There is a balm in Gilead

Flying across the country the day after the election was an odd experience. Our flight to Newark on Wednesday morning was quiet, even subdued. Whether that was because everyone was stunned and sad, or pleased but respectful, I don’t know. But it was striking.

At the seminar I attended in Princeton, it became clear that everyone (about 60 attendees and six leaders) was sad and worried. When one of the presenters was putting a US map up on a screen, shaded various hues of blue to differentiate different parts of the country (this was a about clergy and taxes), he paused and said, “Isn’t it consoling to see an all-blue map?” The room erupted in cheers. It felt good to be in an undivided space among people whose politics aligned.

Everywhere we went — at the hotel, on the Princeton campus, in town, even on a subway in New York City (Lisa and I spent an afternoon there after the seminar) — everyday encounters were still pleasant. Most people were helpful and kind.

The worship services at the seminar (at seminary, everything begins at least with a prayer, including daily lectures) focused on God’s abiding presence in all circumstances, on hope, on living life fully.

While I have had my moments of shock, anxiety, racing thoughts, I kept being pulled back to the present moment during this past week’s travels and study. I kept experiencing kindness as an almost physical blessing.

When we were in NYC, we rode the subway. On one ride, on a crowded train, as I was standing and holding onto a post, I felt a tap on my elbow. Turning, I saw a woman about my age with a younger woman I assumed to be her daughter. They were dressed in clothes that looked more Target than 5th Avenue. They looked a bit weary. They must have boarded the train in the south part of Brooklyn.

I turned to the woman who had pressed herself against her daughter’s side to open a very narrow spot.

“Wouldn’t you like to sit down?” she asked with a smile.

There is a balm in Gilead.

In Christ,

Lee