The burst of tears surprised me on Tuesday morning. I had been on edge since hearing President Trump’s unlawful order to assassinate the Iranian top general was carried through on Iraqi soil. So many questions swirled. 

If there is retaliation and escalating strikes by the U.S., what will this mean for the people of Iraq already enduring decades of U.S. created war? What will this mean for the people of Iran–the children, the families, the elders, the civilians just like us–who will undoubtedly suffer the consequences of either a U.S. military response or more economic sanctions? What of the military personnel and aid workers, the contractors and diplomats, and the media, and, and…? 

And the unspeakable unknown: How far are we from full-on, even nuclear, war? 

So when Reverend Bill shared the emerging report of the Iranian retaliatory airstrikes, the gasp and tears came unbidden.

What am I, what are we, to do? Where is our resistance and persistence most needed given all of the horrors of mass detention and incarceration, climate crisis, chopping away at reproductive justice and the rights of our LGBTQ+ siblings… and a new war?

After heartful conversation with ministers and colleagues –and a few more tears– I was ready to listen. I wanted connection. I wanted to know how loved ones were faring. I wanted to feel bonded with others who let themselves be shaken by injustice. And I wanted to feel the resilience of community, to hold each other up as we continue the long journey toward justice. In essence, I wanted to breathe, to inhale through the fear and grief, and exhale, newly centered, present, and in concert with community.

I posted a question on Facebook: How are you doing as the US marches further into war in the Middle East? What are you feeling? Thinking? Wanting? Perhaps some of these responses resonate for you, as they did for me:

It is a constant underlying worry/fear/horror.

Not great. Neither are many of my fellow military spouses. I’d be mad anyway, but it’s a special kind of horror when you have skin in the game.

I am wanting to reach the Iranian people and let them know we stand with them in peace and that we don’t want war.

Very sad. Uneasy in general. Like I should apologize to my exchange daughters in Iraq to assure them that I love them so much and this has nothing to do with our love. Nervous about…my father’s trip home…And his return. Will he be allowed back in?

Shaky, angry, afraid…Scared for everyone in harm’s way, for all the relational damage being done, and for the personal terror and suffering, and for the day when we are not so buffered here.

My heart hurts and my stomach churns…I’m terrified for our service people who are there, who include my friends who have sons there…and I feel just sick thinking about what this means for our kids in the future…

Feeling disgust, wanting peace.

What do we do with so many feelings of fear, grief and pain? I believe, first, that we anchor ourselves in compassion by making room for the range of our feelings. Tess Biestel of our Peace Action Group once said, “Grief is an exquisite expression of love.” Isn’t that the truth?

But we cannot linger in grief. We must breathe, and for the long haul, we must make room for each other to breathe. Aimee Van Ausdall writes:

This morning I have been pondering a nearly forgotten lesson I learned in high school music. Sometimes in band or choir, music requires players or singers to hold a note longer than they actually can hold a note. In those cases, we were taught to mindfully stagger when we took a breath so the sound appeared uninterrupted. Everyone got to breathe, and the music stayed strong and vibrant…So let’s remember the advice of music: Take a breath. The rest of the chorus will sing. The rest of the band will play. Rejoin so others can breathe. Together, we can sustain a very long, beautiful song for a very, very long time. You don’t have to do it all, but you must add your voice to the song.

Let us feel, let us breathe, and let us continue to join our voices together, in prayer, in protest, in solidarity, and with love. 

Please bring your prayers for peace to the Peace Action Group table in Fuller Hall this Sunday after both services. There you can write a message of love to be hung on the peace branch. We will share more ways you can be involved in faithful action as we learn more in the coming days. Please also read this UU Service Committee Statement in Response to Recent Conflict 

In peace and with love,

Dana

Dana Buhl, Director of Social Justice