Fullness of Time

Some days it feels like I’m supposed to be a cheerleader at a funeral.

Some days it feels like I am doing hospice work

with a patient who is unaware of their own impending death.

Holy Shit

At the end of July I developed two of my previous posts on lamenting (Lament and The Lost Art of Lament) into a sermon. As part of the sermon I invited people to write down their laments on a piece of paper that was photocopied to look like a brick. The staff at church and I assembled the bricks into a “wailing wall” that is displayed at the entrance to our worship space.

I sat down at my desk the following Tuesday and began reading through all the laments that were emptied out onto the paper bricks in worship on that Sunday morning. There were laments about the state of our nation and the political process. There were laments about the civility of our society, random violence and even specific examples taken from the news. There were laments about the aging process, health concerns, illness, broken relationships, and personal failures. And of course, there were laments about the death.

When I finished reading the laments I sat quietly for a time marveling at the resiliency of the human spirit.