June 15, 2025 - Blessed Are Those Who Mourn: 
A Dispatch from the Firehose, On Juneteenth, justice, and staying awake in a world unraveling
DR. GARRETT ANDREW

"Blessed are those who mourn,"
Jesus said.
Not "blessed are those who move on."
Not "blessed are those who scroll past."
Not "blessed are those who win the argument."
Blessed are those who mourn.

And I don't know how else to describe this past week, except to say: I'm mourning.
And maybe you are too.

In just a handful of days, the headlines have come faster than my soul can hold.
Yesterday, I saw a Substack note about an older woman at a pharmacy. She was shocked by how much her prescription cost. She didn't have the money. A man behind her stepped up and paid for it. The post was praised by hundreds of readers giving their "likes," dozens of comments celebrating the kindness of strangers.

And yes, I celebrate that generosity too. But I also grieve.
I grieve that we live in a country where the sick are dependent on charity for medicine.
I grieve that this isn't an outlier, it's a system.
I grieve that compassion has become the last defense against cruelty in our society.

And while that story swelled hearts, the rest of the news… well, it choked mine.
• In Minnesota, a self-proclaimed Christian nationalist murdered a Democratic state senator, her husband, and their dog. He tried to kill another state leader too. It was an act of terrorism. An assassination. And somehow, it's already slipping into silence.
• A mayoral candidate was arrested by masked agents in an immigration court. His crime? Standing with the vulnerable.
• ICE continues to terrorize families, pulling people from their homes and workplaces, making orphans out of ordinary days
• .The 988 suicide prevention hotline, one that has saved lives (and one I've pointed people to in my Grace in the Brain series) was stripped of its LGBTQ+ affirming welcome. In a world where queer and trans youth are fighting for their very breath, the message now is: you can call for help, but don't expect to be seen.
• The Supreme Court issued a ruling that further erodes protections for trans children. We are watching, in real time, the gospel of dignity be undermined by legislation dressed as virtue.
• All this, during Pride Month. A season meant for visibility and celebration. And yet, here we are. Mourning what still is. Proving, heartbreakingly, the necessity of this month.
• Meanwhile, the horizon of Gaza is scorched. Children die buried beneath rubble, and the word "collateral" is used like a broom to sweep them away. Iran and Israel inch closer to full-scale war. Peace is spoken of only in the past tense.
• Meanwhile, the president (yes, the actual sitting president) spreads lies on a platform ironically named Truth Social, while wars grind on in Europe, and whispers of new ones stir elsewhere. (And I say this as someone who doesn't care for the political system at all. I say this not politically like I'm somehow for a different side. I say it spiritually, with the heart of faith).
• And today is Juneteenth. A day of freedom long denied, justice long deferred. A holy day we should all honor. But instead, many call it a "minority holiday" meant to stir resentment. Some even ban its teaching. But to celebrate Juneteenth is to proclaim that Black lives are not just part of our story-they are central to our redemption.
There are too many fires to name. Too many wounds to tend. Too much noise.
And yet.
Blessed are those who mourn.
Because mourning means your heart is still beating.
Because grief is proof you haven't gone numb.
Because to mourn this world is not to give up on it-but to refuse to let it die unloved.

I still believe this:
God did not send Jesus into the world to condemn it,
but to save it. Through love.
Not through dominance. Not through nationalism. Not through numbing.
But through love.

That doesn't mean love is soft.
Love is what made Jesus flip tables.
Love is what made him weep outside a tomb.
Love is what made him stand silent before Pilate, refusing to match power with power.
Love is what broke the grave.

Henri Nouwen said that ministry is not about fixing but entering into the pain, and staying there, until it speaks. And Buechner, with his holy mischief, said that if we want to know where we're called, we should start where our deep gladness meets the world's deep hunger.

But what if we've lost track of gladness?
What if all we have is hunger and grief, headlines and heartbreak,
and the only sound we can still make is a groan too deep for words?

Then maybe, just maybe, we're standing where Christ stands:
not above the chaos, not apart from the fire, but in it.

Maybe we are somewhere between Gethsemane and Golgotha,
between trembling and tearing the veil.

Maybe the ache in our chest is not weakness, but proximity.

Maybe what we've called burnout is actually baptism.

Maybe what we've called despair is just honesty learning how to pray.

And maybe, just maybe, when there is no gladness to meet the hunger,
Christ meets it himself.

And that is enough.
Or at least, enough to keep going.

So I'll keep writing.
I'll keep mourning.

I'll keep pointing to Jesus in the middle of this mess.
And maybe today, that's enough.
________________________________________
1. Light a Candle for One Thing You Cannot Fix
Choose just one of the heartbreaking headlines. Just one.
Speak it aloud. Mourn it. Light a candle (or turn on a light) and say:
• “I see this. I do not turn away. May your light meet this sorrow."

2. Give Without Praise
Find one place to quietly practice generosity without applause.
• Pay for someone's drink.
• Leave groceries on a neighbor's porch.
• Send a Venmo to someone doing good work.
And whisper: "Not charity, but kinship."

3. Rest Without Guilt
This is not a luxury. It is an act of spiritual resistance.
Lay down for 10 minutes. Step outside and breathe. Touch a tree.
Let your body remember that God called rest holy before anything else.

These are not solutions. They are seeds.
Small, sacred refusals to let cruelty have the final word.

If you're weary but still trying to stay awake,
if you feel the grief but don't want to go numb,
if you believe Jesus still walks with the hurting, the hunted, the heartbroken...
then you're not alone.

Share this if it helps. Subscribe if it anchors you.
But most of all... do something today that love would do.
Christ is still Lord.
And Caesar is still not.

Go with grief still in your lungs if you must.
But go as one who still believes love is not done speaking.
Go in peace. Not because there is peace,
but because you follow the One who weeps for it still.