Stepping Forward in the Shadow of Trauma

Sermon

What does it mean for you to step forward in the shadow of trauma and grief?

We have spent a lot of the last year stuck inside and waiting. It’s been a lot. Do you remember the first time you realized this COVID-19 pandemic was going to be unlike anything you ever experienced in your life? I remember Tom Hanks getting it, and I was like, no, Tom Hanks can’t have COVID, he’s America’s sweetheart!

I remember the first person I knew personally who got it. It freaked me out, cuz they were my age. I remember being in Queens, NYC, the epicenter of the pandemic, sick with COVID for a month, my chest feeling like an anvil was resting on top, every breath a struggle. I remember hearing the news of hearing a congregant at my last church, a pillar of the church, someone I took for granted I would see again, suddenly just gone. Dead.

We are all carrying grief and trauma from this past year of pandemic, of lockdowns, of missed graduations, of lost jobs and panicked finances, of not being able to see or hug loved ones. And the cruel twist of this pandemic is that we have had to bear this load in isolation, stuck inside, so much outside of our control. Waiting.

You know, the disciples in the Upper Room before Pentecost were also people stuck inside, waiting, while carrying their own grief and trauma. They came to the holy city expecting their leader, Jesus, to be crowned king, only for him to be murdered by their own religious and political leaders. And they were just starting to come to terms with his death when their entire world was shaken at hearing he had risen from the grave. And if that’s not enough emotional whiplash, Jesus then tells them, “Oh by the way, I’m leaving again, but don’t worry, there’s a Holy Spirit coming that’s like a me you can keep in your pocket, but you have to wait for it. Peace!”

And so, there we find them, just like we have been, stuck inside, waiting.

Many of us know what happens next for them. We read this story every year, the Holy Spirit whooshing in like a wind, tongues like fire resting on them, the disciples suddenly speaking different languages.

But even as they took their first steps outside the Upper Room, that didn’t erase the weight of the grief and trauma they carried. And as we take our first steps forward, we still take those steps in the shadow of our trauma.

For one, we are still very much in a pandemic. Yes, it is monumental that we are here, literally. But we’re in masks, less than 50 of us, most of us still watching from home. And what it means to take a step forward even in what feels like a turning point means different things to different people. This is NOT a sermon about how you need to just let go suddenly of the trauma and embrace lollipops and optimism. Some of us are ready to throw our masks in the garbage. Some of us are upset that the rules have changed. Some of us are ready to frolic around this summer. Some of us are still anxious about seeing too many people.

For probably all of us, to take a step forward is to figure out how to acknowledge our trauma and grief without letting it consume us. I think many of us imagine the constant devotion to prayer happening in that Upper Room was this super pious “Kumbaya” or whatever, but I wonder if they just prayed, “What the hell, God?” over and over again. I wonder if some of us could use a little more of that kind of prayer, because it would mean locating and honoring the trauma in your body as real and inviting God to be a part of the processing.

But we all have to step forward, in some way. And the good news of Pentecost is that we can do so holding on to the Holy Spirit that God gives us. The Holy Spirit, might I remind you, that comes out of the trauma of Jesus Christ being crucified. I’ve always found the chain of events in the gospels fascinating; Jesus says this amazing Spirit can’t come to us until the whole depressing crucifying stuff happens. Why? What if there is a unique power that comes from a divine Spirit that carries the trauma and grief of Jesus’ death and yet also carries the joy and triumph of resurrection? Because, according to Pentecost, that same Spirit is in us all, waiting for us to call upon the Spirit’s resurrection-in-the-shadow-of-trauma power. That same Spirit had the disciples speaking different languages and thus honors the cultures and peoples throughout this world; in other words, the Spirit inside you takes us out of isolation and forever connects us together. The person you speak with in front of you is carrying a piece of the divine, and that new life is us coming together slowly like pieces of a puzzle.

If we are to step forward in the shadow of our trauma, the Holy Spirit allows us to take that step together, weaving us together in our griefs and traumas and triumphs and joys so that we are not alone.

But if this is a Spirit of comfort, it is also a Spirit of calling. The Spirit carries us out so that others may also be healed. We cannot sit in our own resurrection and not extend it to others, especially in this urgent time we live in: a time of a historic racial reckoning, of rising homelessness, of a mental-health crisis that does not discriminate by age, of a climate-change emergency that will make COVID-19 seem like a walk in the park. If we are truly in communion with one another through the Spirit, then we all must play a part in actually bringing ourselves together.

So today is another day. And in which ever way you can, take another step forward, holding on to the Holy Spirit that binds us together and helps us rebuild together. The light of the outside is waiting for you. Amen.