Friends,

In the U.S., we awoke this morning to the news that our elected leaders bombed Caracas, the capital city of Venezuela, and arrested its president and his wife. Such news is shocking—or, if it's not, I would argue that it should be. Why choose war? Why choose mayhem? How could anyone ever find themselves convinced that their quest for power justifies destroying things, taking away someone's freedom, taking lives?

I admit I don't know all the details here, but I don't need to know any more to convince me that these actions are horribly wrong. Horribly evil. And I also admit that I don't know what to do. Upon seeing the news, I felt adrenaline starting to move through my body. I felt a sense of fear and dread. I experienced the quiet imagining of what could happen next — what catastrophic ends something like this could take.

I listened to my children playing in another room. I could see my wife painting in another. My dog was curled up next to me, where I was still parked in the bed after granting myself a night where I slept until my body decided it had had enough sleep. A rare morning without an alarm. In my bubble, all was peaceful, and that didn't feel fair. But I also know that feeling of shame doesn't help anyone. It doesn't help me. And with that knowledge, the question remains — what do I do?

Earlier this week, I finished reading Resmaa Menakem's landmark book, My Grandmother's Hands, which explores healing racialized trauma and serves as a handbook for managing and settling activated nervous systems. Menakem shares the wisdom he carries as a therapist and healer about how we can't heal anything until our bodies are settled and our vagus nerve—or, as he calls it, our "soul nerve”—is calmed. He also talks about how we need to harmonize our bodies before we can get to work, especially in healing and justice-making spaces. This thinking about harmonizing bodies and the methods for accomplishing it immediately made me think about my own church life and how we sing together each Sunday. It had me thinking about ritual and how it works to bring our bodies into the same rhythm. And this morning as I work to synthesize my thinking about how to respond to a world where my country is attacking another country unprovoked, it has me thinking that in a moment when I think there's nothing I can do, it is my responsibility to tend to myself — to tend to my nervous system, so that I can be at my best when it is indeed time to get to work, to hit the street.

So I got up and made myself a good breakfast. I laughed with my children. I took them to the playground, where I can now hear their laughter as I hammer out these words in the cold. I also finally bought myself a clerical shirt, because when it's time to show up, I want to be ready to show up as what I hope to be, a helpmeet for anyone who is seeking calm and connection, and a symbol that a people of faith cannot tolerate violence—— cannot tolerate war.

I saw a post on Instagram a while ago that said something about how a regulated nervous system is a form of mutual aid. In moments when we don't know what to do, we can offer this. Tending to our bodies and caring for ourselves is more than simple self-care. I believe it is community care. We are, after all, part of our communities.

Happy New Year, friends. May we all find what we need in these moments. May we care for ourselves and each other.

Sending love,
Rachel