Anchored Together

Anchored Together

Many of us are yet reeling in the aftermath of this election. There is anger—anger that cuts deep, anger that feels visceral and raw. It may feel like a steady undercurrent, showing up as restlessness, edginess, or fatigue. We might notice ourselves feeling more suspicious, easily irritated, or simply drained. These are natural responses in the face of injustice, and they reflect the deep disruption we feel when we sense our values are under threat. Psychologists tell us that prolonged anger and stress affect our minds and bodies in powerful ways, shaping how we interact with the world around us, influencing our relationships, and impacting our well-being.

It is healthy to pause and be honest with ourselves about these feelings. Anger can be righteous and clarifying, but it can also distort and consume if left unchecked. Unprocessed, it can push us into isolation or make us sharp with those around us, turning frustration inward until it feels like it’s seeping into everything. Left alone, it can settle into fatigue or numbness, closing us off from the very people who help us endure.

We must remind ourselves and each other of this truth: we are not alone in this. Our strength, our resilience, our very survival lies in our community, in the way we hold each other through hard times. This is the power of our connection. Each of us has a role to play in sustaining our shared spirit, in being a source of strength for one another, even as we grapple with our own emotions.

It is essential now that we practice self-awareness and self-compassion. Begin by taking an honest inventory of where anger is showing up in your life. Are you finding it hard to connect with others, feeling more on edge or irritable? Are you more fatigued, or even struggling to find hope? Be vigilant in observing these signs—not to judge yourself, but to care for yourself.

Healthy responses to anger involve acknowledging it without letting it take root in bitterness or cynicism. This means expressing our emotions in safe spaces, taking time to process what we’re feeling, and letting trusted friends and family support us in carrying these burdens. It means stepping away from conversations or news cycles when we feel overwhelmed, breathing deeply, and grounding ourselves in activities that restore us. It may also mean rethinking some of our routines, as prolonged stress can sap our energy, cloud our perspective, and make us feel more reactive.

Unhealthy responses—like isolating ourselves, lashing out at others, or letting anger fuel resentment—will only deepen our fatigue and wear us down. We need to stay vigilant, knowing that anger, if turned inward or outward without thought, can divide us from our closest support system.

Now more than ever, we must prioritize the strength of our community, leaning into this powerful connection that sustains us. We hold each other up, we create space for each other’s feelings, and we remind one another that our shared strength transcends any one election, any one leader. Let us hold close to each other, offering grace and patience, recognizing that everyone here is navigating the same complex storm. Together, we have the courage and resilience to resist despair, to turn anger into clarity, and to build a way forward with strength and love.

May we be anchored together in this season, finding strength and steadiness in each other as we navigate whatever comes our way. Let’s be the grounding force that brings calm in the chaos, a steady presence through all the changing tides. Anchored together, with the power of the Holy Spirit, we will navigate these uncertain waters.

with love and grace, pastor renita

Tears are Prayers

Click on Image “West Angeles COGIC Mass Choir - "My Father Watches Over Me!"

Then David and the people that were with him lifted up their voice and wept, until they had no more power to weep. I Samuel 30:4

Today we are united by hearts that are heavy and spirits that are weary. We have entered a time that feels dark and uncertain, and I know that many of us are worried—worried for our families, worried for our children, worried for our very lives. We see what’s happening in this nation, and it feels like the ground beneath us is shaking, like everything we’ve fought for is under threat. And so today, we come before God with a heart of lament. We bring our questions, our sorrows, our frustrations. This is a time to be honest with God, to speak our truth, to pour out our souls, and to cry out, “Lord, how long?”

Lament is a powerful act of faith. Lament is coming to God and saying, “Lord, I’m hurting, I’m angry, I’m scared, but I still believe you are listening. I still believe you care. I still believe you are God.” We don’t have to put on a brave face before God. God knows our pain. God knows our struggles. God sees the injustices we face every day. So let us bring our whole selves to God, just like the prophet Jeremiah did. He cried out for his people, he grieved over the suffering and the injustice he saw. And today, we cry out too.

We cry out for the lives lost to violence, for the dreams cut short, for the families torn apart. We cry out for a system that too often treats us as less than, that does not honor our humanity, that tries to silence our voices. We cry out for our young people who are growing up in a world where they feel like they are constantly under threat. We bring all of this to God, because we know that only God can hold it, only God can hear it, only God can help us through it.

There is power in naming our pain. We can’t heal what we don’t acknowledge. So today, we name the pain that we carry as a people. We name the exhaustion, the fear, the anger. We name the way we feel when we see yet another injustice, yet another abuse of power, yet another attempt to strip away our dignity. We feel the pain of a system that was never built with us in mind, a system that still seems to see us as less worthy, less deserving, less human.

But we know that we are made in the image of God. We know that we are God’s beloved children, worthy of love, worthy of justice, worthy of peace. And so we bring this pain to God and say, “Lord, we are tired. Lord, we are hurting. Lord, how long will this go on?” God is big enough to hold our questions. God is compassionate enough to meet us in our pain. God is righteous enough to understand our cries for justice.

Church, even when it feels like the darkness is closing in, I want us to remember that we are not alone. God has not abandoned us. God is right here with us, right in the middle of our suffering, right in the middle of our fear. God is not far off. No, God is near to the brokenhearted. God is near to those who are crushed in spirit. God has been with us through every chapter of our story, and God is with us now.

Sometimes it feels like God is silent, but that doesn’t mean God is absent. God is working through us, moving through us, strengthening us. God is present in our resilience, in our love for one another, in our commitment to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep praying. God is with us every time we gather together, every time we lift each other up, every time we hold on to hope, even when hope feels hard to hold.

We pray for a day when justice rolls down like waters, when righteousness flows like a mighty stream. We pray for a day when we don’t have to fear for our children, when we don’t have to fight for our humanity, when we don’t have to keep proving that our lives matter. But until that day comes, we will keep pushing, we will keep praying, we will keep believing. We will not give up, because we know that God is with us, and with God on our side, nothing is impossible.

So let us hold on. Let us believe that God hears our cries, that God is working in ways we can’t yet see, and that God’s justice will prevail. Let us continue to stand together, to lift each other up, to love one another fiercely and boldly. Let us go forth as a people who know that our God is a God of justice, a God of mercy, a God of restoration.

May we continue to lament, knowing that the God who has brought us this far, will carry us through. And as we wait, we do so with faith, with courage, and with the unshakeable knowledge that we are loved, we are seen, and we are held.