In discussing what we could possibly say on this September Eleventh, the other pastors and I talked about the ways that the events of that September Eleventh twelve years ago threw us into chaos, the ways we didn’t know how to respond as individuals and as a country, the ways in which our narratives failed us.
Our experience is not unlike, after the crucifixion of Jesus, the disciples were traveling on a road, lost in their despair. Nothing had prepared them for the violent and humiliating death of their teacher. In times of great stress and trauma and pain, we lose the ability to make sense, reason fails us, we don’t know how to narrate.
But there’s another way to be. From a distance, Mary stands pondering the crucifixion. She does not wail, does not protest. Scripture tells us she stood there. Ronald Rolheiser notes that for a Hebrew, to stand is a position of strength. Standing, Mary ponders, but not with the intellect; she ponders in the biblical sense, which means to hold, carry, and transform tension so as not to give it back in kind.
And that’s what Mary does. She holds, carries, and transforms the tension so as not to give it back hurt for hurt, anger for anger, an eye for an eye. Sometimes, in doing the work of holding, carrying, and transforming, there is nothing to say. All we can do is stand, in silent strength, waiting until the work of transforming means we can speak and act in ways full of grace and peace.
We invite you to witness and ponder–not ponder with the intellect, but ponder as Mary did on the hill, ponder by holding events and images in the heart–without the cohesive narrative, without resolution. We invite you to hold, to carry, to transform, amidst all the brokenness and chaos. We invite you to notice where God is present in the broken bread, that the Divine is present and inhabits even the brokenness of creation.
Where is God present in your life?
This is what I read in leading The Seattle School community in Eucharist today.