“On a good, calm day it is hard to know what to make of photos that show, in no uncertain terms, that every single thing you will ever and could ever know is simultaneously galactically insignificant and unspeakably beautiful and precious. Today, the world held its breath waiting for the 8 p.m. eastern deadline Trump set for Iran to agree to a deal to reopen the Strait of Hormuz. If his terms weren’t met, he posted this morning, “a whole civilization will die tonight, never to be brought back again.”… And yet at the very same moment, four flesh-and-blood human beings are hundreds of thousands of miles away taking pictures of our delicate little world. Their mission and their photos remind us of something else entirely—of a yearning to learn, to explore, and to band together to become something greater than the sum of our parts.”
Hildegard de Bingen, who lived in the early 12th century, was an astounding polymath, theologian, and visionary. I’ve recently rediscovered her “mandalas”, designs meant to open our eyes to new ways of seeing…
“The [mandalas] were thought to be as strong or stronger than the words themselves. There is a gestalt immediacy, what Hindu’s refer to as darshan, meaning the simultaneous act of seeing and being seen by a deity.”
The astronauts hugging each other after naming a crater after Reid Wiseman’s late wife Carroll. Link to the video
“Unlike happiness, joy can live alongside sadness, boredom, fear, or despair. It expands our capacity to hold contradictory truths at the same time—and because we know joy, we recover a strange, steady confidence that life is still worth loving, even when it hurts.”
The following is the text of a sermon preached on December 28, 2025 at Bering Church.
Last week I had a conversation with Diane and Calvin about preaching from the lectionary. During that conversation, Diane said something important that stuck with me: “Preaching from the lectionary makes you read the parts of scripture that are hard…the parts you don’t really want to deal with.”
Advent, the season of waiting for the Light, ended on Christmas Eve as we retold the nativity story. We woke up the next morning to the wonderful chaos of the Christmas celebration… and we are still celebrating Christmas. Today is the 3rd day of Christmastide (otherwise known as the 12 days of Christmas), the season that lets us dive deeply into the miracle of Christ’s birth, the gift of God putting on skin to come live with us and within us.
The 3rd day of Christmas is also Childermas in the calendar of the church, the “children’s mass”. We don’t celebrate feast days the way our siblings in the Catholic church do, but they are reflected in our lectionary… and so today, our gospel lesson is about the Slaughter of the Innocents.
It seems a little on the nose that the Sunday I was asked to preach the text is about Herod ordering the murder of every boy in Jerusalem under 2 years of age.
Because, as a pediatric surgeon, I have personally witnessed the slaughter of children.
I have heard the anguished cries of their parents.
I know exactly what Rachel’s weeping sounded like…
You don’t have to be a pediatric surgeon working in an urban hospital to witness the slaughter of children today.
The news is filled with images and stories of children dying from bombings in Gaza, Ukraine, Syria, and so many other places…Children dying from starvation and disease because food and medicine are being deliberately withheld…Children dying from gunshot wounds on beaches and in our cities.
It’s understandable that we just want to look away…to protect our tender hearts from this horror, from this darkness.
What do you do with a Christmas text about something this horrible? And why is this part of the Christmas story?
Today’s text reminds us that in the midst of Christmas lights, presents, and celebrations… there was, is, and will always be darkness in the world. But it doesn’t stop there. I think it also provides some guidance on what to do…how we are to bring light into the darkness.
Lament
Jesus wept.
It’s not only the shortest verse in the Bible, it’s a directive for those of us who have chosen to follow Jesus. Like Rachel, like the mothers in Bethlehem, in the face of unthinkable tragedy, it’s not only ok that we mourn, it is important that we lament, that we embody our sorrow… that we weep, tear our clothes, cover ourselves with ashes.
Like Rachel and the mothers in Bethlehem, we need to let our hearts be broken by that which breaks the heart of God.
Be angry
Profound sorrow is often accompanied by anger, even if we try to (or have been taught to) suppress it. Rebecca Solnit, who is one of my favorite philosophers and activists, quotes Rev. Dr. Renita J Weems who teaches that “rage is a form of prayer”. It’s a form of prayer because rage is not primarily about the anger, it’s about the love and care that underlies that anger.
So don’t worry if you feel rage with your sorrow… it’s holy.
Watch for the way opening
Today’s scripture lessons start by teaching us that in the face of unbearable sorrow we are to lament, weep, and even shake our fists at God in anger. But then, we need to let go, we need to “put our trust in YHWH’s unfailing love.” (from another of today’s readings, Isaiah 63:7-9)
When I say “let go”, let me be clear. I’m not talking about letting go of the grief – I’m talking about transforming it in a way that allows us to “watch for the way opening” as the Quakers say.
The mothers in our story never stopped grieving. Each of them had waves of grief that were unrelenting, waves of grief that tumbled them in the surf of sorrow and then threw them to the ground. But as time went on they began to realize, like everyone who has experienced this kind of intense grief, that although the waves never stop, they begin to decrease in intensity and frequency. In the midst of grief there are moments where we can finally stand up without being knocked down… and in those moments sorrow can be transformed.
Joseph must have felt sorrow, too… along with tremendous anger. His fiancee became pregnant, but not by him. He had to obey a ruthless tyrant and take Mary to Jerusalem so Herod could know how many people to tax. And then, when they got there, it was so crowded there was no place to stay…
And, yet…
Joseph got up.
Not once, not twice, but three times.
He had three different dreams and each time the same thing happened…
He had a dream not to divorce Mary… and “Joseph got up and did as the angel of God directed.”
