Sermons

A Lament for Our Time

The Rev. Rebecca Harrison
September 23, 2007

Lament

• Hey, God! Down here! Yeah, way down here!
• Keep looking – I’m just below that clump of trees, underneath the canopy.
• See me now? Well, it’s about time.
• I’ve been wanting to have a chat with you about –
• well, you probably know what about.
• That’s right. Life.
• My life, to be particular.
• Mine, and the lives of the people I know and love.
• Well, and some that I know but am having a hard time loving, as well.
• Just in case you missed it,
• two years ago, we experienced
• as close to a living hell as I ever care to get.
• That was two years ago, God.
• Life as we knew it, here in New Orleans,
• no longer exists.
• Katrina roared through,
• with Rita close on her heels.
• Those twin storm sisters left utter devastation in their wake.
• Homes were destroyed,
• shaken off their very foundations,
• left to rot, mold and mildew.
• But it wasn’t just homes, God.
• It was lives –
• people’s lives –
• my life.
• All of us were shaken off our foundations,
• and unlike many of our homes,
• we’re still not on sure footings.
• Two years ago, after the storms,
• I was sure things would get better.
• After all, we live in the United States,
• the greatest country in the world.
• After all, this is New Orleans,
• one of the greatest cities in this country.
• Two years ago, I knew we could count on our governments –
• nation and state –
• to help us make things right again.
• And there were promises made –
• money
• housing
• services
• support.
• I must admit, some progress has been made.
• Slowly, the FEMA trailers are moving out,
• and families are moving back in
• to live in their homes and communities.
• The restaurants have opened back up,
• and there are now more than before.
• Who could have imagined that?
• But God, it’s been two years now,
• two long years.
• And instead of getting better,
• things often seem to be getting worse.
• There’s the crime rate, for example.
• While we never had the lowest rate around,
• it’s gotten really bad since Katrina.
• Seems like there’s a report of a murder every day.
• And now the experts are saying
• that the suicide rate has gone up, as well.
• That’s really scary,
• but I can almost – almost –
• understand it.
• People are depressed,
• more now than two years ago.
• Because, you see,
• things aren’t getting better
• the way we all thought they would.
• And now, more people are leaving
• moving out of the area,
• out of harm’s way,
• out of distress and, they hope,
• into something safer, calmer, happier.
• That means fewer family around,
• fewer friends,
• fewer people to take the available jobs,
• fewer people to pay for services –
• which, of course,
• means a higher cost per person
• for those same services.

• That’s my life, in general.
• And I hope you don’t think I’m complaining too much,
• but there’s another issue that I need to address with you
• as long as I have your attention.
• It’s the little matter of this church of yours –
• the church I’ve been a part of for so many years.
• God, I’ve always thought of this as my church,
• and I need my church to be a safe place,
• a place where I feel welcomed,
• and needed,
• and comfortable,
• where things don’t keep changing
• just for the sake of change –
• Or at least, that’s the way it feels right now.
• Because, you see, things are changing,
• and I don’t have any control anymore.
• Our pastor left, and while he certainly wasn’t perfect,
• he was our pastor,
• and we knew what to expect
• from him and from the church.
• Now there’s this new person, this interim pastor,
• and hardly anything she does
• is like our previous pastor.
• There are changes in our worship,
• changes in our procedures,
• and rumors of changes
• in our leadership.
• I liked the way we did things before –
• before the storm,
• before our pastor left,
• before this new person came.
• Now I’m not sure of anything, anymore,
• and I can’t control anything.
• It’s been taken out of my hands,
• and I just don’t like it!
• Can’t you fix this, God?
• It feels like you’ve abandoned us,
• abandoned New Orleans,
• abandoned our church,
• abandoned me.
• Where are you when we need you?
• Where are you when I need you?

Response

• My dear child,
• That’s quite a heavy burden you’re bearing.
• I’m glad you’ve finally decided
• to lay it down,
• and give it over to me.
• I hear the anger
• and frustration
• and fatigue
• in your voice,
• And I see them as well
• in your face
• and your actions.
• You’re tired, exhausted,
• worn down from fighting
• battle after battle,
• as it seems to you,
• exhausted from carrying
• your own personal cross.
• Coming to me is the best thing
• you could do.
• Although I’m sure you realize this,
• you need to hear from me
• that I don’t wave a magic wand,
• and fix everything that you think is broken.
• That’s not what I’m here for.
• I am here exactly for this:
• so that you,
• and all people,
• can come to me
• and lay down your burdens.
• I am here to comfort you,
• to give you hope
• and peace
• and assurance that I am here.
• I have not abandoned you,
• as you seem to think.
• Not at all.
• It is you who has abandoned me.
• You have forgotten that I am here.
• Instead, you think you should be able to control
• every aspect of your life
• your city
• your home
• your family
• your church.
• Sometimes, I even feel that you think
• you can control me,
• That if you tell me what you want,
• I will do or provide it.
• Child, being in relationship with me –
• which is, of course, what I desire most –
• Being in relationship with me
• means letting go of control
• and living in trust.
• You have clearly learned that,
• as much as you’d like to be able
• always to trust your government,
• that’s not always possible.
• And while there are some people
• you can almost always trust,
• there are many you either can’t,
• or are afraid to.
• But you can trust me, always.
• You can trust me to love you,
• to forgive you,
• to comfort you.
• You can trust me to impart wisdom to you,
• to guide you,
• to encourage you.
• You can trust me,
• because I am your God.
• I have created you, and you are mine.
• You are my child, my beloved,
• and I care for those who are mine.

• As you look around now,
• at the devastation in your city,
• Look for me.
• I am here.
• I am in the people who have come,
• from all over the world,
• to help recover and rebuild.
• I am in the wildlife,
• slowly returning to its natural habitat,
• the birds chirping and soaring overhead
• the creepy-crawlies
• the ducks and chickens at the park.
• I am in the trees,
• now growing again,
• and in the flowers, blooming brightly.
• I am in the united efforts
• of many people and organizations
• to restore this city
• to its previous greatness.
• Yes, I am here.

• And I am in your church, as well.
• I know you are frustrated,
• and that you wish things could stay the same
• as they always were.
• But the most important parts are still the same.
• You still have a church home.
• You still have a place and an hour for worship.
• You still have love
• and hope
• and comfort
• and support
• from those who are here,
• in your church
• as well as from me.
• Yes, some things have changed,
• and that is the way of life.
• There will always be change.
• That is part of my plan.
• And you, dear child,
• cannot always control what changes
• or what doesn’t.
• What you can change
• is how you accept the changes that occur.
• Let those changes be opportunities to grow,
• rather than sources of frustration
• because they’re different or
• because it wasn’t your idea.
• Surely you know, beloved,
• that you have never really been in control.
• Sometimes, you’ve been in a position of authority,
• where you have made decisions.
• But sometimes, others must be invited
• to participate in decision-making,
• or they begin to feel as though
• it’s not their church, too,
• that they don’t really belong.
• This church – your church – is here for
• all who wish to worship
• all who wish to participate
• all who wish to contribute
• resources
• time
• talent
• ideas.
• Just as I will not shut you out,
• so I will not shut out anyone
• who feels called to be here.

• So, my dear one, be open
• to my Spirit,
• here in this place
• and in your life.
• Whenever you feel lost
• abandoned
• shut out
• Come to me.
• I will receive you, always.
• I will hear your cry of anguish,
• and I will love
• and accept you.

Amen.