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Psalm 51.3-4, 12-13, 18-19

For I know my transgressions *
and my sin is ever before me.
Against you only have I sinned*
and done what is evil in your sight.
Cast me not away from your presence*
and take not your Holy Spirit from me.
Give me the joy of your saving help again*
and sustain me with your bountiful Spirit.
The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit;*
a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.
Be favorable and gracious to Zion,*
and rebuild the walls of Jerusalem.

Every now and then, Jojo, my four-year-old daughter, will make her sister cry. She will accidentally knock over Natalia, who is 10 months old, or give Natalia a little push when she’s annoyed or just hug her a bit too tightly. When this happens, Jojo rarely says she’s sorry, but she will crawl under the table or hide her face or cry.

Which is good. Maybe that’s a strange thing to say when your kid feels bad, but this is how I know she’s not a psychopath. And it’s a sign that she’s learning. Learning that what she does has an affect on others, and learning that the feelings and needs of other people matter.

What is required of us as adults is not much different, really. A sacrifice to God is a troubled spirit, the Psalm says.

Of course, as I get older it all gets more complicated. I rarely make people cry now, but I still harm others, and crawling under the table won’t do much good. Rather, a broken and contrite heart might lead me to apologize to Denise, my wife, or give a friend a call. And a troubled spirit might even lead me to participate in a march for justice or call my elected leaders. In each case, it’s the nagging sense that something is not quite right that leads me to change, to repent or to act.

After Jojo runs away or cries or hides, she’ll typically go and give her sister a hug. A gentle hug. This is a bit like rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem in the Psalm. And you can’t rebuild until you acknowledge that something is broken.

Remorse and contrition are useful to me. They are sometimes painful. Like many people I occasionally lay awake at night thinking of the most selfish moments in my life. Things done and left undone. The times I could have been better, been more present for my friends and family, kinder to people around me, done more for my community. When my own selfishness or self absorption blinded me to the harm I did to people I cared about. And probably to people I’ve never met. This place, where I am troubled by my sins, isn’t really a place to dwell, though. It’s not the destination, but the first step away from brokenness and pride and selfishness toward something better.

A broken and contrite heart is a sacrifice to God, and it is a teacher, guiding me toward a better version of myself, toward healing and reconciliation and hope.

Mark 3:7 - 19

⁷ Jesus departed with his disciples to the lake, and a great multitude from Galilee followed him; ⁸hearing all that he was doing, they came to him in great numbers from Judea, Jerusalem, Idumea, beyond the Jordan, and the region around Tyre and Sidon. ⁹He told his disciples to have a boat ready for him because of the crowd, so that they would not crush him;¹⁰for he had cured many, so that all who had diseases pressed upon him to touch him. ¹¹Whenever the unclean spirits saw him, they fell down before him and shouted, ‘You are the Son of God!’ ¹²But he sternly ordered them not to make him known.

¹³ He went up the mountain and called to him those whom he wanted, and they came to him. ¹⁴And he appointed twelve, whom he also named apostles,* to be with him, and to be sent out to proclaim the message,¹⁵and to have authority to cast out demons. ¹⁶So he appointed the twelve:* Simon (to whom he gave the name Peter); ¹⁷James son of Zebedee and John the brother of James (to whom he gave the name Boanerges, that is, Sons of Thunder); ¹⁸and Andrew, and Philip, and Bartholomew, and Matthew, and Thomas, and James son of Alphaeus, and Thaddaeus, and Simon the Cananaean, ¹⁹and Judas Iscariot, who betrayed him.

Then he went home;

My life feels somewhat chaotic at the moment. We have a baby on the way and a rambunctious three year old, and I’m going through some professional changes. Not to mention the primaries, coronavirus, and climate change.

Most days it’s almost all I can do to care for myself and my family, let alone my friends and coworkers and the other seven billion people in the world.

I’m sure I’m not alone in feeling this way. It feels a little like being crushed by the crowd of my to-do lists, the friends and family who I haven’t called in a while, the planning meetings with fellow activists I’ve missed, everything I can’t quite handle right now.

In recent weeks, saying morning or evening prayer has been helpful. The familiar prayers give me a chance to pause, like a moment alone on a quiet lake or peaceful walk on a mountain. The prayers help put things in perspective, reminding me that I am a small part of a much larger story, over which I have little control. The history of failures, small and large, that haunt me in the middle of the night can be forgiven. I do not have to face the fear I sometimes feel alone. These are things I know, but in these anxious times it can be easy to forget.

That pause for prayer and quiet, the chance to return to what I know is true, is only one part of the story, of course. Jesus goes back into the crowds and sends out the disciples to do God’s work in the world.

It’s an ongoing cycle of rest and return, prayer and service. I’d say it’s a little like breathing, in and out, but that implies it comes naturally, which it does not. Not for me, anyway. Making space for quiet is hard work. And so is doing the work of loving others - our family, friends, and the world. Yet, I believe, they are both required of us, and the only way to serve the world without being crushed by the crowd.