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A sermon preached by the
Rev. Douglas M. Donley
Psalm 46
Matthew 6:19-21
First Congregational Church
It falls
upon me to offer a word of hope, comfort and perspective this morning in the
aftermath of the tragedy just a few blocks from this very building. Eric Nelson and I spoke at length his past
week. He was certainly conflicted about
whether to remain in
I confess
that I am feeling woefully inadequate to address the multitude of emotions that
are swirling around this room right now.
We wonder why this happened.
We
wonder what steps could have been taken to prevent it.
We
wonder about the families that are still awaiting word from loved ones.
We
wonder what cruel trick of fate kept us off the bridge we travel so often when
others were there.
We
wonder what the implications of this tragedy will be in the coming days, months
and years.
We
wonder how August 1st will become a date ingrained in our history,
not unlike August 6th is remembered as Hiroshima Day.
We
wonder how to live our lives in response to this tragedy as we remember once
again that life is both fragile and a precious gift given to us.
Wonder
is what brings us together. It is also
the seed of hope.
It’s
the seed of hope because we do not rush to answers, but remain in our grief, in
our anguish, in our confusion. And we
remain there long enough to get a clear vision of how to move forward. It’s too early, I think, to really move
forward. Everything is still too raw. And yet, we come here so that we will resist
them temptation to go on with life as usual.
We know we have been shaken and a portion of our former life has
crumbled into the river.
Grief
counselors tell us that there are five stages of grief. The first is shock (Oh my God). The second is denial (this didn’t really
happen, maybe I’ll wake up from the nightmare).
The third stage in bargaining (if I had only done this…if I had only
left a few minuets earlier…if we had only fixed the dang bridge). The fourth stage is anger (How dare we let
people drive on a structurally deficient bridge). The fifth stage is acceptance. There is no rhyme or reason to going through
these stages. Folks go through them many
times or linger on one for a long time.
They say that it takes eight hours of telling the story for you to move
from one stage to another. We have to
tell the stories. We can’t stuff it or
burry it. It’s part of our grieving
process.
Both
of our congregations held services of prayer on Thursday. We prayed.
We lit candles. We heard the
stories of where we were when the bridge fell.
We
shared the concern for the people still missing. We prayed for and heard the struggles we all
have in responding in an effective and appropriate manner.
At
UBC we sang “Precious Lord, Take My Hand”.
It seemed an appropriate song of comfort and longing. And then we got to the third verse: (sung) “At the River I stand, guide my feet, hold
my hand. Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.” I don’t think I will ever sing those words
without remembering what happens when we stand at the river. I think about all of our river songs and I
wonder if they will all be like that for us:
(sung) “I went down to
the river to pray, studying about the good old way and who shall wear a starry
crown, good Lord, show me the way. Oh
brother let’s go down come on down won’t you come on down. Oh sister let’s go down, down to the river to
pray.”
(sung) “Yes, we’ll gather at the river, the
beautiful the beautiful river. Gather
with the saints at the river that flows by the throne of God.”
A
river by its nature is always changing.
It’s sometimes calm. It’s often
foreboding. It’s a place of power. Amos said our worship ought to be one in
which “justice flows down like a river and righteousness like an ever-flowing
stream.” Until this week, we were all
able to simply go over the river without even thinking about it.
Many
of you have said to me, “I never even thought about the river being under that
bridge, I was more concerned about getting into the correct lane.”
But now we are gathered at the river, or at a
safe distance. And we contemplate its
power once again.
This
river was where our congregations used to hold our baptisms—summer or
winter. Now a different kind of baptism
happens there. There in the river, there
are no longer barriers of class or race or ethnicity or religion or political
party.
We
are all united by our desire to learn from this, to comfort those who mourn, to
rescue and treat the injured, to recover the remains of those for whom we all
grieve.
We
have been buoyed by the stories of heroism as the tragedy unfolded.
People
climbing onto the shaky structure to pull people out of a school bus, to help
people up onto the banks, to treat the wounded, to offer comfort to the
afflicted. This was the best of
It
was Nate Miller bandaging a walking wounded person.
It
was Nancy Osborne going to
It
was Sara Brown working as a nurse round the clock at HCMC from the time of the
tragedy until Thursday evening.
It
was Erinn Huntley volunteering with the Red Cross, knowing that she had her
turn signal on ready to go from
It
was First Congregational Church opening its doors to the searching, the
grieving, the onloookers.
It
was all of us praying and holding tight to each other.
This
is what we have needed to do.
These
are the acts of heroism that in which we all engage.
Blame
is as murky as the
What
is helpful is the assurance that we have come together as a community. We have learned from the tragedies of Katrina
and Rita. We will not again leave a
community comfortless. Eric Nelson
received the following e-mail:
My name is Karen Nauck and I am a member of Good Shepherd UCC in Metairie, Louisiana, a suburb of New Orleans. I cannot begin to tell you of my sadness of the bridge collapse disaster in your town. I know it is still early, but please let me know if there is anything I can pass along to our congregation as needs for your church members or community. I pray that no one was directly affected by this disaster. Our church was directly affected by Hurricane Katrina and we know what it means to have churches reaching out to us in time of need. I got your church website from ucc.org, but if any other churches in your area are need, please let them know we will be praying. If nothing else, we will keep you in our prayer and thoughts in the upcoming days and weeks.
We
have responded with compassion and effectiveness. We remember that bridges and towers and even
church buildings are human-made structures.
As such they are subject to deterioration, attack, accidents, even
malfeasance. Ultimately, the best bridge
cannot guarantee our safety. In an
ultimate sense, the only thing we can count on is God’s presence and our
reaction.
I
think the two are related. We are God’s
hands and feet. We have seen God’s
presence in the way people reacted.
In
the way that we have trusted our hearts and our instincts and we have once
again come together as a community to offer support, comfort and yes, even
questions and solutions going forward.
This is God’s presence right here and now. We are God’s hands and feet, we are God’s
face whenever we greet one another with compassion and support.
People
will ask us where we were.
People
will ask us how they can help.
People
will ask us how we react.
Tell
the story. Don’t stuff it.
Learn
from this not only about the fragility of human structures, but of the
fragility and gift that is life.
Be
gentle. Be patient. Remember that God watches over and provides
us with a comforting hand as we gather at the river.
What
can we do?
Continue
to be that comforting hand of God to one another.
Rise
up from this tragedy with a renewed sense of purpose.
Make
your interactions count.
Don’t
put off for tomorrow what you have been meaning to say.
Let
your light shine and remember to whom you belong.
Remember
the importance of community. And every
time you cross a river, remember to pray not only for the victims, but for
God’s ever-flowing presence.
(sung) “When the
shadows appear and the night draws near,
And
the day is past and gone,
At
the river I stand, guide my feet, hold my hand:
Take
my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.”