In all honesty, I’m not really sure anymore how to pray from day to day. I know the obvious topics. They are mostly the same in any situation. I pray for healing of every kind. The names change as my awareness changes. I pray for reconciliation, recovery, and good resolutions. I pray for light to fade away the darkness. I give praise and thanks for well-being and provision. I leave the rest in the hands of the Holy Spirit who, according to Romans 8, prays on my behalf despite and through the unintelligible moaning of my bewilderment. This year, I have had many days like that.
Throughout these months of sheltering in place I have watched my share of other people’s lives, mostly by way of social media posts, YouTube videos, and Zoom. Of the latter, it has been fascinating to watch myself watching them. In my isolation, I have been forced to get used to hearing my recorded voice in presentations and to accepting that the me I see is really me. It has become an everyday mirror that reflects back to me how others have seen me all these years. In this time of isolation, there is literally no place to hide. Others I have spoken to have also commented on the discomfort of seeing their own faces staring back at them. Maybe there’s something else in that noticing that warrants further contemplation.
There is no one word that can best describe 2020. It’s been an interesting and exhausting time to be a contemplative. As much as I think and appreciate that silence in solitude can be prayer, this year has brought emptiness to more realms than just sound. We have witnessed travesties that have left our sensibilities battered and raw. We have seen and heard outcries for justice and the backlash response of oppression. We have had to scramble for safety, redefine normal, question our ideals, and customize our just responses. We feel the need for security, so we hold fast to what is comfortable and familiar, and sometimes choosing instead to stray from what is reasonable. The ultimate commodity that we all reach for is hope.
Sometimes I think we look for hope the way we do for sundry items at the grocery store. We identify the specific aisle and painstakingly read the labels to make sure we have gotten the exact thing that addresses our need. We latch onto the one that makes us feel the best and we prop it up next to the wishful thinking we got last week and the good intentions we brought home before that. The obvious problem is that hope doesn’t work that way. Yet our holiday seasons have been assigned the task of being placeholders for such things. It’s not unexpected then that these times for some have become shallow, while for others deeply disappointing and burdensome. But we keep looking, we keep writing, we keep buying, we keep waiting. It almost sounds like we keep hoping.
Back in the day, when the first Advent storytellers were compiling their notes, times were stark for oppressed people. People who lived in adverse conditions, who faced struggles and obstacles on a daily basis, were waiting for a change-maker, a savior to release them from the bounds of their particular predicaments so that they might be liberated. And as God set that reality in motion, a message was repeated throughout the land, “Do not be afraid.”
There are moments during this time of sheltering in place when we almost feel like we’ve been trapped; times when we can’t seem to get what we need fast enough; when we can’t see far enough down the road to freedom. Imagine God saying, “Do not be afraid.” Take a moment to breathe deeply. Nestle in these holy words. Create sanctuary for a short while to connect to that divine breath. Allow the endorphins and dopamine to bring calm to your being. As the stress starts to give way and the cynicism subsides, hopefulness awakens within us. We might even discover that the hope we are looking for has already emerged. When we glance back, we can see that even in these difficult times our neighbors and loved ones are already making a way for positive change, already asking the right questions, already speaking truth to power. What I see over and again are opportunities for legacy-building and the evidence of our resiliency.
In each of us dwells the potential for awe and amazement ready to be transformed into great and purposeful acts of hospitality, humility, love, and understanding. I wonder if that staring back at ourselves in real-time I mentioned earlier can inform the way we consider legacy. The trouble is that our intentions to change are often aimed at a future time. Yet we have a legacy whether or not we are intentional about what it looks like. The reality is, we are building our legacy even now. Every day becomes a new piece of our legacy and if we’re not authentically considering who we are, how do we know if the legacy we desire – you know, the Jesus-worthy one – is our true embodied legacy?
Maybe this is the time to inhale, to move out of our own way and courageously ask ourselves, “How have I been complicit in oppressive systems that rule my context – this culture that we live in – and the various cultures that we live in that intersect our realities?” And then without fear, because we have the Spirit within us, without the fear of actually brushing up against our own reality, our real legacy can be revealed, whatever that looks like – not who we think we are but who we really are; not children of darkness, but God’s people who walk by the light of Jesus.
We can authentically and honestly reflect on the choices that we have made recognizing that what we see may be uncomfortable. It’s hard to imagine that as loving as you want to be or as loving as you believe you are, there might be evidence in the pattern of choices that you’ve made that might prove otherwise; choices to be silent because you didn’t think it was your fight; choices to not rock the boat; choices to throw money at a situation rather than experience discomfort.
Who we are right now is our legacy. Therefore, it is essential for us to approach situations with compassionate, empathetic love; to be faithful and to persevere with hope and to model what Jesus modeled for us. That becomes our real legacy.
As tired of our current circumstances as we might be, we are resilient people. Resiliency can be about strength or faith or both. It is essentially our ability to bounce back, to not be destroyed. I offer three ways we might sustain resiliency:
Telling our own stories
Sharing our stories of faith with love can bring healing to those who aren’t sure about God and bring strength to those who are. Sharing doesn’t mean leaving ourselves open for critique – it’s not permission to fix, correct, or absolve the storyteller’s history. It’s more a retelling of our own story, told in our own voice and timing in such a way that we can hear ourselves tell it. The power to hear yourself tell your own story is the confirmation that you’ve gone through something and come out the other side. It is the power of relevance and the assurance of some grace.
In this season of traditions, we function in ways that generations before us have functioned; we perform rituals, we say certain words, and we accept the validity of our tradition’s circumstance without question. And over time it becomes a solid part of who we are – a solid, maybe even hidden (embedded) part of our identities. It’s probably a good idea to recall the meanings of our traditions – maybe think in terms of how we might explain to someone outside of our context what we do. And my guess is that in doing so, not only do we cultivate a sense of belonging, but we also illuminate our tradition to someone already in the circle with us who might say upon hearing the history recounted, “I didn’t know that.”
Sharing our burdens as well as our gifts
Our gifts and needs are not only material. We have self-care needs as well. So that means that a few people should not be doing all of the work. Likewise, we must learn to ask for help, forgoing any propensity to shame and guilt on ourselves or others.
Claiming or reclaiming our personhood
This is an extension of telling our own stories. We claim or reclaim our personhood by sharing our truth. Our truth is not the boastful pride of consideration (in terms of self reflection). It is the proclamation of our very essence. It helps us to be mindful that because we are made in God’s image (Imago Dei) we can proclaim – individually and for ourselves – that we are equally awesome as God’s beloved, equally deserving of respect and consideration, equally entitled to liberation and to feel safe and valued. Equally.
We still have time to make changes to our personal and spiritual inventories as we continue to shelter in place. And recognize that despite our past and our shortcomings, despite the parts of us that appreciate privilege, the parts that are non-confrontational, and the parts of us that want to be a millionaire someday – despite all of that, the amazing, grace-filled reality is that God still loves us. And because of that, we aspire to bear witness to the living God who died so that all might be freed. And that witness becomes our real legacy.
Ruth T. West is an ordained PC (USA) Minister of the Word and Sacrament. In addition to a Master of Divinity (MDiv), Ruth holds an MBA, a Diploma in the Art of Spiritual Direction, and a Certificate in Trauma and Spiritual Care. She is currently Associate Director of Advanced Pastoral Studies at San Francisco Theological Seminary (University of Redlands), which facilitates the Doctor of Ministry program. As a spiritual director and chaplain she has developed, prepared, and presented spiritual, devotional, and meditational practices mostly for groups. Ruth is continuing her ministry to people in transition by helping students, clergypersons, and the greater community discern possible next steps in their ministry journeys.