A few weeks ago, while I was out on my early morning walk, I saw a deer walking across the road ahead of me. Limping, really. Limping badly. Its front left leg appeared to be broken.
Normally, when I see deer in my neighborhood, I see them in groups, in families. Big and small. With and without antlers. They usually stop and stare at me, checking to see if I am watching them, advancing in their direction. Such regal, quiet, elegant, unobtrusive animals. At least, that's how they have always been in my company.
But that morning, the aforementioned morning, I saw only one deer. Slowly making its way across the street. Seemingly unaware of my presence. Unaware of anything but its wounded leg. It hobbled into the woods, down a steep embankment, and out of sight. I shudder even now as I think back on that sighting.
Questions flooded through my mind.
Where are you going, deer?
Who will be with you?
Who will keep you company in your pain?
Will your leg get better?
Will this injury be the cause of your death?
You poor deer.
My eyes teared up that morning.
They tear up again in this retelling.
I confess that I have had similar stirrings in other situations, more frequently of late.
I ponder the pain and brokenness of so many thousands of people who have been wounded,
emotionally, financially, relationally, nationally,
by earthquakes, hurricanes, floods, and wildfires.
Where will you go now?
Who will be with you?
Who will accompany you in your pain?
Will your island, your city, your grieving heart get better?
Will this tragedy be the cause of your death?
You poor dear.
I ponder the loneliness and desperation of the people I see on the street, begging.
One man's sign reads, "I need a miracle."
His is not one of the usual small requests for food or money.
Nope, he needs a miracle.
I drove past him once and gave him a pack of cigarettes the second time I saw him.
Where will he go?
Who will be with him?
Who will accompany him in his pain?
Will whatever put you out on the street be the cause of your death?
I wonder about the outrage being expressed towards athletes and others who have chosen to take a knee during the playing of the national anthem. I think of those who support their decisions. And the hundreds of thousands of people who have taken stands - and taken their knees - in the face of all kinds of injustice, prejudice, violence, systemic and institutional racism, and so many other ills that our nation and our world have faced and continue to face.
Where are you going now, dear ones?
Who will be with you in your insistence on justice?
Who will keep you company in your pain?
Will our nation get better?
Will our nation's injurious behavior be the cause of our death?
As I make my way, slowly, sometimes tediously, always hopefully, through seminary,
(this is the beginning of the third year of a five year program)
I am becoming increasingly aware that those questions will come up in many conversations with present co-travelers on this faith journey I'm on, as well as future parishioners.
When momentous life decisions must be made -
marriage, divorce, parenting, job change, moving to other cities -
when sorrowful moments happen -
the death of a loved one, the end of a meaningful relationship, the loss of a job -
when confusion arises,
when fears mount,
when life's questions overwhelm,
I will ask these same questions -
Where are you going, my dear one?
Who will be with you?
Who will keep you company in your pain?
Will your leg/heart/soul/family/life get better?
Will this injury be the cause of your death?
You poor dear.
There will undoubtedly be times when it won't be appropriate to ask if things will get better.
And most people won't want to talk about death. Even in their final days and hours.
There will be many times when the best thing I can do is simply show up
and be a silent witness to their lives and their suffering.
But my heart will be filled with these and other questions.
My eyes will be filled with tears.
(I'm already planning to inform any search committee or agency or anyone who considers hiring me that if they aren't comfortable with tears, with people who cry, then I am most assuredly NOT a match for them. No shame to these tears - and no end to them either.)
And I will do my best to go forward with them, when invited.
To walk the journey of life with them.
To keep them company in their pain, their fears, their anxiety -
and things may not get better. Some things never do get better.
But I will do my best to be present.
Attentive. Alert.
Listening. Loving.
Most mornings when I go for my walks, I spend most of my time looking down at the sidewalk. I am one of the clumsiest people I know. I trip and stumble readily and easily, so when I'm walking on cracked sidewalks, I keep my eyes on the ground. Not only do I fear being embarrassed by a pedestrian blunder in front of my neighbors, but also I fear falling down a breaking a wrist, a hip, or a tooth. Yes, I'm that clumsy.
That morning, on the morning when I saw that wounded deer, I wasn't looking at my feet. I was looking up the road. I had raised my eyes from my own situation and my own potential injury just long enough to observe that another creature had already suffered harm. In the case of that poor deer, there was nothing I could do to help.
In the world in which I live, there is much I can do. I can donate to organizations on the ground, bringing relief to the hungry, thirsty, and those recently rendered homeless because of natural disasters. I can donate food and water and baby goods to food pantries right here in Charlotte. I can listen to the stories of veterans with PTSD, kanswer survivors, the recently widowed, and so many others who simply want to be seen, heard, respected, and welcomed. But it all starts with me looking up and listening up.
In the world in which we all are living these days,
storms seem to be churning up every few days.
Hurricanes, yes, but also political storms.
Storms of anger and protest, storms of disagreement and hatred.
There are broken promises, broken relationships, and broken families.
There is broken trust. There are broken hearts.
Deep wounds are readily and unapologetically inflicted.
With knives, with guns, with tasers, and also with words, with attitudes, with sarcasm.
There are desperate people all around us.
There are desperate people here among us.
And there are desperate people staring back at us from our mirrors.
These same questions apply - even when we are facing the lonely, hurting, angry,
shocked, reckless, restless, hopeless people we know ourselves to sometimes be.
Perhaps especially then.
Where are you going, my dear?
Who will be with you?
Who will keep you company in your pain?
Will your heart, mind, soul, spirit, and body get better?
Will this injury - whatever it is - be the cause of your death?
You, dear, yes you, are indeed dearly beloved.
