I was in the middle of rehearsal when the notification of Chadwick Boseman’s death flashed across my screen. In the pause when my heart was on hold, I hoped it was all an error, a cruel tabloid by some evil prankster who had nothing better to do but ruin the world’s Friday night. For a decent, honest, kind hero like Boseman to be taken so soon felt like the purest evidence that life can be so unfair and that death is not right. Death on earth is inevitable for each of us, but it still feels wrong, like it really was never meant to be. Something went wrong. In my culture, death is not the end.

This year has been relentless with its full display of loss, grief and injustice. The black lives taken this year, and the many lost in the past but only now surfacing because we finally believe and care. The hundreds of thousands of lives ravaged by illness, many that could have been saved if it were not for the unjust health care system that disenfranchises black and brown and the poor, and if we didn’t have a president who cared more about his ego than the country’s wellbeing. The Lebanese lives affected by manmade mistakes. The lives upended by natural disasters and climate change. The lives taken because assault weapons are still allowed in public hands. It’s not that death, loss, injustice and grief bloomed this year; we’re just finally paying attention and feeling it in our bones and schedules and social media.

God, what are you doing? God what are you trying to say? What is here to hold and honor, under this blanket of exhaustion, anger, sorrow, rage, depression and anxiety? Why do you often use grief and sorrow to straighten us and slow us down to the present moment, to display the priorities buried in our purpose? What does it mean to experience the fullness of this pain and moment for our own good, for the sake of others, for the sake of the world? What does it look like to walk in power embracing grief and sorrow? Chadwick did that. The greatest leaders who put it all on the line did that. Jesus did that.

It’s been a while since I’ve read the Word. God feels present, but very quiet. The Word feels unpredictable and I’m afraid to open my Bible and feel anger towards voices of past teachers evading my space. But God is present and their still small voice says, trust me, hold the faith, I’ll show you a better way. So, today is a step. Tomorrow will be a step.

The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the paths for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. Psalm 23:1-4