Humbly Pray

“Lake Street is gone.” 

That is one text message I received this morning that had me pouring over social media posts and news reports of what is and isn’t still standing in Minneapolis and St. Paul. 

It is unreal what we have watched play out in Minnesota over the past week. And while I don’t really have understanding for it, the feelings I keep hearing repeated are “sad” and “heavy”. 

Monday was Memorial Day. I am proud to be an American. I believe that my country represents freedom and diversity and opportunity. And men and women have sacrificed deeply for those things for generations.

Hanging on the wall in the Moose Lake Post Office are the images of Moises Langhorst and Matthew Milczark, two young men who died serving as Marines in 2004. I graduated high school with them in 2003. Memorial Day is an important day to remember individuals who have selflessly walked into war zones on behalf of their country, and we must always remember.

But this year, the word that kept coming to mind on Memorial Day was humility, not a word I normally equate with American pride, but a trait so desperately needed in current times. As we fumble our way through the new social norms of a worldwide pandemic, selflessness and generosity line up beside entitlement and fear, and a growing wall of defensiveness is visible just beyond our PPE. 

Then it happened. George Floyd was held to the ground, held to his death, by police officers. And the video began to circulate social media. And heartbreak and outrage. And alongside the raw grief, that horrific event was manipulated into political speeches. And again, the word humility stirred in me. 

And two major responses seemed to flow out of the next few days. The first stunningly beautiful. Black lives matter. Regardless of your feelings toward the connotations, there is no arguing that truth. People of all races, ages, religions have gathered in protest and support of George Floyd as a human being. He deserved dignity. And life.

There has been a pattern of injustice in my home state that cannot continue. Black voices have been silenced. Black men have been targeted by police over and over again. We scratch the surface of racial prejudice and wrong doing by simply acknowledging it. Humility.

The second response was startling. The looting. The rioting. The ugly devastation. But, those big fires got attention. For days, my local, national, and even international headlines have all revolved around Minneapolis.

And the burned-out cars, the rioting in the streets, the overnight takeovers with no law enforcement is a chaos I’ve never seen this close to home. It is reminiscent of the protest fires in Haiti, and my gut reaction is similar. “Why?” But I have learned that this type of reaction is not a thing I will understand, with my particular background, being white and American. I’ve never been driven to protest by a desperate feeling of being truly voiceless.

Still, as I wonder at the cost of activism and hope that some good will grow from all that’s been destroyed, we learn that people have traveled in to provoke, to destroy, to intentionally cause more division. And the governor has called in the National Guard, and we are praying that tonight will not be more of the same, as businesses and homes are boarded up and debris is swept from the streets.

And the proof is in in reports and images of people coming together. Communities rallying around one another. Bringing in groceries where the stores are closed or looted. Donating. Cleaning. Caring. Loving. Praying. Humbly.

And the news outlets seem to want to make me believe we are heading into a race war. I wouldn’t believe that, but I also wouldn’t believe most things that have happened recently. And instead of anger, we desperately need humility.


So, I have a few prayers:

Lord, help me to walk in humility, open to the experience of others, the guidance of Your Holy Spirit, and the correction of my misconceptions.

Lord, in my whiteness, may I have the humility to acknowledge my privilege, humility to ask forgiveness, and humility to stand up for any of my brothers and sisters, no matter how different they are from myself.

Lord, may we have humility to love our neighbors.

Lord, may we have humility to rely on our neighbors.

Lord, as believers, may you grant us humility to take the lead in breaking down racial barriers.

Lord, as Americans, may we approach other nations and one another with humility.

Lord, may our leaders have the humility to place the people they serve above their political aspirations.

Lord, grant the hurting humility to heal.

Lord, grant the oppressed humility as well as renewed strength.

When power is abused, humble us.

When evil is glorified, humble us.

When division allures us, humble us.

When we humble ourselves and pray, heal our land.


