Monthly Archives: November 2024

Finding green shoots of hope – everywhere

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Hope is the theme of the first Sunday of Advent. It is the hope candle, the first one, we light on the Advent wreath today.

But I must admit after reading the scripture assigned for the start of thie new year in the church calendar (Luke 21:25-36), the Gospel from Luke did not initially feel like an Advent-themed scripture. For one thing, Jesus points to fresh leaves on a fig tree, a sign of coming summer. Summer? When winter in the northern hemisphere is bearing down upon us?

After all, shouldn’t we be reading Christmas stories and singing Christmas carols already, like they are doing in the malls? We’re getting our shovels out and snow blowers primed, not looking at green leaves. Admittedly, many of us might rather skip over Advent, its call to spiritual discipline, slower pacing, prayer and perspective, and rush headlong into the frenzy of the season.

The word, Advent, from Latin, means “coming” and refers to the comings of the Lord: the coming of Jesus at the first Christmas two thousand years ago; the second coming of Christ at the end of all time; and the coming of Jesus into our lives every day and in moments we perceive as grace-filled.

When we work at it a bit and unpeel the layers of this Lukan scripture we nevertheless find clues that plant it firmly in this season of preparation, anticipation and longing called Advent. In short, hope undergirds this Gospel.

“Then he told them a parable: ‘Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near’” (v.29-30).

One quick Google search reveals that figs are mentioned in the bible 50 times (Bolen, n.d.), because they were so common in that time and place, being a part of their economy and a staple of their diet.

A recent fig excavation in Ireland found 2,000-year-old remains of a fig, preserved because it had been burned (RTE Media, 2024). Among other things, this archeological discovery points to a lifestyle adopted so far north and so far away from Rome. Considered an exotic fruit, figs were enjoyed not just in regions governed by the Roman empire nearer the equator, but in areas of Europe not controlled by Rome. Figs found in the least expected places: Ireland.

Jesus often used fig trees as symbols and metaphors in his teaching. He used common, relatable images of people’s lives to make a point about living in God’s kingdom. But God’s kingdom on earth, not in heaven. “Your will be done on earth,” the Lord’s Prayer points us to focus here, on the ground.

Annie Dillard said, “The Gospel is less about how to get into the Kingdom of Heaven after you die, and more about how to live in the Kingdom of Heaven before you die.” If it were the other way around, why would Jesus spend so much time talking about coins, treasures buried in the earth, fig leaves and trees, lost sheep, seeds and mustard trees? The point of the Gospel is to point us to this life and finding hope and ways of relating to each other and the world that reflect kingdom values.

Admittedly, this perspective on faith requires some hard work. And maybe that’s why we shy away from that ‘kingdom on earth’ perspective. To nurture hope as a Christian is not to remain passive in facing seemingly hopeless situations. It is to be active in faith.

Perhaps the most striking reason for observing an intentional Advent season prior to the festivities of Christmas is the reality common to us all, the reality of death and grief. Approaching Christmas can be the most difficult for those especially experiencing this season for the first time without their loved one, or for those preparing for their last one.

In no other circumstance of life can Advent be such a gift. To slow things down. To temper expectations. To practice contemplation, value simplicity, and give permission to those who suffer, give them space, room to just be and do whatever – without the stringent expectations of the hustle culture and anxious disposition to doing what is expected. Here is an opportunity to say, ‘stop’. Breathe. And reset.

In dealing with grief, it is important to do something to acknowledge the holidays (Morris, 2018). Because grief is unique to each one of us, for some it might mean doing the same thing you’ve always done, or it may mean doing things a little bit differently this year.

The key is to do something, however simple and small – even if at first you might not feel like it. Being hopeful is not a feeling. It is doing the right thing for you.

So, on the one hand, don’t do what is expected. Don’t do what the world thinks you should do. Don’t pretend to be all joyful and happy. Don’t join the consumer frenzy and hustle or put pressure on yourself to be a certain way.

Lower your expectations. Tell yourself it’s okay to do less this year. Give yourself permission to be sad and cry during the holidays. On the other hand, do something. Don’t do nothing. Don’t wait for feelings to be your signal to act.

Many faith communities will offer a Blue Christmas service. A very valuable ministry, to introduce sacred text, Advent hymns, comforting social support, and to hold contemplative, accepting space to an otherwise loud and intense season. Perhaps you’ve once attended a Blue Christmas service. If you would like to attend one put on by Ottawa churches this month, I can give you a couple options where I know they are happening.

