My heart is moved by all I cannot save: / so much has been destroyed
I have to cast my lot with those / who age after age, perversely,
with no extraordinary power, / reconstitute the world.
—Adrienne Rich, from Dream of a Common Language (1978) and #463, Singing the Living Tradition

The first time I ever worshiped at a now-beloved UU church, the minister was speaking from the pulpit when a baby’s wail came from the nursery—the kind of interruption that most speakers would have perhaps skipped over; said a quick thing about church can’t be that bad, ha ha; or offered a word of thanks to their nursery care workers. All of which would carry an implied curriculum that such a cry was an interruption. Any of those reactions would have taught us that we could collectively ignore the crying and get on with the business of church.

Instead, he stopped. He didn’t talk over it or rush through. He cocked his head, listening.

His was a real response—one human hearing another human’s despair and pain, authentically compassionate. Then he said something like, “Let’s wait a moment. Let’s just make sure.” He let his presence to that cry subsume us all.

I was coming from a church experience where a baby’s cry would have never been heard in the sanctuary—and if it had, I think the minister would have been very unhappy at the interruption. But here, I felt in the embrace and invitation of the Holy Spirit, which I have not always felt as a UU (or a religious professional) in worship—though I have felt it many times working with children in RE.

I was moved, as Adrienne Rich said, by all we could not save; by the sacred responsibility to stay near, even in the face of that despair, and perhaps more importantly, in the face of our own helpless anguish. Even, perhaps especially, when it is not required of us.

That was the most powerful piece of ministry I have ever witnessed from the pulpit. The message I took was that the most important thing to do—for any of us—is to stay soft, whole-hearted, and open to the world, in all its beauty and its terror. And, gathered there: to let love lead us.

Prayer

Divine love, open our hearts to the solitary cry, and to understand it as a call. 
Ground us in compassion, to stay present, in sacred witness. 
Convict us with the courage to respond.