It’s a beautiful spring day. It’s about to be a beautiful spring weekend. A family of doves is nesting in my gutters. Pollen is wreaking havoc on my nose. But as much as I want to write, think, and talk about the beautiful new-beginnings of spring, my Facebook feed won’t allow it. Google news won’t allow it. Baltimore won’t allow it. The Supreme Court won’t allow it. Nepal won’t allow it.
Life won’t allow it. Not today.
Many of us have been glued to our favorite news sources and Facebook feeds this week, haven’t we? And haven’t we been filled with mixed emotions at the conversations we’ve found there?
On Monday, our grief-stricken brothers and sisters in Baltimore laid to rest the body of Freddie Gray, a young man who died last week as the result of a spinal cord injury he received while in police custody. We've all seen parts of what happened next – including peaceful protests, violent riots, and beautiful acts of bravery and compassion. A family grieves. A community shouts for justice. A government responds.
And we wait.
On Tuesday, the Supreme Court heard arguments regarding their upcoming decision on the gay marriage “issue.” Many of us cheered as Justice Ginsburg passionately defended her LGBT brothers and sisters. Many of us said “amen!” when Justice Roberts declared, “if Sue loves Joe and Tom loves Joe, Sue can marry him and Tom can’t. And the difference is based upon their different sex. Why isn't that a straightforward question of sexual discrimination?” The court will hand down its decision in June.
And we wait.
This week we watched more than eight million men, women, boys, and girls in Nepal struggle to survive after last week’s earthquake. More than 5,000 of our brothers and sisters died in the tragedy. 450,000 are left without homes. And then on Tuesday, massive storms drowned the country and caused a landslide that demolished the villages in its path. Across the country, relief workers continue to dig. They continue to find more wounded survivors. They also find more corpses.
And we wait.
And as maddening as the waiting is, perhaps we can find comfort in knowing that we’re not waiting alone. We’re waiting together. We’re waiting together for the empty spaces between what’s happening now and what will happen next to be filled in. We’re waiting together for the justice, equality, peace, acknowledgement, recognition, safety, and resources that our brothers and sisters so desperately need. We’re waiting together for creation to be redeemed. We’re waiting together for hope, and we’re trying to wait patiently (Romans 8:24-25).
And that means that no matter what happens next, we’ll walk through that together, too.
And maybe that makes the waiting more bearable.