Friday, January 5, 2007

Dearest God,

Two events stand out in my mind as I reflect upon the grace that came to me yesterday.

The people who loved Jeannette gathered in our sanctuary to say goodbye, to remember, to celebrate her life. We were two people, yet one. The hearing. The silent. Jeannette was deaf since birth. Her mother had the 3 day measles while she was pregnant. Jeannette was born with numerous congenital defects.

The deaf community was joining us for the memorial service. Her friends from her church. (She was a member of ours, but was better able to communicate with her own community) Their hands swiftly moved as they spoke with one another. A hearing man would sign the service.

The hearing spoke their words of sorrow and grief to Jeannette's mother and family. Hugs came from everyone.

It was during the prayer when I was suddenly taken aback. The deaf community prayed with me, their holy hands moving in praise to God. My words caught at the back of my throat; what an extraordinary display of love.

As we moved to the Upper Room for lunch, I gazed at these persons talking with their hands. I thought of the beautiful way God had given a new language to those who were unable to hear and speak. I was mesmerized by their spirit. I am sure, however, they do not see themselves in the same way. They are normal, speaking their thoughts like anyone else. But for me they brought something different to the service today. I was blessed to be with Jeannette's friends.

The second event occurred on a gray, rainy night at Crown Hill Cemetery. We gathered at the mausoleum, lead by a huge light scanning the heavens. I made my way up the cement stairs, walked across the ceramic floor and took a seat in the chapel. Police officers, journalists with cameras, political figures and family members huddled together. By 6:00 p.m. the room was full. The service began. We were together to remember the 153 victims of homicides, persons, many teens, who died in 2006.

We were greeted, welcomed, especially families of victims. We stood and began to sing. "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found, was blind, but now I see." Singing accappella, our spirits rose to the ceiling, then beyond as we sang from the heart, a cry, perhaps a plea to a compassionate God for grace to forgive, to feel comfort, to be blessed, to find peace.

And then the names were read one at a time. Family members stood while a chaplain spoke, "May you feel God's presence in your life." One after another, mothers and dads stood, spouses, children, teenagers, many of them standing more than once. A seven or eight year old girl and her mother sat in the pew behind me. When Mango's name was read, they stood and they remained standing while six other names were read. The Hispanic family that was killed just a few months ago. A little girl, so young, should not have to experience such pain. Mango was her father from his first wife. She lost her daddy, cousins, and more. I could not imagine the pain of that little girl or for that matter for any loved one in the room.

But what moved me, inspired me, challenged me was when the candles were lighted. An African American teenage boy stood to light the candle of peace and he spoke of unity, of God helping us, of learning to live together regardless of our differences. A pastor talked of forgiveness, forgiving the perpetrators. I was halfway back in the pews and I could see heads nodding that forgiveness was an answer to all the suffering pain. Forgiving someone for a random drive by shooting, for no reason, stealing a life, the life of our family, forgiveness? I looked around. Many heads were bobbing yes. Not only did these loved ones left behind feel the loss of their children, parents, or relatives, they were thinking of the perpetrators who needed forgiveness. I was blown away.

When we sang the last verse of Amazing Grace, "when we've been there 10,000 years bright shining as the sun, we've no less days to sing God's grace than when we first begun," my eyes filled with tears. Grace was present in the room, in small children and their parents, in teens with tattooes and piercings, in police officers and politicians, even in pastors. We were singing grace, somehow brightening the darkness, lightening the load, bearing the weight, holding up one another. Hearts were awakened once again, hearts that had gone to sleep under the weight of sorrow. Hearts began to beat again in rhythm with the grace maker. Evidence of grace alive in a broken, darkened world.

Grace began and ended my day and what was between these? More grace.

God of love and mystery,
I stand in awe
of your presence
visible to the eye
by those who are looking.
Your face, your smile,
your loving way,
your forgiveness
was so apparent today,
among the hearing
and the silent,
among the lonely
and the sorrowing
among your children.
Grace,
the antidote to any problem,
lives.

Lovingly yours, Andrea