Friends,
Two weeks ago, as I was walking home from my office, I looked down and saw what I assume is a hummingbird nest, and that little bit of discovered serendipity could not have come at a better time for me. That week, I had been spending too much time doom-scrolling on Twitter, grieving over mass shootings in Buffalo and Uvalde and fretting over the sexual abuse scandal in the Southern Baptist Church. Online I saw posts by people who blamed both gun violence and sexual abuse on “woke” progressive Christian theology.
Now, if you just read that last sentence and wondered if any of it makes sense, it doesn’t. But it bummed me out anyway. Some of the posts I was seeing online felt hostile, others offensive, all of them frustratingly ignorant. Thanks to the bloodshed, the abuse and the petty ignorance, I was in a bitter mood when I left my office, and then I found the hummingbird nest. In an instant, I was reminded that there yet exists relentless tenderness in the world, and my soul started to heal. I should have started paying attention sooner.
God’s spirit of holiness is alive in creation—in the beauty, in the sweetness, in the living, growing world that overflows with joy, even in the depts of a drought and in the overwhelming stress of climate change. We are surrounded by beauty, and as summer gets underway, I hope you will take time to be outside to bear witness to the Holy One as she dances in oak tree and redwood, serenaded by the praises of finches and owls and hawks. Take time to notice the delicate power of a wildflower’s petal. Smell the soil in your garden. Taste the basil (or whatever) that grows therein. Notice the bees hard at work helping your tomatoes to pollinate. And rejoice even when joy feels irrational; the very irrationality of joy may be what makes it entirely necessary.
Next week, some of you will be with me along the shores of Lake Tahoe. If you are there, let’s do our best to notice the relentless tenderness of God’s work in creation and let us be filled with comfort and joy.
God’s Peace,
Ben