What are personal things people who struggle with loss and grief can do in the weeks leading to Christmas?

Lighting a candle in honour and memory of a loved one. Making or buying a special tree ornament or stocking you can hang on the tree. Asking everyone at a family gathering to write down a fond memory they have of a loved one and place those written memories in a special vase or keepsake box that you can read together later in the season. Making a donation to a charity in a loved one’s memory. Volunteering in a hospital, food bank or serving food at an Out of the Cold program. These are all meaningful activities to engage.

The point is, Advent is such an important season to observe, before launching mindlessly into the Christmas festivities and frenzy which, let’s be honest, are by and large self-serving and self-indulging. Especially in a time that feels hopeless, there are things you can do to shift that focus – meaningful things – to discover hope again.

Find green shoots of hope wherever you can. Look for the proverbial fig leaf, even if in places you might never have expected. And do something. And if, this year, you cannot …

Some people and communities are doing great things. Celebrate them. Others are doing small but important things. Thank them. Others are doing courageous things. Appreciate them. Keep hope strong. Keep hope alive (Reich, 2024).

References:

Bolen, T. (n.d.). Fig Trees. Retrieved from https://www.bibleplaces.com/fig-trees/

Morris, S. (2018). Overcoming grief (2nd ed.). Robinson.

Reich, R. (2024, November 19). How to hope in a hope-less time [blog]. https://robertreich.substack.com/p/how-to-hope-in-a-near-hopeless-time?

RTE Media. (2024, November 14). On a roll: Fig from 2,000 years ago found at Dublin archaeological site [website]. https://www.rte.ie/news/dublin/2024/1113/1480725-fig-excavation-dublin/

Water, water, everywhere – a sermon for baptism

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Photo by Ernie Dickey (British Columbia Photos, posted November 15, 2024) https://www.facebook.com/groups

Leyla is baptized today. The water in the font is not moving that much. But when we spilled it over her head, you could hear the splash and see the fall of water from her head back into the font. Water, even when it appears still, is still moving.

In baptism Water and Word come together. It is the word of promise, of hope, that amidst all the struggles and storms of life, God will never forsake Leyla. God will always, no matter what, travel with her on the life’s journey. God will always love her.

But you can’t have baptism without water. And if you think the Word part is difficult to understand, water, too, is a tricky thing, this primary conveyor of grace and meaning for us today.

On the one hand we dream and recite scripture about walking beside quiet and still waters (Psalm 23). We read about the river of life flowing through the new Jerusalem (Revelation). We consider the vital nourishment rainfall gives to the earth so desperate and dry. Water is a gift. It is necessary, required for life.

Yet, sometimes those waters can get rough. Indeed, being in the water can be dangerous business. In the Psalm today, the water mentioned is not some gentle, mountain stream or a placid pond. We’re not talking here about a dreamy Hallmark waterfall.

The pounding waves described in Psalm 93 are more akin to the weather bomb affecting the west coast of BC this past week. More like the deadly flood waters that devastated Spanish towns in a few terrifying hours, last month. The violent and deadly Noah’s flood from Genesis (chapter 7) describes this contrasting aspect of water images from the bible.

Getting into the water, we confront our fears. Getting into the water we become vulnerable. We know the dangers that lurk for humans who are not fish. We can even die, submerged under the water too long.

Waters, even baptismal waters, symbolize both peaceful religious experience as well as potential danger. Waters, even baptismal waters, take us out of our comfort zones as much as they bring comfort and joy.

Herein lies the paradox of faith, actually, between life and death. Two apparent extremes can co-exist on the same line at the same time. Both/And. Peaceful waters. Stormy waters. Same place.

The oceans on this planet represent the most mysterious and unknown region yet to be discovered. Its depths have not yet been fully plumbed. It’s a place of fear and danger, of mystery. As much as oceans determine our weather – la Nina or el Nino – and the amount of water we receive and need, they represent a vast unknowing.

What a beautiful metaphor for God. What a profound image for Jesus who invites us on the journey to follow him our whole life long. Baptism is the Christlike means to launch each of us on this journey of faith. Water and the Word combine to enrich our faith and give us hope.

Indeed, we sail over the tempestuous sea of life. Our world is in storm mode – it may be on a personal level but also on national, and definitely global levels. Danger threatens all about. No wonder we are afraid.

