I think it’s time to get this blog going again. The last time it was really active was during the pandemic, and this moment feels too much like that one. Here’s one of the weekly notes for United Church of Christ, Pittsfield.

“Yep, this is really happening.”

I’m not an optimistic person. I mean, Eeyore makes me smile. Be around me for long enough and, eventually, you will hear my worst-case scenario about something.

That doesn’t mean I’m not hopeful. I think about worst case scenarios and then also get excited about doing the work of turning things around. I like a good problem. Problems are fun.

The problematic state of our country right now is on a different level, though. There have been federal cuts happening for at least three years that have made life harder for a lot of folks. They have not been kind. I’ve been here for about 2 and a half years, and since then, the number of folks coming to the pantry has doubled. For the first time in recent memory, we passed 1900 households being served in one week.

There has been a steady stream of cuts for a while, but now the floodgates are open on every economic, social, spiritual, and political level. Folks are getting swept up and swept away, and it doesn’t feel as though we’re even close to the peak, yet. We can see the mass of human suffering coming closer and closer, and at this point, it doesn’t feel as though anything can stop it.

My not-optimist self has been trying to find the worst case scenario so that I could have the joy of problem solving, but about two weeks ago, I hit a wall. I haven’t slept well. It felt like my brain was a velcro ball that had rolled through the dust under my couch and gotten stuck there.

A couple of days ago, somewhere in the middle of the night, a phrase popped into my head when I was trying to solve some piece of the puzzle. “Yep, this is really happening.” The “it” was the mind-blowing enormity of this moment. At first, “it” took my breath away, but it helped, too. Well, it made me think about mangroves and tsunamis.

Mangroves grow at the edge of oceans and other waterways. Their roots are tangle-y, and they’re hard to get around. It’s not unusual for property developers to cut them down to give access to beaches and ocean views. During the Indian Ocean tsunami in 2004, they discovered something important. The damage was reduced where mangroves remained, and the wave didn’t travel as far ashore. Mangroves aren’t huge. But they’re so deeply rooted that they don’t move. Because of how they grow, their roots, leaves, and branches help counteract some of the power of the waves.

The word “radical” comes from a Latin origin meaning “deeply rooted.” The first part of the tsunami wave is upon us, and larger parts are still coming. Yep, this is really happening. But our roots are deep. This Church of ours has been around for 2000 years, and our collective congregation has been around for at least 10% of that time. When we continue to come together for worship on Sundays and tell the good news of one who comes with love and liberation, we remain deeply rooted. When we continue to host a pantry and more and more groups who share our values, we remain deeply rooted. When we take a look at our building and consider ways it might be improved to share it better, we remain deeply rooted. When we give our time, talent, and treasure to make sure that every corner shines with efficiency and welcome, we remain deeply rooted. When we show up at protests, sign petitions, call our representatives, do justice, do acts of loving kindness, care for all creation, and walk humbly with God, we remain deeply rooted.

Yep, this is really happening, and this is a moment when we have to tap into the strength of our deep roots to stand firm in this place to dissipate the effect of the tsunami barreling at us and those we love.

It won’t be easy, but the most faithful things rarely are.