Daily Devotions
New devotions are posted Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
Maybe None are Found until All are Found
Sanctified Art | Commentary by Dr. Mindy McGarrah Sharp
“I’ve found my voice!” The class beamed with excitement, sharing in palpable joy. This student had been quiet for years, almost never speaking. One day, they spoke, then again, building steam throughout the semester, deepening their vocal participation and contributing mightily to collective learning.
“How did I not know about this?” asked another student in a different class. They had been studying for years and had already devoted countless hours to various ministries. “Now that I found this out, I am free! And I am also mad!” That class joined in palpable joy and righteous anger.
How did these students find their voice and freedom? Both exclaimed that the assigned reading invited them in, showing that their voices were welcome, their freedom was at hand, and that people who look like them have been calling them through generations to find their voice and freely join the conversation.
For a teacher, bearing witness to a student who finds their voice is joyous. With newfound courage, freer students glow. What they did or didn’t realize was lost is now found! The whole room shifts when a voice found adds something to the group that was lost without them. When a found voice claims its rightful power, there is almost always rejoicing.
But it’s also maddening. Voices aren’t disembodied utterings, but embodied precious people worthy of being heard. Bearing witness to the joy of found voices also bears witness to obliviousness that voices were missing. Even with deep conviction and contrition, it’s painful when the almost-always-heard realize they never noticed anyone missing in readings, historical genealogies, or learning environments.
I assign readings from often-invisibilized theologians who honor their mentors, one generation to the next across multiple
generations. These readings also clearly describe the finding of the authors’ own unique and powerful voices.
Tracing generations of Asian Feminist, Womanist, Liberationist scholars in theological trajectories teaches about the kind of
mentoring it takes to help scholars find their voices. Readings themselves become mentors to many students, including the
two mentioned here. While diverse representation in readings is just a start, it’s not enough. I seek to read what has existed for generations, but has been left out, lost, unread, unpreached, unassigned, unknown. Who noticed? Who searched?
One commentator suggests calling this the parable of the found instead of the lost sheep because this search continues until the final finding. It doesn’t stop, doesn’t tire of noticing the missing. Have you found your voice? Have you found your freedom? Have you found your anger? Have you found your joy?
Reflect
Whose voices have you not yet noticed? Which ones are missing, unread, unpreached, unheard?
Previously…
Good Intentions
In our scripture reading last Sunday, we heard these familiar words from Joshua’s speech to all the tribes of Israel: “Now if you are unwilling to serve the Lord, choose this day whom you will serve…but as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord” (24:15).
Remembering Our Stories
My sisters and I just booked our annual “Sisters’ Get-away” for the fall of 2023. It has become a sacred tradition, one that began after our older brother died of a sudden heart attack 21 years ago at the age of 55.
A Legacy of Land
Beginning yesterday in worship, our announcement slides will include an “Acknowledgement of Native Lands,” helping to honor the truth of the place we are privileged to gather upon each week. For 65 years, our community of faith has regularly assembled on this hill surrounded by wetlands teaming with wildlife. But this refuge has nurtured creaturely inhabitants for millennia, long before this area was cultivated into farmland and eventually developed into the modern city of Roseville that we know it to be today.
One of Those Days
Whenever I’m having “one of those days,” the kind when I start to wonder if what I’m doing is accomplishing anything at all, I try to grab ahold of something that might remind me of the larger purpose of what I’m doing. Sometimes, it’s stopping to remember the love of family and friends whose relationships are so central in my life. Sometimes it’s connecting with colleagues in ministry who face comparable challenges, reminding me I’m not alone. And sometimes, it’s re-reading the “Letter of Call” this congregation placed in my hands a little over five years ago.