As people of faith, we’re often asked, “What should we do?” Scripture doesn’t offer a playbook for every moment, but it does illustrate a pattern of care, courage, and justice that can give shape to what our resistance looks like. What it doesn’t offer is a Jesus-shaped excuse to sit things out, even when the violence feels far away.
A common reaction to loss is to deny that the loss has happened. Denial doesn’t have to look like outright saying the death did not occur. It can look like going back to daily routines as if nothing has happened, not acknowledging that the loved one ever existed, or bowing out of conversations that involve the loved one
A while ago I gave my grandmother a call. I was having a bit of an existential crisis when something clicked. “Is this what my grandparents felt?” I asked myself. The question referred to significant cultural changes, world happenings and environmental crises. For example, I cannot imagine what it must have felt like as a child to go through nuclear test drills, and then live through the tensions of the Cold War.
In Indonesia, where Christians are a minority, the Christmas tree often serves as a marker of identity. My own family doesn’t keep that tradition, though my children often ask to have one. I always tell them, “That is not a tree. It is plastic that will end up stored in a warehouse like trash.” For us, a Christmas tree has always been a living one, growing quietly in front of our home.
I reflected earlier this month on stillness during this Advent season, which often is a season full of parties, events, concerts and consumerism that induces frenzied activity. In this final week of Advent, I return to the question: What does it mean to stop and rest and truly be in Christ’s presence?
Gift giving in some cultures and traditions goes back thousands of years. Matthew 2:11 mentions the Magi visiting “the child [Jesus] with his mother . . . and present[ing] him with gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.” These were complete and utter strangers bringing precious gifts to a child; how would that look in today’s society?
On the day after U.S. Americans give thanks, the world seems to lunge headlong into a kind of ritualized chaos: doors fly open before dawn, crowds press and shout, hearts race not with wonder but with want.
Slowing down and thinking can be our friend, along with a good dose of being thankful for what we already have.
El Salvadorian people face their own unique struggles that set them apart from other Central American countries, and even other Latin American countries, making this small Pacific-facing nation unique in many ways.
My journey exploring faith leaders’ responses to ethnic-based violence revealed a spectrum of approaches, from nonresistance and nonviolence to self-defense, aggression and confusion. Understanding these diverse perspectives, I think, is vital for developing effective peace-building strategies, fostering resilience and creating cohesive communities capable of addressing root causes of violence.
Grief doesn’t disappear. It comes in waves. It changes forms and evolves. It blindsides you. It becomes a part of who you are. Like the shifting light of autumn, we are unexpectedly reminded of new depths of our losses.
