I love the word Selah, the untranslatable cry to God. We have guesses, but we don’t know exactly what it means
For me it translates into the prayer that we don’t know how to pray
Its the cry out on Maundy Thursday when Jesus is worried about something that we cannot yet conceive, Selah
The cry when the first Muslim judge- Sheila Abdus-Salaam-is found dead, the domestic murder of a teacher-Karen Smith-and her student-Jonathan Martinez-registers as almost normal and when an Asian man-Dr. David Dao–is assaulted to give up his airline seat. Selah.
The cry when it is revealed that one of your friends will betray your teacher, Christ. When the fellowship is still intact, but Friday is coming. Selah
The cry when your leader bombs not one but two countries in the same Fortnight. Selah
The cry when Friday is coming, and you wish this cup can be taken from your lips, but you know it can’t be, so you pray at Gethsemane, and Friday still comes. Selah.
Drought in Africa, Dirty water in Flint, Trans Man outed by a Gay Competitor, Black Lives Still Matter, Missing Teens of Color some of these prayers never seem to end. Selah.
The violence that makes up the Cross is present, its real, its stark and needs to be mourned. Selah.