03/26/2026
Bishop Olewine's Monday Morning Musing:
Good Monday afternoon, Cal-Nev family!
I woke this morning with a news segment that I watched last night running through my mind and heart. The reporter was near Beirut, interviewing a family when the sounds of explosions filled the air. The little boy, maybe 4 years old, the look of terror on his face, began to cry, looking around anxiously to identify where the explosions were coming from. He then ran to his father, who scooped him up, and buried his little head on the offered shoulder, sobbing.
The instant look of terror on his little sweet face broke my heart. And the image of his face in that moment, not unlike the icon I wrote about last week, is a thin place to me today. A face that belongs to not only that little boy but to children all over the globe. In Beirut, Iran, Gaza, the West Bank, in Israel, in Ukraine and Sudan, in the USA - a face that reflects the image of God and the heartbreak that God is experiencing over our inability – no, our unwillingness - to choose the things that make for peace.
That face, on countless little ones, is a face that the powerful and belligerent and callous and greedy and hateful ignore. It is a face they target, seeking to crush the spirit and life and hopes of people. It is the face of hope and possibility and potential and growth. It is a face through which God cries out to all of us to pay attention, to protect, to defend, to stop the ravages of war. To grow up and be adults and stop the trampling of our babies. For they are our babies, every last one of them.
As I was holding all of this, I saw Bishop Hee-Soo Jung’s poem for this 5th week of Lent, called the Weight We Carry. I share it with you in prayerful longing
Can we face the responsibility that is ours to care for all of God’s beloved children, my Cal-Nev family?
Bishop Sandy
___________
Weight We Carry
This pain, it is not theirs alone.
It is ours.
It has crossed every border,
entered every quiet room,
settled into the bones of our living.
And yet, the world hardens.
A stony indifference,
cold and unmoved,
passes by suffering
as if it were distant,
as if it were nothing.
I lament this,
this numbness,
this practiced distance,
this quiet refusal to feel.
For how can we live on this earth and not tremble?
How can we breathe
and not carry the sorrow of the children in war,
the cries of the broken?
This life, here, now, feels unbearably heavy.
As if the ground itself remembers every loss.
As if the air is thick with unwept tears.
Lord, teach us again to feel.
Break the stone within us.
Give us hearts of flesh.
Let our tears return, not as weakness,
but as truth.
And if we must carry this weight,
then let us carry it together,
held within your mercy,
until even sorrow becomes a doorway
to compassion,
to courage,
to peace.
Bishop Hee-Soo Jung, 5th Week of Lent, March 23, 2026