And yet, only when the water moves, and the more it moves, the more energy for life it gives. The powerful impact of waves gets us moving! The ocean, after all, is alive with energy: Roiling waves, crashing surf. According to CBC Radio’s The Current, scientists are now trying to harness the power behind those waves. And the impact could be staggering, providing electricity, experts believe, for up to a third of American homes (Galloway, 2024).

As we ride those turbulent seas, Christ is on the ship with us. We may be perplexed facing a great mystery. We may be afraid to move, to change. But Jesus is with us. Jesus is aware, he knows – even when from our perspective he seems to be asleep in the back of the boat (Mark 4: 35-40). With the Psalmist we can declare, “He who keeps watch will neither slumber nor sleep” (Psalm 121:3).

Today the church celebrates the reign of Christ. Christ is king. What does that mean? In the Gospel, Jesus tells Pilate that the kingdom of God is not of this world (John 18:33-37). Who and what Christ Jesus is about doesn’t look like the powers of this world.

The water images from the bible suggest the reign of Christ is not one-dimensional. Jesus is in it all – the rain that nourishes, the surf that pounds, the tsunami that terrifies, the floods that wash it all away, the waters that calm and refresh. The contrasts may befuddle and bewilder us. The journey of faith takes us right into the middle of the ambiguity. Yet, Jesus is right there, with us, giving us energy, giving us life – new life.

Jesus watches us and keeps us, no matter what storms we face, no matter how poor the prognosis is, no matter how uncertain the horizon looks, no matter how badly the waves threaten to wash us overboard. Jesus watches us because he loves us and sees us as we truly are. This is the baptismal promise.

Because even when we are submerged in water, the only way out is up. It is the first thing we do when coming out of the waters. To open our mouths and gasp for air we have no choice but to look upwards, to the hills, to the horizon, to the heavens, to the one who reaches out to us.

Christ will stay on board with us until there are no more seas to sail. Jesus will guide our days and travel with us on the journey until the storm clouds break, the sun’s rays shine through, and we can look up again.

Thanks be to God.

Reference:

Galloway, M. (Host). (2024, November 21). Harnessing the oceans waves [transcript]. In The Current. CBC Radio. https://www.cbc.ca/radio/thecurrent/thursday-november-21-2024-full-transcript-1.7390604

God waits, for us

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Towards the sun, through the flame (photo by Martin Malina, October 2024)

Despite condemnation of these acts by public leaders (Alhmidi, 2024), temples, synagogues, mosques and churches in Canada are burning.

A House of Commons report published in September catalogued a chart of statistics showing, by a breakdown of provinces and territories, how between 2010 and 2022 the number of police-reported cases of arson causing significant damage to religious institutions steadily increased from 13 incidents annually to 74.

These stats reflect not only damage to material property but acts of violence against people on site (Government of Canada, 2024 September 16).

Religion has become a target for people’s pain. A church near Eganville (Ottawa Valley) covered their building with tin late last century to protect it in the wake of suspicious fires that destroyed the Lutheran and Catholic church buildings in town at the time. They call it “the tin church”.

Visions of burning churches capture our imaginations. These visions stir up fear and despair. And one of the first things we want to do is to circle the wagons. What is the world coming to?

The Gospel for today (Mark 13:1-8) was first heard in the Jewish-Roman war of 66-70 C.E. Ultimately, in this war the temple in Jerusalem was demolished never to be rebuilt. It didn’t look good for the people of faith in the day, as the outward signs of their religion were torn down and burned.

It feels like ‘the end’ whenever the beloved symbols, forms, and outward appearances of our lives at best change, at worst are destroyed, especially in dramatic fashion and/or through violent conflict.

We feel like we are in the midnight hours of a life when we suddenly lose what we have cherished and become attached to over time. It is a trauma from which many do not recover. Some people struggle under the weighty pain of regret regarding past behaviours. Many today face incredible and what can often feel like and may actually be insurmountable obstacles.

We shake our heads in disbelief. How can the goodness of God prevail in the midst of this harsh reality? Is faith just a pipe dream? Is the kingdom of God merely some illusion to distract ourselves in one of many ways we amuse ourselves to escape from this reality? We look to the Black Friday deals.

There is word, a phrase and an image of Jesus the writer to the Hebrews uses that caught my attention. In verse 12 (Hebrews 10), “When Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God, and since then he has been waiting …”

The writer of Hebrews bears witness to God’s great acts in Jesus of overcoming death and the grave and rising to new life. And then the writer of Hebrews pictures Jesus as sitting down and waiting. You can almost hear a pin drop. There is Jesus dusting off his hands with an attitude of mission-accomplished and slumping into an easy chair with a satisfied grin (Wallace, 2009).

