Mark 6:32-44
Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS
March 8, 2026
I prepared a sermon about the loaves and fishes for this morning. It’s one of my favorite stories from the gospels. But by the end of the week, it didn’t feel like the right sermon any more. Maybe it’ll make an appearance next week. We’ll see.
Everywhere I go these days, there comes a part in each conversation where someone quietly reveals they’re not doing great. People explain that they’re having a lot of trouble focusing, going through the daily motions of life. I’ve heard quite a few people say how difficult it is to just get up and do all the regular things that need to be done when there’s always a significant part of their spirit consumed with what’s going on in the wider world. Grocery prices. Attacks on immigrants and people of color; our trans neighbors; free speech; democracy. Plus, you know, climate change, wildfires, storms, floods. And now - war that has escalated so quickly it takes your breath away.
In the midst of all this swirling chaos, every single person gathered here today has their own daily celebrations and pain. Doctor’s appointments and hospital visits. Caring for toddlers and elders. Looking for work or a place to live. Trying to figure out how to pay off debt or pay for college. Cars that break down. Wedding anniversaries and birthday parties. A promotion at work that may or may not come with a raise, but always comes with extra responsibilities.
It’s just all there - swirling. Every day we wake up, brush our teeth, and keep putting one foot in front of the other. Of course we do.
But it takes a toll. Of course it does. We get tired. We space out. We snap at those we love the most. We curl up under blankets and cry….or watch TV….or just stare at the wall. Some of us find old coping mechanisms we’d rather avoid are back and clamoring for our attention: we drink too much, we restrict our eating, we find ourselves driven by our obsessions and compulsions as if by a motor.
What I’m saying is: a lot of us aren’t okay right now. Of course we aren’t. We would do well to remember this the next time someone cuts us off in traffic. Or when we botch something up ourselves. We would do well to reach deep to find compassion and empathy. To extend grace. And call upon the Spirit of Love so we can respond instead of react.
************
This past Friday night, about 40 people from our community gathered here in these pews to sing songs of resistance. These are not your father’s protest songs (though there are a lot of oldies but goodies we should keep alive). The Singing Resistance movement brings with it songs that are brand new - created by artists all over the country - prepared in response to this moment in history. Some of the songs are upbeat. Some are angry and prophetic. Some are songs of deep lament. Some are songs of hope. Some seem to defy categorization.
The song we started with on Friday night was simple.
Hold on / Hold on / My dear ones, here comes the dawn [1]
*********
People of faith have a long history of holding on while hoping and praying and acting for the dawn. One powerful tool that comes to us from our faith ancestors is the practice of lament.
Today, I want to teach a little bit about this spiritual practice and then try it out together. I hope that, in the months to come, we might return to it as needed. So if you don’t get a chance to practice enough today, don’t worry. This won’t be the last time we practice together.
First, the teaching. And here I’m borrowing (with permission) the excellent work of the Rev. Rachel Small-Stokes, a UCC pastor in Louisville.
Pastor Rachel points out that lament comes to us from our Jewish faith ancestors. In fact, lament makes up about a third of the Psalms. That’s significant, isn’t it?
The purpose of lament is to share our pain with God. Make it known. Lament doesn’t necessarily “fix” anything. Instead, it invites us to draw nearer to God, who promises to be present in our pain, to share our burdens, and offer us a compassionate presence.
Pastor Rachel points out that lament in the Hebrew Bible has a structure:
First, the author directs their complaint to God.
Psalm 3: “O God, how many are my foes!”
Second, they describe their suffering.
Psalm 42: “My tears have been my food, day and night.”
Third, they ask God to come to the aid of those who suffer.
Psalm 44: “Awake! Why are you sleeping, God? Wake up!”
Finally, the author remembers God’s faithfulness.
Psalm 13: “But I have trusted in your steadfast love.”
I’d like to invite you to create your own lament. It might be on behalf of those who are suffering in the Middle East. Or trans Kansans who are fighting for their right to exist. Or on behalf of immigrants detained or deported, or children who are victims of abuse. Perhaps you lament today on your own behalf.
If you feel comfortable, I invite you to find a piece of paper and writing utensil. Or fire up your phone to take some notes. I’ll guide us through the process and give time for you to pray and write. During our prayer time later in the service, you may want to share yours aloud. If so, I’ll invite you to come up to the microphone to do so or type it into the chat so I can share it.
First, we offer our complaint. What is happening that feels beyond your control? Painful? This part is usually short (but not very sweet). Think of it as almost a title.
(pause)
Second, we describe the suffering. How is this terrible thing impacting you or people God loves? This might go on and on for pages. For today, just focus on one or two things that are jumping up and grabbing your attention.
(pause)
Third, we ask God for help. What do you want God to do? It’s okay if this is unrealistic. It’s okay if it’s not tidy or neat. What do you desire in your heart?
(pause)
Finally, we remember God’s character. Who have we experienced the Spirit to be in the past? What do we know about who God is from our faith stories? From the person of Jesus? What about this can offer comfort or wisdom in light of your particular lament today? This part may feel challenging, but it’s so important because it grounds us in the presence of Love and reminds us we do not lament alone. Lament doesn’t leave us in despair, but gives strength and encouragement as we prepare to take the next faithful step.
(pause)
(end with song)
Hold on / Hold on / My dear ones, here comes the dawn [1]
NOTES
[1] Song by Heidi Wilson
