Christians, the spirituality that we express in prayer is an orientation toward and a communion with Jesus Christ. And this Jesus to whom we pray is called Emmanuel, “God with us.” This Jesus stands in solidarity with all those who are victimized and oppressed, all those who are hurting and mourning, all those who are afflicted and sorely pressed. When we read the story of the Crucifixion, we are reminded that in Christ God stands in solidarity even with those feel forsaken or abandoned by God.

When we pray, we open ourselves up to the movement of the Spirit of Christ, which is always the Spirit of solidarity, of reconciliation, and of love in action. Prayer is an expression of solidarity that leads us into further action; and, conversely, our actions of solidarity and advocacy are expressions of prayer.

For those of you who have heard me pray aloud during a worship service, you might have heard me conclude prayers like this: “When we don’t know how to pray, God’s Spirit cries out within us in sighs too deep for words.” I didn’t invent this phrase — it’s just an adaptation of the words of the Apostle Paul, from his letter to the church in Rome: “Likewise, the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.” (Romans 8:26-27, NRSV translation)

Just before these lines, Paul writes of hope in the midst of the suffering of creation: “We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For by hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” (Romans 8:22-25)

All creation is groaning with strife. This morning, this past week, this past month, we’ve heard those groans in a most loud and painful way. And in the face of division and tragedy, it is often difficult to know how to pray, much less what else can be done. Yet Paul links the groaning of creation in the midst of suffering with the groaning of our own hearts in prayer. When we join together in prayer for those who are hurting, we link ourselves to the cries of creation and find ourselves, there, in the heart of God. Prayer links us to Christ in solidarity with the groaning of creation.

Prayer is solidarity. And solidarity is prayer.

One of the central tasks of the Christian community is to proclaim good news — and it is difficult, sometimes seemingly impossible, to do so when faced with such a proliferation of tragic news. Yet I am reminded, today, of the Apostle Paul’s words — that in the midst of the suffering of creation, there is something being born, something being brought to life — the hoped-for redemption, not only of humanity, but of the cosmos.

And so we pray, and we act. In the words of pastor and hymn writer Fred Kaan: “For the healing of the nations, Lord, we pray with one accord; for a just and equal sharing of the things that earth affords; to a life in of love and action help us rise and pledge our word.”

May our prayers join together with the prayers of the world, with the groaning of creation, and lead us out into the world as a sign of solidarity and love in action. And as we go into the world, may we be reminded of Jesus’ promise to us, as written in the conclusion of Matthew’s gospel:

“Look, I myself will be with you every day until the end of this present age.”

Grace and peace be with us all.