Is this a picture of Christ the first hearers of scripture needed to hear as their temple burned? Isn’t Jesus supposed to rescue people in trouble? Swoop down and pull us out of the hellfire? Doesn’t he care? We get a rather passive image of Jesus sitting, waiting, and doing nothing. We don’t want this Jesus – a God who waits!

Facing the craziness of this world today, trying to cope with all our losses, we want a strong man who will make things right and make us great again!

Hebrews (chapter 10) cites a beloved passage from Jeremiah (31:33-34) where the prophet announces God’s vision of writing God’s covenant, God’s promise, on our hearts and minds (Hebrews 10:16).

What is implied is that the life of faith is not a matter of living under external measures. Our minds, our hearts – that’s where God goes. The life of faith is not validated by blind compliance to the outside demands of the law. The life of faith, rather, is Spirit-driven and a Spirit-given ability to live into the new covenant (Fahey, 2009). In other words, people of faith are called to live a new life, a changed life, from the inside out.

The early church had to hear again the gracious word of God. That is the purpose of this letter to the Hebrews. In facing their losses, they needed to hear again the Gospel promise that God will be faithful (Hebrews 5:12). God has faith in us. God believes in us, trusts us to do our part, to make our move. To be loving. To see in the hearts of everyone we meet the face of God, to be gracious and compassionate, and generous.

This is not a cockeyed optimism. It is not a life based on emotional reactions to outward circumstances. Rather, it is a life practised in hope and trust.

Jesus waits for us to take responsibility for our actions – past and present. Jesus waits for us to forgive ourselves, show compassion to ourselves, as God has already forgiven us and first loved us. We cannot have outward renewal unless and until we experience for ourselves inner renewal and change.

We may not see the victory of God in Christ with the naked eye. But we can hear it again with the naked ear (Long, 2009). The message here is that if you want to know the truth, pay attention not to the evil you see out there, but to the Gospel you hear and receive in here.

We do not rely on external circumstances or outward legalities or protocols to validate our faith nor to justify our actions. Instead, we find, in and through God’s grace, a pathway through devastation and suffering to freedom and salvation.

The time of loss and change signifies an ending to be sure. It is also a new beginning for people of deep faith. To have new life, all things must grow and change. It is no accident that the final words of today’s Gospel are: “This is but the beginning of the birth pangs” (Mark 13:8).

The midnight hour feels heavy buried deep in the shadows. The nighttime of our lives hides all things true from view. But dawn is just a few hours away. In the concluding words of Hebrews 10 (25): “Encourage one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching.”

We need to make the move, towards the light. Because the sun will rise. The son is coming. And that is the surest promise of faith.

References:

Alhmidi, M. (2024, October 15). Video of Trudeau remarks edited to remove his condemnation of church fires. The Canadian Press. https://www.thecanadianpressnews.ca/fact_checking/video-of-trudeau-remarks-edited-to-remove-his-condemnation-of-church-fires/article_d82061e0-4cf5-55c7-83f0-f586a1016a1a.html

Fahey, J. E. (2009). Hebrews 10:11-14 (15-18), 19-25; Theological perspective. In D. Bartlett & B. Brown Taylor (Eds.), Preaching the revised common lectionary; Feasting on the word; Year B, volume 4 (pp. 302-307). WJK Press.

Government of Canada. (2024, September 16). Inquiry of ministry Q-2825. House of Commons. Retrieved on 14 November 2024 from https://smartcdn.gprod.postmedia.digital/nationalpost/wp-content/uploads/2024/11/Q-2825-Order.pdf

Long, T. G. (2009). Hebrews 10:11-14 (15-18), 19-25; Exegetical perspective. In D. Bartlett & B. Brown Taylor (Eds.), Preaching the revised common lectionary; Feasting on the word; Year B, volume 4 (pp. 302-307). WJK Press.

Wallace, P. M. (2009). Hebrews 10:11-14 (15-18), 19-25; Homiletical perspective. In D. Bartlett & B. Brown Taylor (Eds.), Preaching the revised common lectionary; Feasting on the word; Year B, volume 4 (pp. 302-307). WJK Press.

