These days I find myself more and more staring at the news in horror, with no words to describe the feelings of anger and outrage and grief.
Sometimes, the only prayer I can utter is the kýrie. Lord have mercy.
Sometimes, I find myself adrift for hours, whether I’m plugged into doomscrolling through journalism or not. I think about the genocides, old and new, which plague this world. I think of the long line of martyrs to the regime, which grows longer and longer every day, many of whose names and lives we will never hear of (did you know in America cops kill an average of 3 people a day? Do you know how many people die in prisons? In poverty? In state-sanctioned violence? From suicide driven by inequality and hatred baked into the marrow of this place?)
Kýrie eléison. Lord have mercy.
I look outside and all I can see is an endless sea of advertisements, corporate greed, poverty, pollution, environmental degradation and colonialism
I feel the ache of it in my bones. I feel the grief of my ancestors. I feel my own grief rising like incense to join theirs.
I hear the blood of the martyrs calling for justice, clamoring so loudly in my mind that I cannot sleep or think, let alone work.
Christe eléison. Christ have mercy.
Sometimes, it breaks me. For a moment. I look at it all and wonder what’s the point. Wonder if there is any value in believing something better will come, given how many losses and setbacks we have endured.
Still, my cynicism never lasts long. It comes and goes like the series of mental illnesses which plague my mind. High tides of sorrow and despair and the ever-present temptation to just give up. Low tides of peace, or at least determination to push through.
I hold out hope. That we will win. That we will see the end of the leviathan and its poison, whether it be during our mortal lifespan, during our time in heaven, or after the second coming. That every second spent fighting is worth it, because the only way we stand a chance at overcoming this is if we keep going. I think of Diane di Prima, who wrote in her revolutionary letters “it will take all of us pushing at the thing from all sides to bring it down.” I think of the generations of Black, Indigenous and other POC who fought against worse, who continue to fight against the beast prowling about the world. I think of the legacy of freedom fighters, peacemakers, advocates, and decent fucking people who have given their lives to the struggle. I think of the survivors who trek on day after day despite the devastation brought to their peoples and their lands. Who am I to say their work was in vain? Who am I to deny that theirs is a live well lived?
Theirs is the work of picking up their cross and following Christ’s way—the way against the oppressor, against injustice, against death as a weapon and the subjugation of humanity. How could I, who call myself a follower of Christ, refuse to do the same?
In the Jewish text Pirkei Avot, we find the oft-quoted “you are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.” We cannot hide ourselves from the ravages and pretend they will simply pass us by. We cannot pretend we have no obligation to join the fight, however we can, wherever we are. To do so would be to become the salt that has lost its taste, the light hidden in darkness. To be silent in the face of immorality and atrocity.
Kýrie eléison. Lord have mercy.
May God grant us eyes that may bear witness to the horrors and envision a better future
May God grant us ears that may hear the calls for justice and listen to those in need, and those who advocate for communities that are not our own
More importantly, may God give us hands capable of doing the work. Whatever that may be for us in this moment, and in the future.
And may God have mercy on us all.
