I still get the weekly bulletin from St. Johns in DC. It began: “Many in our parish have been affected by the recent layoff of Federal workers. Some have already lost their jobs, and some are in fear of losing their jobs. Many of our fellow congregants are seeing their lives and livelihoods turned upside down, and in some cases seeing their life’s work become dismantled.”
While reading this news, my heart ached, remembering the warmth and connection of that community where I once belonged. The opening words resonated, painting a vivid picture of the challenges facing so many within their parish family and the wider DC area. It began by acknowledging a difficult truth: “Many of our fellow congregants are seeing their lives and livelihoods turned upside down, and in some cases seeing their life’s work become dismantled.”
It’s more than just news; it’s the reality of dear people – familiar faces from coffee hour, or the friendly usher at Sunday service – now grappling with immense uncertainty. To think of individuals and families who have poured their hearts and souls into their work, now facing the pain of job loss or the constant worry of what tomorrow might bring, is truly sobering. We can almost feel the weight of their anxieties and the disruption to the lives they had carefully built.
In our daily lives, we’re often bombarded with statistics about the economy and job markets. But these numbers can feel distant until they become the stories of people we know, people whose hands we’ve shaken, whose joys and sorrows we’ve shared. Suddenly, those abstract figures take on a very real and human face. While the intricacies of political debates might have their place, our immediate response as fellow human beings, as compassionate neighbors and friends, to those experiencing such profound upheaval is a deeply spiritual matter, especially as we journey through Lent.
The bulletin guided my thoughts to a series of poignant questions: “Do I have a friend who has been laid off, a colleague who has decided to return to the “home country,” a family member who was about to retire and now is looking for work to make sure they don’t lose the house?” These aren’t just hypothetical scenarios; they are the lived experiences of people within our extended community. We can almost picture the worried phone calls, the hushed conversations, the brave smiles trying to mask the underlying fear.
Whether this period of change was anticipated or has arrived like an unexpected storm, it underscores our shared vulnerability and our profound need for connection. Our call is to offer “Ordinary Grace” – those simple yet powerful acts of kindness, understanding, and practical support – not just a suggestion, but as a heartfelt imperative. Let us open our eyes and our hearts to those within our own families, our neighborhoods, and our wider circles who are navigating these turbulent times. A listening ear, a helping hand, a word of encouragement – these small gestures of empathy can be a lifeline, a beacon of hope in a world that suddenly feels less secure.
This is beautiful, Webb. So kind and compassionate, as you are at your core. Thanks for sharing this genuinely Christian view with all of us.
Linda, thank you so much. Your kind words mean so much to me considering the source. Hope y’all have a wonderful Easter! Thanks again. W.