Light the Fire Again
Jesus Wept - and So Must We
I’ve been wanting to write something reflective about what’s happening in our country, something that names the grief I feel in the daily churn of headlines and hearings. Before I could find the words, my wife did. I’m grateful to share her reflection here.
“Jesus wept” John 11:35
Not when he was insulted.
Not when he was misunderstood.
But when he stood before death.
Before grief.
Before what should not be.
Jesus wept.
He did not manage perception.
He did not rush to spin hope.
He did not numb himself.
Jesus wept.
And if he stands among us now, I wonder where his tears fall.
Over Epstein survivors whose stories were delayed, deflected, or doubted.
Over women and men trafficked and violated — forced to watch powerful people protect themselves.
Over immigrant children in detention centers. Children describe freezing temperatures, being forced to sleep on mats on concrete floors with only thin “mylar” blankets for warmth. Bright overhead lights are kept on continuously, disrupting sleep.
Over families separated at borders.
Over asylum seekers treated as criminals.
Over United States citizens detained without due process.
Over those violently handled by the state before they see a courtroom.
Over the mentally ill warehoused instead of cared for.
Over the poor criminalized.
Over trans youth targeted for political gain.
Over Black and brown bodies policed more harshly than others.
Over truth twisted in hearings.
Over cruelty performed as policy.
Over power shielded by procedure.
Over a people slowly growing used to what once would have broken us.
Jesus wept.
And I feel how easy it would be not to.
To scroll.
To harden.
To grow efficient with sorrow.
And so I think of these lyrics from a song sung by many of the folk who support this cruelty and violence continuing day in and day out by the state:
“Don’t let my love grow cold
I’m calling out, light the fire again
Don’t let my vision die
I’m calling out, light the fire again.”
Because numbness is safer than grief.
But it is not the way of Christ.
Lord of the weeping Christ,
Guard our tenderness.
Do not let exposure make us cynical.
Do not let outrage calcify into hatred.
Do not let exhaustion steal our vision.
If you weep, teach us to weep.
If you stand with the vulnerable, keep us from standing elsewhere.
Light the fire again,
not of rage,
but of holy love.
Break open what has begun to close in us.
And where the state wounds,
where systems fail,
where power protects itself,
be the God who sees.
Be the God who remembers.
Be the God who restores what we cannot.
Amen.