Love – the override button (a funeral sermon)

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View over the Ottawa River at CFB Petawawa, August 2023 (photo by Martin Malina)

One thing Garfield loved to do was drive. When he still lived in Ottawa, he was determined to drive to bible study every Monday even in freezing rain. And as long as he was able, he drove.

In Petawawa, it was his precious cart that he scooted around in the neighbourhood off Laurentian Drive, sometimes pushing the limits of its speed. It’s as if he had a secret override button, that when he pressed it, it would give him just a bit more torque, a little more juice. I think he loved that.

We started the service today with a thanksgiving for baptism. Water.

At a wedding reception I attended last week, I sat beside someone who worked on cruise ships for almost twenty years. I asked him about what stood out in his memory, working on a boat sailing the world over.

He said what stuck out for him were those few times “Man overboard!” was called, those horrifying instances when it was believed someone had fallen into the water.

He told me about a time when a pop music group was celebrating New Years. Its lead singer was especially exuberant and tried to dance on the railing at the back of the ship. His body was never found.

The contrast struck my reflective cruise ship manager. On the one hand going on a cruise symbolizes vacation and fun and good times. Those “man overboard” occasions, on the other hand, were tragic events. How one extreme could exist so close alongside its opposite bewildered him. And me.

Indeed, being in the water can be dangerous business. On the one hand we dream and recite scripture about walking beside quiet and still waters (Psalm 23). Yet, sometimes those waters can get rough. Noah’s flood (Genesis) was not a dreamy Hallmark waterfall. More like the deadly flood waters that devastated Spanish towns in a few terrifying hours, a couple of weeks ago.

Getting into the water, we confront our fears. Getting into the water we become vulnerable. We know the dangers that lurk for humans who are not fish. We can even die, submerged under the water too long.

Waters, even baptismal waters, symbolize both peaceful religious experience as well as potential danger. Waters, even baptismal waters, take us out of our comfort zones as much as they bring comfort and joy.

We gave thanks for baptism at the beginning of this funeral service for Garfield. I want to tell you a baptism story from his life. For the longest time Garfield expressed his desire to renew and reaffirm his baptism. And when A put in the in ground pool at their home, Garfield spent a lot of time over the last couple of summers lounging in that pool.

And so, last July we all got into the pool. I could still see Garfield’s face. He wanted to do this, but I could see a bit of fear in his eyes. And before I could say anything, he had steeled his energy and dipped under. He had just pressed that secret override button.

This was a beautiful experience for me to witness. Garfield expressed his baptismal faith amidst the growing physical challenges he faced. Garfield’s baptismal faith was the marriage between water, will, and divine promise.

Later in the summer he went into the pool again. In those same waters he had an episode that triggered his recent hospitalization. Herein lies the paradox of faith, actually, between life and death. Two apparent extremes can co-exist on the same line at the same time. Both/And. Peaceful waters. Stormy waters. Same place.

In scripture we find many such paradoxes; In First John, between fear and love: “Love casts out fear” (1 John 4:18). When love casts out fear, it is not to eliminate it. It is to put it in its proper place. As long as we live on this earth, we will have fear. But love puts our fears in perspective, in the larger perspective. As Garfield did so often, we need to press the love-override button.

While I could already see some trepidation in Garfield’s eyes on the day he reaffirmed his baptism, what carried us through that experience was an overriding love.

He knew the love of God for him. He believed in the promise of God to be with him. Tears came to his eyes every time he spoke of God’s love for him. And, of course, by that I also mean the deep and committed love he felt from his so-called angels – P & A – who lived with him these last years and watched over his days.

When you enter their pool down steps into the water, you basically face the Ottawa River direction, and just over the trees in that direction are the Laurentian Hills. I like to think that even as Garfield descended into the waters, even as he faced both the joys of faith and the fears of being human, he was also literally facing the direction of the hills. No wonder one of his favourite verses from the bible is from Psalm 121: “I look to the hills from whence is my help to come?”

Love calls us to take the long view. I think that’s why Garfield often mentioned wanting to get in a helicopter to see Petawawa from above. Did he ever do that? (Well, he is doing it today!)

Because looking to the hills means lifting our gaze upward. It is the first thing we do when coming out of the waters. To open our mouths and gasp for air we have no choice but to look upwards, to the hills, to the horizon, to the heavens.

Indeed, we sail over the tempestuous sea of life. Our world is in storm mode – it may be on a personal level but also on national, and definitely global levels.

