Friends, activists and kingdom-bearing saints:
I've had a day. A busy day. A full day. Running from gig to gig. Bouncing from Zoom to Zoom. Bearing witness. Putting out fires. Starting others. You know what I mean. A day like that. I'm privileged -- beyond belief -- to be spending my time like this. It's a complete and total joy.
But it's frenzied. I get frenzied. Twenty-something days to November 3. Deportations. Court packing in DC.
So I want to offer this: to all of you who -- like me -- are working long days, worrying about big issues, showing up for critical hearings, protesting huge injustices. Hour after hour after hour. Day by day by day. You know who you are.
Breathe. Don't stop caring. But breathe. Don't stop loving. But breathe. Don't stop making (good) trouble. But breathe.
Remember that the Breath of God (the ruach stirring over the face of the deep) is always and forever at play in the world. She's stirring in the winds of autumn. She's stirring in the torrential rains. She's stirring in the hearts of dreamers and resisters and lovers. And she's stirring in your lungs, in your bodies, in your hearts, in your very particular lives. The Breath of God. You didn't make it happen. You do nothing to make it happen. She is -- and always has been -- the lifeforce shining in darkness, the vision breaking through unknowing, the liberating spirit fanning the flames of hope in the hopeless.
Today I've taken myself far too seriously. Don't get me wrong. What I'm doing -- what I've done -- is important, consequential. It's discipleship. And it means everything to me. But I've taken myself too seriously today. Because it's not about me. I don't have to create this energy, or imagine this work, or keep it going. It's the work and energy of God. It's the Song of Creation. It's the ruach -- finding you, finding me -- who will not stop until the whole Creation sings glory and feasts as one.
Tomorrow, I'm going to laugh a little more, and wince less. Tomorrow, I'm going to sing a little bit, and curse just a little less frequently. Because I know where this going. You do too. And it ain't going to Mar a Lago or some golden tower in Manhattan. It ain't going to wacky rallies and superspreaders and ranting old men. It's all going to God. It's already there. She's got this.
Sleep well.
