Monday, February 09, 2009

An odd comfort

In these days and moments that remain intense and strange, I am increasingly thankful for the psalmists and prophets of the old testament variety. Their words give me an odd sort of comfort and hope. A model for prayers.

If these characters of "biblical proportions" can pen words of such anger and frustration and despair, and yet still model a love of the Lord, and a commitment to serve and worship him, then maybe it is possible for me to find some sort of balance in this as well.

I am taking comfort in Lamentations 3 tonight.

Particularly these verses:

My tears flow endlessly;
they will not stop
until the Lord looks down
from heaven and sees.
(3:49-50)

Look down, O Lord, and see me. Hold me and gather me to yourself. Carry me, as Isaiah says, the way you would carry a lamb, in your arms, holding me close to your heart. Leading me gently.

From Henri

a couple more thoughts from Henri Nouwen...

Care, the Source of All Cure

Care is something other than cure. Cure means "change." A doctor, a lawyer, a minister, a social worker-they all want to use their professional skills to bring about changes in people's lives. They get paid for whatever kind of cure they can bring about. But cure, desirable as it may be, can easily become violent, manipulative, and even destructive if it does not grow out of care. Care is being with, crying out with, suffering with, feeling with. Care is compassion. It is claiming the truth that the other person is my brother or sister, human, mortal, vulnerable, like I am.

When care is our first concern, cure can be received as a gift. Often we are not able to cure, but we are always able to care. To care is to be human.

Giving and Receiving Consolation

Consolation is a beautiful word. It means "to be" (con-) "with the lonely one" (solus). To offer consolation is one of the most important ways to care. Life is so full of pain, sadness, and loneliness that we often wonder what we can do to alleviate the immense suffering we see. We can and must offer consolation. We can and must console the mother who lost her child, the young person with AIDS, the family whose house burned down, the soldier who was wounded, the teenager who contemplates suicide, the old man who wonders why he should stay alive.

To console does not mean to take away the pain but rather to be there and say, "You are not alone, I am with you. Together we can carry the burden. Don't be afraid. I am here." That is consolation. We all need to give it as well as to receive it.