But Christ is on the ship with us. Jesus is in command – even when he seems to be asleep (Mark 4: 35-40). With the Psalmist we can declare, “He who keeps watch will neither slumber nor sleep” (Psalm 121:3).

Jesus watches us to protect us and keep us, no matter what storms we face, no matter how poor the prognosis is, no matter how uncertain the horizon looks, no matter how badly the waves threaten to wash us overboard. Jesus watches us because he loves us and sees us as we truly are. This is the baptismal promise.

Christ will stay on board with us until there are no more seas to sail. Jesus will guide our days and travel with us on the journey until we have climbed the mountain of our lives and reached its peak.

And then, the sky will be the limit. For Garfield, today, it is so.

Thanks be to God.

Jesus’ eye is on the sparrow

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photo by Martin Malina (Aug 26, 2024)

Many of us who love to read fiction, or watch movies, do so not only to find out whodunnit. We continue reading because we expect that a happy or at least satisfyingly good and appropriate ending awaits.

What is more, some hardened book lovers will toil through a dry and thick middle part of a book just to get to the ending trusting it will be well worth the work. Some people in this room today whom I know – not mentioning any names – will even have the audacity to cheat. They will peak ahead to the last page to determine whether or not it is worth their time and energy to plow through those sometimes-boring middle sections of the book.

The lectionary readings for this Sunday deserve a careful reading and re-reading. And you will note that the story of the widow at Zarephath feeding Elijah ends in abundance and promise fulfilled (1 Kings 17:8-16). The lecture in Hebrews about Jesus’ sacrifice for our sins ends in the promise of salvation for those who wait for God. That text ends by explicitly stating that when Jesus comes again it’s not to deal with sin, but to save people (Hebrews 9:24-28).

Judgement and sin are not the end of the story. Mercy, grace, salvation and promise-fulfilled are.

When we read this sacred text thousands of years after it was first written, what do we hear? What do we say? What do we believe about what’s important in our faith?

Last month, the father of liberation theology, Gustavo Gutiérrez, died at age 96. Once considered a revolutionary, his notion of God’s preferential option for the poor, his idea of empathy and advocacy for the poor, have influenced the social teaching of the church over the last century (Friskics-Warren, 2024 October 24).

According to Lutheran theology God is revealed most clearly in the suffering and death of Jesus. The cross therefore becomes the central metaphor for how God comes to us, and in what circumstances of life. God is revealed most profoundly not in glory, not in victory, not in riches, not in greatness, nor in prosperity.

But, rather, in conditions that are the exact opposite. Hence, the missional stance that suggests the voices of the poor, those on the margins, those who don’t have it all, in fact guide the church.

The cross shows us the way of Christ in the world and in the church. It is a humble way, a way of honesty. A way of being vulnerable. A way of asking for and receiving help and love from others. In receiving love we know who we truly are. At very least, we say God is revealed in all things, even in the tragic and sad.

In grief work, we say that sad is not bad (Morris, 2018). Sad may clue us, in fact, to the way forward in faith. What we initially ignore, dismiss, discard, pity, even despise in others and in ourselves may clue us, invite us into the truth of faith.

I think the woman gave her two cents worth, literally, because she trusted God. Hers was the faith in trusting that ultimately what awaited her at the end of her life was not judgement and sin. At the end, for her, was the embrace of a loving God for eternity. What has she to lose?

From his great sermon on the mount, we learn something important about Jesus verified in this Gospel today. Jesus’ eye is on the sparrow, on the littlest bird (Matthew 10:29). Therefore, we know that he watches, not to judge, not to put pressure on us to perform righteously, not to goad us to make a good example for others, not to make us great. No.

Jesus watches to protect us. To love us. To hold us through thick and thin.

The end of our story, your story, is good. Trust that life which God gives, reigns! Trust that love, which is still expressed from time to time in the world, reigns, in the end. Trust that God will not forsake you, that God will not forsake the little ones, that God will give voice in our weakness, that God will rise in the voices of the poor, in their example to us.

Will we listen? Will we watch where Christ looks?

Reference:

Friskics-Warren, B. (2024, October 24). Gustavo Gutiérrez, father of liberation theology, dies at 96. The New York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/10/23/world/americas/gustavo-gutierrez-dead.html?unlocked_article_code=1.W04.MM2s.LBybnrYFAjNp&smid=em-share

Morris, S. (2018). Overcoming grief (2nd ed.). Robinson.