2 Corinthians 4

Therefore, since through God’s mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart. Rather, we have renounced secret and shameful ways; we do not use deception, nor do we distort the word of God. On the contrary, by setting forth the truth plainly we commend ourselves to everyone’s conscience in the sight of God. And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing. The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers, so that they cannot see the light of the gospel that displays the glory of Christ,who is the image of God. For what we preach is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ.

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.

It is written: “I believed; therefore I have spoken.” Since we have that same spirit of faith, we also believe and therefore speak, because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus and present us with you to himself. All this is for your benefit, so that the grace that is reaching more and more people may cause thanksgiving to overflow to the glory of God.

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

Big Hope, Little Hope

Big hope. Little hope. I am so grateful for both.

Let me explain.

When I was in college, one movie trilogy in particular explained hope to me in a way I’d never understood it. (And it wasn’t Star Wars, although for those who know me, that’s a commendable guess.) It was Lord of the Rings.

The speech Sam gives Frodo as they face their likely demise on the side of Mt Doom shook me in a good way. Sam asks Frodo if he remembers the Shire (their home they’d traveled far from) and talks about things they are missing back home, and the one that stuck out to me was strawberries and cream. “Do you remember the taste of strawberries?”, Sam asks. And Frodo doesn’t. Sam has to remind him.

They had traveled so far, and their circumstances and feelings had completely blinded Frodo to everything but the current darkness. And there is Sam, talking about strawberries and cream.

I have found in times of darkness and confusion and anxiety, one of life’s most meaningful gifts is having friends who will remind me of the strawberries.

In this analogy, strawberries represent the little hopes. Little hopes for the future have been of great importance to me, and I think, to most of us recently. A few of my little hopes are for an afternoon at Target Field, a day at the beach, meeting friends at a coffee shop, pretty much anything with family or friends, hugging my Haitian elders, and having the Grace Village kids sneak upstairs to see if there is any candy in my grocery bags.

Your little hopes are probably different than mine. Maybe a concert. A visit with a grandparent. A spa day. A day your children spend at school. A morning at the gym. Getting lost in a crowd. I know I’m not the only one with relatively small fantasies right now. And that’s ok. We have to remember the strawberries. We have to remind each other about strawberries.

Those little hopes help give us the stamina as we focus our gaze on big hope.

You may have experienced moments today that you only dreamt of a few weeks ago. Stores are reopening, people are venturing out to see one another, and our local grocery store is making construction progress on a drive thru Caribou Coffee that I’m wishing will start brewing sweet espresso any day now.

Yes, many of those little wonderful moments we dream about and can almost taste are bound to happen again. They may be sooner than we think. But things might never be the “same” same. 

The reality is that there is no guarantee of tomorrow for any of us. And we might arrive at those anticipated moments without some of the people we had wanted to share them with. That isn’t just because of the current crisis in our world. That is the broken state our world has known since the Garden of Eden.

And that is why I put all my big hope in Jesus. And peace fills my soul. It doesn’t always fill my emotions, and I have to hunt for strawberries. (I think that used to just be called counting your blessings.) But, I do have an inner joy that runs deeper than I can explain because it doesn’t come from me. It is a gift from my Father God.

I’ve been back in the states for eight whole weeks already, and I can’t believe how quickly that time has gone. Every day I get messages from people I love in Haiti and wish I was there. But, I am also grateful to be with my family here, and I know I would be miserable in Haiti, unable to get here. I have to trust the path I’m on and the Lord who lights that path.

Working with elderly people has by default turned my attention to the eternal. Several of the wonderful elders I moved to Haiti to serve have passed away since I first met them, or they have lost spouses or other family members. But I move forward with great big hope that we will be reunited in heaven along with all who have ever believed.

So, fix your heart on big hope and maybe let your eyes adjust to the light of a thousand little tangible hopes for now.

 

“We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. According to the Lord’s own word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left till the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage each other with these words.”

1 Thessalonaians 4:14-18