As I write, there are reports of yet another school shooting. The refrain “I never thought this would happen here” has become a mantra on the evening news. The circle of those experiencing trauma — or knowing someone who has — widens daily. In her book “Spirit and Trauma: A Theology of Remaining,” Dr. Shelly Rambo recalls standing in the backyard of Julius Lee, a retired member of the United States Air Force. It was after Hurricane Katrina and all that was left of his house were remnants of a washed-out foundation. As they stood there, Lee said, “The storm is gone, but the ‘after the storm’ is always here.”
A book published last month by Westminster John Knox Press, “Fractured Ground: Preaching in the Wake of Mass Trauma,” offers help to preachers and community leaders who are called to speak and respond to mass trauma.
The rooms we occupy — those places where breath is taken, words are spoken and memories are made — are often taken for granted. They have four walls and a ceiling, reflecting the personality of the occupant or the traditions of an organization. But can rooms be more?
On Wednesday, the Rev. Dr. Kimberly Wagner offered up the Rx that pastors preaching and leading congregations might well need the most during this time of trauma: practical advice from someone who’s been there, and who’s clearly researched and thought deeply about what trauma can do to individuals and faith communities.
In the first of three forums in recognition of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)’s celebration of Black History Month, the Rev. Dr. Terrlyn L. Curry Avery, the pastor of the Martin Luther King Jr. Community Presbyterian Church in Springfield, Massachusetts, addressed the subject of service, sacrifice or self-care.
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.
With a 30-pound pack on his back and a mission in his heart, the Rev. Zachary Morton, pastor of First Presbyterian Church of Morgantown, West Virginia, set out Sept. 21 on an eight-day, nearly 150-mile walk to the state capitol in Charleston.
