As I sit in front of my screen to write this blog, my heart swirls with emotions. I am full of feelings about recent events. Words come a little harder.

We are living through a moment that feels heavy with sorrow and tension. Sorrow because of all of the violence, fear, and division that our nation, and so many families, are experiencing. It feels like there is so much chaos. It feels heavy with tension because politically, we have come to a place where it feels like we cannot understand or connect with each other, or our system, in an important and vital way, that is necessary for common life together. I often feel that it gets so personal that it feels safer not to say anything.

However, I will do my best to try. Let me first say that I strive to honor our diversity of perspectives. Good, moral, thoughtful and faithful people will disagree. To demonize the one who disagrees doesn’t engage the conversation. As a result, we hold many different experiences and perspectives, and we develop these based on several factors. I honor those who believe in immigration reform that both welcomes the stranger and provides boundaries for the sake of the social good. I also honor those who believe in a more open approach to borders and folks who migrate here hoping for a better future. While we may have different perspectives and approaches to various issues to our common life, I think we can all agree that this high level of violence is disturbing.

I wonder how all of these events are affecting you.

The ICE raids that started last year have affected our community in big ways. It has caused a lot of fear and heartache. It has raised questions on all levels of political life.

In the news just last week, a woman in Minneapolis, Renée Nicole Good, was fatally shot by a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agent during a federal immigration enforcement operation. This loss of life — of a mother, a wife, a neighbor, a human being — is horrific, and our hearts break for her children, her family, and all who mourn her.

Across the nation, thousands of people have taken to the streets — in Minneapolis, Washington, D.C., New York City, Portland and many other communities — to protest what they see as unjust violence and a pattern of aggressive immigration enforcement. Often these demonstrations have been peaceful prayers for justice and change, even as they carry deep anger and grief.

Churches have opened their doors — like St. Paul’s-San Pablo Lutheran Church in Minneapolis — for services of "Lament and Hope," offering space for people to weep, to sing, to pray, and to seek comfort together.

There is a lot of disturbance, care, and concern about what is happening. Rightfully so.

As a pastor, I also feel sorrow and tension. Sorrow over all of this suffering. Sorrow for when unjust actions have caused hurt and fear, sorrow at how things are working out politically, sorrow at the violence. Maybe some of us would describe different feelings like anger, frustration, grief, or despair – but for me, when I identify the swirling emotions, it is sorrow.

I understand and believe in the necessity to stand in solidarity with the poor, the outcast, the sick, the prisoner, the stranger. Jesus showed up in all of those ways. As Jesus did, and does through us, so are we empowered. This may come out in our preaching, if it is faithful to the text. While the Church is not designed nor created to be an instrument for politics, we, as people of faith, we are called and empowered to as the prophet Micah says, “Act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with [your] God.” Our humanitarian, political, and partisan aspects of ourselves are perhaps best expressed in our civic lives, such as how we engage and shape our political institutions or how we obey the laws while speaking for those who have no voice. This is where injustice is most effectively countered and where policy is most effectively shaped.

The beautiful Gospel we proclaim is not about what we do, but the one in which, and Whom, we proclaim what God does for us. In and through Christ Jesus our Lord, God frees us, claims us, forgives us, and redeems us. God saves us. God works His Holy Spirit in us and makes us holy. At Holy Baptism, we are given the gift of the Holy Spirit and the light of Christ. We are saved to go out and be the light of Christ in the world. How we shine this light is up to us.

There is both hope and deep need in this world. Psalm 34:18 reminds us of God’s great love and compassion: “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves the crushed in spirit.” Yet we also remember that God is not only near to the brokenhearted — God is with us. In Jesus Christ, Emmanuel, God enters fully into human suffering, fear, and grief.

God does not watch violence and sorrow from a safe distance; God bears it in flesh and blood. In moments like these, when lives are lost and communities ache with fear and anger, we confess that God is present in the midst of the pain — weeping with those who weep, dwelling among the wounded, and refusing to abandon us to despair. Emmanuel means that even in the darkest valleys, even amid injustice and loss, we are not alone. God abides with us, holding us in love and calling us toward life, healing, and hope.

Our part in this is to stay connected to God, through prayer, worship, and scripture; to stay connected to each other through relationship, listening, and caring; and through the ways we may individually and collectively live out our civic duty to help shape the common good, even as our hearts are filled with sorrow.