He had a dream to escape with Mary and Jesus to Egypt… and “Joseph got up, awakened Jesus and Mary, and they left that night for Egypt.”
He had a dream to return to Israel with Jesus after the death of Herod… and “Joseph got up, awakened Jesus and Mary, and they returned to the land of Israel.”
The word in Greek that is translated as “dream” in Matthew is specific for a dream that is a clear message sent by God. This word is used only 21 times in the Bible, and only 6 times in the New Testament… all in the Gospel according to Matthew.
We believe that God is still speaking to us in dreams, events, conversations, natural beauty, art, poetry, imagination… Sometimes it’s with a loud voice…urgent messages like the ones Joseph heard, but more often it’s a whisper, words that enter our awareness like a sacred secret. As John C. Dorheur, pastor and former President of the UCC explains “Sacred moments and new truth and inspired wisdom can come to us along many pathways. Some moments of insight are approached through disciplines we cultivate for that very purpose. Other epiphanies come utterly by surprise, the product less of our cultivation than of some unexpected inspiration that the universe conspires to create.
So I return to the questions I started with…
What do you do with a Christmas text about something this horrible? And why is this part of the Christmas story?
Today’s gospel reading reminds us that darkness has always been and will always be present in the world, that there are times that it will drop us to our knees in grief or fear. But it also gives us a glimpse about how to move through that darkness, to remember that Light was born into the world, a Light that shines in the darkness, a Light that darkness cannot overcome. (John 1:5).
We are to bear witness.
When faced with unbearable tragedy, when we find ourselves in the throes of darkness, we are to bear witness, to not look away. As painful as it is, we are to let our hearts be broken by that which breaks the heart of God.
Ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering, there is a crack, a crack in everything that’s how the light gets in.
We are to lament (and not be surprised if we are angry).
We are to embody our sorrow and feel rage at the injustice… honest emotions, felt deeply.
We are to trust.
Having faced the darkness, felt deep sorrow and anger, we then need to let go. We can’t let sorrow and anger consume us. Through faith we watch for moments that let us begin to transform our sorrow and our anger, looking for the Light that is able to shine through our brokenness …and then we are to take that Light into the world to do what Love would have us do.
May we be open to the many ways that God is still speaking – in our dreams, in the actions and words of angels among us, in quiet whispers and gentle touch, in birdsong and sunrise.
In the dark, in times of sorrow, fear, and anger may we watch for the way opening.
And then, like Joseph, may we listen, get up, and obey.
Amen
Sermons are meant to be heard, more than read. If you want to listen, you can find this sermon here (The sermon starts at 18:43).
A few years after I started as an attending in pediatric surgery, I was called to see a little girl who had been with her father at a construction site. For whatever reason, a wall under construction had fallen and she was caught under it. Her injuries were severe, with massive blood loss from a crushed liver. We opened her chest, packed the liver, transfused her massively but to no avail…
I vividly remember what happened next. Instead of the usual quiet moment of reflection, the team started talking about our week, carrying on a conversation as though this was just one more event in a busy day. It hit me how unusual this was as I was driving home. It was the middle of the night and, as I drove into my neighborhood, I noticed that I wasn’t feeling anything, that the sadness and other emotions I usually felt when I lost a patient weren’t there.
A cat darted in front of my car. I got out of the car, looked at the cat and burst into sobs… which continued for a good 30-40 minutes.
The loss of a patient, the loss of a pet, or even the loss of a dream related to your career leads to grief. Granted, the depth of grief may be, and should be, less than the loss of a family member, but it is grief nonetheless. Because these losses are often viewed as “less serious”, people may feel that it’s somehow “not normal” to feel true grief when they occur. This is particularly true for physicians, who often have to suppress these feelings to be able to treat the next patient.
Here’s the single most important message…It’s ok to feel the loss.
The ability to cry over a tragic injury or loss of a patient is the sign of a compassionate physician or provider, not a sign of weakness. For all of us who experience these losses, It is important to allow ourselves to grieve, if that is what we are feeling. Although this will mean different things for different people, here are a few ways that might help…
Share your thoughts with someone you trust. Talk to your friends and, in particular, senior colleagues. It is important for your future patients that you are allowed the space to grieve. It is also normal to worry about returning to work if you’ve experienced a particularly traumatic loss. If you have a colleague who has lost a patient, let them know in direct or indirect ways that you are there for them if they need to talk.
If you are the team leader, talk to your team. It’s important to debrief with your team (and anyone else who was there) immediately afterwards and a few days later. Make sure you acknowledge how hard this is and ask if people are ok. Remember for many of your learners, this may be their first time to experience the loss of a patient… how you respond will be remembered as their example for the future.
“Good models teach us to handle the experiences that change us.” Thomas J. Krizek.
Communicate with the family.Immediately afterwards, just be with them. It is human nature to avoid “bothering them” in their time of grief but try to go. Bearing witness to their grief by sitting silently with them is a powerful way to help. Write a condolence letter. Call, email or write a note 3-6 months later to let them know you are thinking of them and to ask if they have any lingering questions. Offer to meet with them if they would like.
Go to the visitation and/or the funeral. Even after a hard journey together, even if you question if you could have done something different, go to the funeral if it feels like you should. Not just for the family, who will be very appreciative – but for you. There is closure in ceremony for everyone.
Take care of yourself. Focus on self-care by being with family and friends, eating good food, exercising, sleeping and doing the things you love. It is both the burden and privilege of our profession that we experience these moments of intense and tender transitions…. but sometimes it hurts.
