I don’t even know.
Good lord, what a mess.
What an absolute, gut-mangling mess.
And what now? Twee pictures of our adventures, of sweet smiling faces, rosy-cheeked and wide eyed? Recipes and reflections? I feel like covering this blog in old, grey oatmeal leftovers and burying it beneath bulk mail circulars and old phonebooks.
It is Advent. Sometimes described as a season of hope, peace, and love, but OH the expectant waiting. Oh, the hunger, the thirst for justice, for goodness, for what is right and meet. It’s not mindfulness. It’s not sitting here in the now, being only present. It is yearning, deep and painful and essential want for what is to come, for what has been promised.
I believe– far beyond my own capabilities, driven by the grace of faith– that the oppressed should and shall be liberated. I believe that I must do all that I can–and when I reach my own limit of “can” pray that I shall be enabled to do some more– to facilitate that liberation. I believe that no human is illegal. I believe that to imprison our brothers and sisters in poverty and debt while turning a blind eye toward the funnels of power and wealth to the few is a sin, a grave sin. I believe that I am part of the problem and must be part of the solution. I believe in grace. I believe in miracles. I do not believe that we ought sit and wait for miraculous grace, but that such grace is manifested through our actions.
From the Book of Common Prayer, emphasis mine:
Chop wood, carry water, divest, protect, serve, and walk.