Last weekend, as I was eating pear and gorgonzola pizza from Brixx Pizza, I said to my friends, speaking of the pizza’s crust, “This would be good communion bread.”
Today, as I was harvesting the fruit from a pomegranate, I thought to myself, referring to the inner structure of the fruit, “This is sort of like the Church universal: one fruit made of a bunch of smaller sections, all fundamentally the same, separated only by thin skins that allow for differences.”
One of the things that was important to my professors in divinity school was learning to think theologically. I didn’t have to learn this skill, however. It’s been part of me for as long as I can remember—this ability to see bits of God and the body of God’s people in things like pizza and pomegranates—without even trying.
Sometimes, though, when I know I should be thinking theologically, I struggle. I struggle to get beyond my passionate humanity and see where God is present in situations that seem void of good. Tuesday was one of those days.
As I sat in a room that represented everything I hate in this world—lies, betrayal, manipulation, hypocrisy, betrayal, spite, arrogance, close-minded judgment, and false humility—I had to work hard to think theologically because all I wanted to do was shoot daggers at the people who were trying to hurt a dear friend.
I employed all of the theological strategies that I knew. I recited memory verses. I prayed with words. I prayed with breath. I prayed with my body. I said flash prayers for everyone I saw. I named my thoughts. I named my emotions. I embraced silence. I embraced lack of technology. I imagined where Jesus would be if he were there. I didn’t know if he’d be with me or other people who had been called to the room or with my friend or her family or the people who were trying to hurt them. I finally decided that he would have been walking around making sure everyone was okay—delivering water and snacks and smiles as needed.
At the end of the day, when hurt had prevailed, I found myself saying, “God, where were you in this? Aren’t you the God of justice and truth? Aren’t you the God of righteousness and redemption? Aren’t you the God of unity and humility? I don’t understand all of this. I don’t understand it at all.”
And I didn’t. And I don’t. Yet I know that God was there. And I know that God is here. And I know it because of this:
“Peace is not the absence of conflict and struggle in our lives. Peace is the incredible presence of Love.”
And love was there.
And love is here.
And love will hold each and every one of us.
On days like Tuesday.
On days like today’s Thanksgiving Day.
In pizza crust, in pomegranates, in peace.
The incredible presence of Love is here.
And I am so theologically-thinking grateful.
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