"Since my people are crushed,
I am crushed;
I mourn, and horror grips me.
Is there no balm in Gilead?
Is there no physician there?
Why then is there no healing
for the wound of my people?"
I ask the question because I really want to know. Is there a path to healing? Is there a road to redemption? In the middle of not meeting expectations, is there a way forward, or is there just a "well, you should have known better."
From Washington, to Syria, to Cypress Hills, to my church, to my family, -- the world feels like it is full of open wounds. I am guessing you have some wounds of your own, and do you ever find that your efforts to right the wrongs only cause more wrongs? Trying to fix things often makes things worse. You try to have that critical conversation, but it goes bad. Is there truly any balm in Gilead? Is there no physician here?
As any good Christian, I can give you the right answer. I can quote the four laws or some rote prayer about justification and sanctification, but at times it doesn't compute. It sounds like the same "try harder" message. Throughout my adult life I have often felt like a sharecropper sitting in the decrepit, "for coloreds only" section of a pristine Southern Baptist church in the 1880's. The theological words about Jesus don't add up. Regardless of what you say, I am pretty sure that if the White, American Jesus you are talking about showed up here he wouldn't like me.
Often the wound is denied or covered with superficial words. Earlier in the same chapter, Jeremiah writes,
"They dress the wound of my people as though it were not serious.
'Peace, peace,' they say, when there is no peace."
What we need is not just more nice words or positive thoughts. What I long for is true salve for the wounds of me and my people. The world seems to be run by "eye for an eye" folk. I am afraid as the saying goes, "soon we will all be blind." It happened again yesterday at work. I was trying to facilitate reconciliation between staff on an issue. One said, "Well, when you act right, I will act right." This is not balm that we need.
Gilead was in Israel. "God's people" lived there. It was the holy land, a politically weak nation for most of its history but a place that was suppose to be a "blessing to all nations." Soon after Jeremiah wrote those words, the land was conquered. The people were taken to a foreign land. One of them was a promising young man named Daniel. He was neutered and forced to serve a pagan king all his life. In his elderly years, he was faced with one last test, a death threat actually. Would he face Jerusalem and pray out of his open window or would he hide and live? He chose to pray.
It struck me that Gilead as he knew it didn't exist by that time. If he was asked, "Is there balm in Gilead?" I think he would have said, "There is no Gilead. There is no temple, there are no priests, there is no country, but . . . there is a balm, so I will still pray."
We think people and institutions should persist. When you are a child, you think your parents will last forever. You expect your church to stay the same. You expect your friends to remain. You expect that people you look up to continue to live up to those expectations. You expect your house to still be there when you get home. You expect your job to last. On this fourth of July, I think many of us expect America to last indefinitely. It won't.
This last week one of my favorite "institutions" crumbled. What I thought was an invincible fortress -- gone.
Through the tears, while I was sifting among the ashes, I heard a still small voice, clear and unshakable. It was the kind of voice that speaks words that are truer than everything you see and touch. It said,
"There is no more Gilead, but, yes, there is a balm."
Here's a video of a song I like on this theme.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8fcMxI_6xsk
