Rev Jesse Jackson’s Funeral

As bombs fall upon the just and the unjust, and instability shakes astonishing places—both near and far— we stumble, weary yet willing, into the house of worship.

Each day our imagination is breathlessly outpaced by the unimaginable cruelty of the arrogant - by the meanness of greedy hearts for whom power feels no pity, 

and greed knows no bounds.

In such a time, worship strains the edges of our hope and demands the full weight of our faith.

The funeral of a mighty man in Chicago,  the silenced voice of a once-prophetic preacher— his body frail, his fire unforgotten— magnify the ache we feel: the muted witness of leaders,  the uneasy familiarity of politicians, the vanishing cry of prayer warriors.

Therefore, on this Lenten road, we come again: standing on tiptoe in anticipation of God’s voice yet speaking, bowing low in confession that we could, we should, we must do more— that we cannot watch the tragedy of the cross 

be reenacted without redemption in our time.

So now, we cry aloud with triumphant resolve- refusing the dystopian vision of this world,  denying the inevitability of evil’s victory.

In doubt, we worship. 

In fear, we worship. 

In anger, we worship.

It is a hard thing to worship, but it is a necessary thing to worship.

For even now, the sound of praise rises, the words of preachers still proclaim good news, the prayers of the faithful spill from the pews as signs that faith is still alive.

People yet resist evil, 

deny the dominion of fear, 

and disbelieve the lies.

So come— come, beloved of God—  let’s worship!