If You Can't Say Something Nice....

Dear Wounded Healers:

Well, it’s time for another Monday Musing, and frankly, I don’t believe you want to hear what I’m thinking. It’s not that you might disagree; it’s not that I’m somehow ashamed or disappointed in what I might say; it’s just that what I happen to be thinking these days is, in the end, irrelevant. I’m pretty sure if I spoke my mind, some of you would be deeply inspired by how I put into words what you were already feeling. Others would find grave disappointment in how misguided my opinion may be and how I should read this or that to better comprehend my error. If only you could help me understand to see what’s really going on…

No, given the events of the past week, my musing is of little value; dumping words into the echo chamber of competing sources, values and specious illusions only validates a sense of self-righteous importance. So, rather than add my opinions, driven by my experiences, prejudices and pre-conceived fulfilled or unfulfilled expectations, allow me to offer silence.

Through the generations, parents and grandparents alike have shut down childish vitriol with the advice, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” I believe one problem right now is that saying something nice results in the accusation that we’re copping out; we’re avoiding the opportunity to stand up against evil, as if my indignant denouncements will shift the balance of anything.

In chaplaincy training I was taught that in a clinical setting, everybody has something to do. Doctors, nurses, orderlies, administrators—everyone has specific activities which require their utmost attention and unwavering diligence. Everyone except the chaplain. The chaplain’s job is not to do, but to be. It’s called a ministry of presence. “Don’t do something, just stand there!” my supervisor used to say. Be the representative of an attending divine, a simple reminder that God is present and attentive to it all: the pain, the healers, the caregivers, the family, the frightened patient.

We are hurting right now, all of us. Any real capacity on my part to offer meaningful diagnosis, prognosis or treatment is a joke. In the end, it is way beyond my training, capacity or position to make any real difference in the outcomes ahead. And so, I conclude with two quotes from Scripture. The first is from Proverbs, a 3,000-year-old book filled with concise couplets that encapsulate profound wisdom and instruction for the ages. A snippet of this verse became the title of a play in 1955 that depicted another time of national tension nearly 100 years ago. The second was written when Israel was enduring repeated invasions by Assyrian forces nearly 2,800 years ago. So, my muse today comes from very old words, words that murmur through the ages as simple reminders of God’s attention.

Proverbs 11.29: “He that troubleth his own house shall inherit the wind; and the fool shall be servant to the wise at heart.”

Psalms 46.10: “Be still and know that I am God.”

Struggling to keep my fool mouth shut and therein hearing the presence of God, I remain,

With Love,
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor  

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Dear Non-Conference Non-Attendees:

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Dear Sitters:

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Dear Pledging Patriots:

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Concern over the new arrivals’ ability to assimilate and a fear that they lacked understanding

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Dear Ones:

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Dear Past Pandemic Prospectors,

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Dear God Lovers:

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