The final week of Worship In The Spirit of Justice took place in the park right next to the White House. We heard from two Islamic leaders, several Jewish students, many Christian leaders, and several Africa activists. It was a well-attended and hopeful final meeting. At at its conclusion, we crossed Pennsylvania Avenue to kneel in front of the White House to pray.
As these weeks have progressed, I’ve been feeling an increasing sense of angst. For I don’t know what I’m accomplishing by any of this. Moreover, I wonder just what I can do at all. But this week, at every point in the liturgy where I was asked to speak, I could barely do so. Overwhelmed by emotion, I croaked out my part and cried through the next section of liturgy, before gathering myself to read aloud once again. I was feeling broken, I guess. Feeling a sliver of God’s heart for this whole crazy sin-sick world. Seeing the irony of kneeling with a bunch of self-confessed oppressors and asking for justice. All of us, realizing that God’s pursuit of justice will need to excise more than a few of the things which we hold dear. Knowing that the Day of The Lord will be beautiful and awful all at once.
“He shall judge between many peoples, and shall arbitrate between strong nations far away; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more; but they shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no one shall make them afraid.”
So I suppose that, in the end, brokenhearted tears are a good place to start.