O Come, O Come, Emmanuel into my grief

I have a heavy heart. It has been a full week of processing, celebrating communion and Christ among us, and grieving the loss of Facebook from my life. I keep thinking of things I'd like to post or share, including a request for prayers for the outcome of the procedure I had Tuesday morning (a scope down my throat to check out my gut!).

There has been so much grieving in the last few weeks as a nation. Grieving the chasm between Americans who find themselves on different sides of the political line. It should not matter as we come together in church. Church is the place where our identity is first and foremost "child of God." The rest falls away as we sit side by side in the pews, share the peace, and take wafer and wine together at the table.

However, I find the gospel to be highly political. Jesus did his ministry in the shadow of the Roman Empire. He escaped capture several times when folks wanted to throw him over a cliff or arrest him for saying something against Jewish law. So I'm unsure how to preach the gospel without being political, especially when everything looks political right now.

I can certainly preach a sermon without using the words "election," "Trump," or "Clinton." I have been doing so for years while still preaching the gospel. But I also feel it is a disservice to us all NOT to name the realities of today. To say that we are existing in a highly divided time post election is not a political statement, but a statement about the reality of our world. It speaks to our hurts, our fears, and our grieving. While I know that the whole nation is not grieving the outcome of the election, I know that people are grieving the divide, the vitriol, the hatred. How can I name that grief without naming the election?

For the first time in a long time, I feel I no longer have a voice. When I am trying to speak prophetically about my fears for our nation, I hear that I am being unpatriotic and not giving our president elect a chance. When I try to speak about my personal grief, I hear that I am ostracizing those who are not grieving at this time. When I try to share food for thought about how we understand the world, I hear that I am being inappropriate and abusing my pastoral authority.

I am trying to lean into deep conversation with those to whom I am pastor. I am listening and trying to set aside my own hurt, for I know much of this is not about me. But I fear that after listening, I will no longer have a response.

For the moment, all I have is a quiet prayer of "Come Emmanuel and be with us."