It was sometime in early spring. Lent was soon to begin or had already started. I started into my sermon, walking out to the middle of the chancel as usual. And then I started talking about Girl Scout cookies.
Spring signals many things, one of which is that it’s time to order said cookies, and I was celebrating that this time had arrived yet again. That, and the arrival of Easter candy. Easter features the best seasonal candy, and between the promise of Thin Mints and Reese’s Eggs, I was ready to feast.
I don’t remember the point that all this talk of favorite sweet indulgences was meant to lead to, but I do remember one face in the pews smiling and nodding along. “Of course,” I thought. “She and her daughters are so heavily involved in Girl Scouts.” She was listening knowingly, perhaps appreciating the nod to her troop’s primary fundraiser.
It was one of a million fleeting, silly little moments that I’ve noted over the years while preaching. There have been other such moments with other listeners, some little split second of connection and understanding, and this was the one that we would share.
Eventually, her family would drift away, becoming busy with any number of activities. I harbored no hard feelings about this. We were connected on social media and continued to see each other at Girl Scout functions after my daughter became involved. When her oldest daughter began high school this year, we began what we figured would be several years of seeing each other at band functions as well. This was quickly proven to be the case as we repeatedly ran into them during a full weekend of performances.
That following Friday morning, the school superintendent sent a mass voicemail that she and her entire family were gone, discovered in their home the previous evening. Her husband had done the unthinkable, first to the four of them and then to himself.
I wasn’t good for much the rest of that day. Attending a Pride event the next day helped, but every time I paused in any way, this horrendous tragedy was first to come to mind. It still does. It will for quite a while.
My chosen religious tradition is pretty big on forgiveness. Jesus taught about it quite a lot, to the scandalization of others. I’ve only preached once about cookies and candy but I can’t count how often I’ve talked about forgiveness. It’s so easy to talk about: I’ve spun many a lesson, story, and poetic flight of fancy together about forgiveness both in spoken word and in print, each one more clever than the last.
But there’s no cleverness here. I have no poetry, no moralization that allows me to move to a neat and tidy resolution. I am instead in disbelief, and I am angry, and I don’t know what forgiveness looks like in the messy, grief-filled reality of tragedy. Such a thing will require a great deal of prayerful intention, which I’m not yet ready to undertake just yet.
Forgiveness breaks cycles of retribution. It is among the highest ideals that heal the broken parts of our world torn by violence. And I as a follower of Jesus aspire to the vision of a new heaven and earth to which a call to forgive one another casts.
I want to break that cycle and I want to help bring about that vision. But I need help and time to do so.
This is my confession, which I’ll need to bring to God again and again for the foreseeable future. I’ll do my best, eventually.
In the meantime, I’ll be thinking about Girl Scout cookies, and a knowing smile on a Sunday morning. At the right time, my heart and mind will turn to other things.
Jeffrey A. Nelson 