Amidst our uncertainty are countless souls offering kindness.  People who are willing to share what they have, take risks on our behalf, provide a bit of entertainment.  The value of these gifts lies in their creation of a giant home in which we can find some comfort in this current storm.  All the things that characterize a good and loving home are being offered.  The sharing, the caring, the fun, the patience, the forgiveness, the ability to renew and regroup when we fail, the listening ears and the seeing eyes.  We may not be together in the usual sense, but we are together nonetheless.  For however long this lasts, we are not alone.

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As Lent is drawing to an end and we approach Easter, I had thought about looking at one of the joyous Palm Sunday hymns for this week, but my attention seems to be drawn elsewhere.  For a few reasons – all of them relating to conversations I’ve had with four or five people over the past two weeks.  And, in my ongoing rehearsing of a group of Spirituals arranged for choir, I must say that this one seemed very relevant.  As I think about Palm Sunday, I am aware that the triumphal nature of the welcome given is quite tainted by the events to come. So, perhaps this is also fitting for the season, if not quite what I had originally considered.

Once again, these words originate with the African American slaves’ experience of being separated from their home – literally torn from their African origins, children forcibly taken from their parents and families, lives lived as captives separated from freedom.  The words are deeply mournful, the tune evokes profound sadness.

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
A long way from home.
A long way from home.

Sometimes I feel like I’m almost gone,
Sometimes I feel like I’m almost gone,
Sometimes I feel like I’m almost gone,
Way up in the heavenly land.
Way up in the heavenly land.

True believers, true believers,
A long way from home.
A long way from home.

There are times when we all feel abandoned and alone. When we feel that we have been betrayed, and when what should have been, simply is not.  We experience the shock of being hurt by someone or something that should have been a source of goodness or kindness or loyalty or support. When this happens, it can feel as though we are very far from a place of safety; far from our true home.  It is impossible to imagine what these slaves felt in their situation, but there is something about this profound sense of being lost and alone that resonates when we go through experiences that are filled with the pain of being rejected, betrayed and injured.

The words of this song plainly and simply express these feelings.  When we feel lost and alone, we are a long way from home.  The image of a motherless child is heartbreaking.  The idea of feeling as though we are almost gone is devastating.  I can’t imagine a state of being that takes us to a lower place.  It is not where anyone wants to reside. It is not how I wish to make anyone feel.

As I was looking into the history of this song, I found that some have observed that there is also a powerful hope within these words.  The repetition of the word “sometimes” implies that there is more to this story. A tiny shred of light infiltrating the despair.  It is not, “I am a motherless child.” It is not, “I am gone.”  We remind ourselves, and those who hear our voices, over and over that it is only sometimes that we feel this way.  And that the places of pain are not our home – they are, in fact, far from its safety.

It can be difficult to hear people’s stories of pain. It can be difficult to know what to say or how to respond; how to offer support or guidance.  I rarely know.  But I am conscious that often when people share their deepest hurts, they are hoping to find that little shred of hope that their pain is only a sometimes thing. That it doesn’t define their home, but is a place that can be left behind and healing sought.  That there is something better, no matter how far away it may be.  We cannot always provide the solutions, but often our listening ear is enough to provide the hope and care needed when a person has been cut by the sharpness of life.

So in those moments where we are motherless and almost gone, look for the souls that are willing to hear your pain.  We are here.  And in those moments where you see a motherless soul, pick them up in whatever way you can – not to provide all the answers or meet every need, but to shine a little light on the path towards home.  It may be a long way, but in the company of kindness, we start to see its safety, its beauty and its existence.