The Unclad Soul

I am mourning our country. Not the sham that is our politics. That stuff infuriates not saddens me. Not the pathetic Donald Trump. His dysfunction is real and alarming but he’s not the source of my grief. Not Hillary Clinton with her chameleon masks, her endlessly lavish suits, and her highbrow ownership of the Democratic Party. What a disappoint she has turned out to be. But I don’t weep over her. Not the professionally and morally bankrupt media either. Their selling out, their cowardice, their trivial pursuits drive me to scorn but not sorrow. No, I mourn for the real people in this country who desperately need a reliable government. I mourn for our veterans sent off to missions of disgrace and outrage only to return to us maimed, ruined, and dead. And all of that for lost causes and dishonest hype and the gluttony of a fraudulent Congress. I mourn for the poor, the homeless, the addicted, the disabled, and all Americans whose lives are daily embarrassed from lack of resour...

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. In Jesus’ day mourning was serious business. People suffering loss or some inner wound would go out into the streets and tear at their clothing. They would scream and weep in agony. They would gather a handful of dirt and pour it over their heads and let it mingle in their tears. It was a sign of their connection with their mortality, their belonging to the earth where sorrow breeds. They would wrap themselves in the arms of others. They didn’t lose themselves in mindless work or distract themselves in foolish activity. Grieving hurt. Mourning meant something. And I think what Jesus is saying here is: be open to the wounds of the world and to your own. Mourn the hurting of people and when you yourself hurt. Weep over the suffering of humanity and your suffering, too. Don’t hide from it. Don’t attempt to chase it away with meaningless clichés or empty escapes. Feel it and be moved. We are to mourn the deaths of those we l...