Month: June 2020

Grandmothering God…Help us.

guest post from a pastoral letter by Rev. Seth Wispelwey, Interim Pastor at Rincon Congregational UCC in Tucson

“Nana, ayudame.”
 
Grandmother, help me.
 
These were the last words of Carlos “Adrian” Ingram Lopez, the Latino man who was killed by Tucson police while in their custody. Our police department, which recently tried to claim “we’re not Minneapolis,” hid his death for two months from Tucson officials (including our mayor) and the general public.  The horrific 12-minute video of his final moments Earth-side has now been released.
 
Beloved, the great global reckoning we are living through and acting in is now profoundly, specifically, alarmingly here. This is our city. These are our tax dollars. Carlos was our neighbor. Carlos’ family are our neighbors.
 
Beloved, I know so much is overwhelming and stressful and hard right now. This pandemic and its disconnections from full life and presence with one another. The stresses of managing home, work, parenting, and more amidst so much uncertainty. The fires blazing across our Catalina mountains. The would-be fascist regime operating out of the White House. The righteous uprising compelling so many of us to interrogate and deconstruct the poisonous DNA of white supremacy & patriarchy in ourselves and our communities.
 
And now this.
 
Walking is where we find hope and resist defeat. We make the road by walking. Together. Linked in Spirit and the beloved spirits you each possess that our still-speaking God imbues with strength to envision and embody a new Way.  Strength and vision we can only arrive at together.  Remember our scripture this past week?  In-between spitting a lot of righteous fire, Jesus encourages the disciples three times to “have no fear,” to “not be afraid,” and to “fear not.”
 
It’s ok if you’re afraid of the reckoning on our doorstep. That is a natural reaction. The body of togetherness that we call “church” is a hospital for fear. A medical ward for reaffirming hope. A rehab facility for building up the muscles to respond to others’ fear with the power and actions of love. 
 
We are called for such a moment as this. We are called to be the church we emblazon on our banners. 
 
Beloved, I am here for it. Like each of you, I cannot do it alone. Let us grieve, let us rage, let us pray, let us talk, let us walk.
 
And Carlos “Adrian” Ingram Lopez.  Say his name.  Share his story. Speak up. Act out. His family has asked that in any online sharing you also include #NanaAyudame. 
 
Like George Floyd, Carlos couldn’t breathe. He let them know. He cried out for his parent figures while the police let him suffocate.  Just like Jesus on the cross.
 
This hurts, beloved. Let us hold it and walk it together. Let justice come. Resurrection is the insurrection they thought they crucified.
 
Resurrection is tearing down the idols.
 
Resurrection is liberating the captives.
 
Resurrection is abolishing ICE.
 
Resurrection is defunding and dismantling the police.
 
Resurrection is living the truth that Black Lives Matter, that women’s bodies and choices belong to them, that queer folx are fiercely beloved & affirmed by God, that border walls be demolished, that properties become “re-wilded,” and more.
 
Resurrection lives in you.
 
Bring forth reparations, for the kin-dom of God is at hand.
 
Grandmothering God…Help us.
 
Onward,
Rev. Seth

I Guess It’s Up to the Angels Now

by Lynne Hinton

I guess it’s up to the angels now, their gossamer wings, glimmering and strong, wide and soft enough to cradle souls ready to go. Family members, hospice chaplains no longer permitted to hold their hands, whisper in their ears, “you did well, you can go. I forgive you. I will always love you.” Just heavenly messengers carrying the load once shared.

I guess it’s up to the angels now to teach the dying how to breathe from this world to the next, how to let go of what binds them to this earth, how not to be afraid, give them the strength they need to wrestle free from these bodies loaned to us, surround them with the peace we all should be allowed when we leave.

I guess it’s up to the angels now to touch fevered brows, wipe away tears, moisten tiny sponges and hold them to parched lips, to read sacred words, pray the prayers, sing the songs.

I guess it’s up to the angels now and so it shall be. And maybe it was always up to them. Maybe they were always there; we just didn’t see them or count on them or pray to them like we do now. Maybe they are doing what they have always done, whispering, cradling, touching, singing. Maybe nothing has changed in their world at all even as everything has changed in ours. And maybe, though we stand empty-handed behind doors and windows and phone screens, we somehow open ourselves to what we have not completely opened ourselves to before, to faith and hope, to let go of what we are now unable to do, to believe and surrender.

Perhaps it isn’t the dying who need so much after all. Maybe they’re just fine in their last hours, already looking ahead, already shed themselves of earthly attachments, exits already begun.

Maybe it’s those of us left behind in the greatest need, those of us without the proper goodbye for which we all so desperately cling. Maybe we’re the ones who most require the help, must look to something or someone beyond ourselves.

Maybe we are ultimately the ones requiring grace, the ones in need of divine assistance, the ones who struggle most as we find ourselves having to leave it all up to the angels now.

Rev. Lynne Hinton is the author of 21 books. She lives in Albuquerque and is a member of First Congregational UCC and works as a hospice chaplain and as a writing/journaling instructor for Bernalillo County Behavioral Health Department. She is married to Bob Branard.