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During the Vital Congregations lament worship service Wednesday, nearly 50 participants were asked if they were willing to weep if they saw a sibling in pain — or if they were just content to be a lens.
As churches, worshiping communities and their leaders continue to grapple with the spread of COVID-19, some are finding ways to live into their commitment to the Matthew 25 invitation.
As Americans watched the pandemic move across the globe with startling speed, we thought about our medically vulnerable relatives, our children and the elderly. We planned how to gather food and water, made sure we had medicine in our homes. We washed our hands, didn’t touch our face and if we had to leave the house, we put on a face mask. It was inconvenient, but for most of us, possible.
On Friday, an independent group of United Nations human rights experts released the sort of statement we are used to seeing about other nations.
Hardly a day goes by without the Rev. Brad Munroe receiving a call from someone wanting to make a donation to help Native Americans in the southwestern United States, many of whom are struggling to cope with poverty and the weight of COVID-19 and its economic fallout.
Amid weeks of global preoccupation with the personal, social, economic, and political impact of the COVID-19 pandemic, the plight of the Palestinian people bears a growing, striking resemblance to George Floyd’s plea, “I can’t breathe.” Ever since 1967, the knee of Israel’s military occupation of the West Bank and Gaza has been increasingly and relentlessly pressing down on the Palestinians’ neck.
Social media is an engaging tool for talented extroverts like the Rev. Josh Kerr, who you can see making viral dance moves on TikTok or advising, “Don’t burp in your mask. Trust me,” on Facebook.
Kerr, 37, amuses, educates and inspires people of all ages — even those who seek pastoral care and discernment. However, what is not fit for a stage, says Kerr, is worship.
On the surface, things seemed calm. Professors came and left every two weeks, teaching courses to adult South Sudanese students on various aspects of peacebuilding. The students sang together during morning devotions, laughed while acting out dramas in class, and played boisterous volleyball matches before dinner. The staff enjoyed the liveliness of a campus brimming with activity. Yet underneath, we were all aware of the country’s instability. At any time, a spark might fly, igniting a rapidly spreading flame of violence.
On March 15, the Kenyan government confirmed the first cases of COVID-19 and announced a nationwide ban on large gatherings, along with the closure of schools and nonessential businesses. Two days later, the Presbyterian Church of East Africa (PCEA) held a press conference to announce the closure of its worship services in adherence with the government directive.
For decades, children whose clothing has caught fire have been taught by teachers and firefighters alike to stop, drop and roll.
