We Remember

We Remember

Next week, when you walk into the sanctuary…

you’re going to see shoes.

One hundred sixty-eight pairs.

But here’s the thing—

they won’t just be placed there.

They will be brought.

By you.

By all of us.

From our homes.

Small ones.

Worn ones.

Pairs that carry stories.

Each one holding a life.

We are remembering the 168 children and teachers killed in a bombing at a school in Iran—

lives taken in a place that should have been safe.

And we are choosing not to look away.

I’ve been thinking this week…

we’ve done this before.

Not with shoes exactly.

But with memory.

I remember taking a youth group to the Oklahoma City Memorial.

We walked among those empty chairs…

and they got quiet.

Because it wasn’t just history anymore.

It was presence.

I remember standing at the 911 Memorial.

Water falling…

names you could touch…

and you realize—

this is what it looks like when people refuse to forget.

And then the US Holocaust Museum.

The shoes.

Pile after pile.

And suddenly…

it’s not numbers anymore.

It’s people.

And the Vietnam Memorial.

That long wall…

name after name.

And people reaching out…

touching them.

Because when a name is touched…

it refuses to disappear.

Those places marked me.

They didn’t just teach me something.

They changed me.

And that’s what we’re doing here.

Not just seeing.

Participating.

Bringing something of our own into the remembering.

Because in our faith, to remember…

is to bring something into the present.

To let it speak.

To let it shape us.

This is what Viola Davis was saying at a recent speech she gave at a NAACP event that honored her work.

She shared that memory as a kind of communion—

where people are not erased…

but held.

Named.

Remembered.

So when we bring these shoes…

we are standing with the Oklahoma City bombing …

the 911 attacks…

the the Holocaust…

And now—

with children and teachers in Iran.

And we are saying:

We will not forget you.

Because if we don’t remember…

we risk becoming people who can live with anything.

But if we do remember—

really remember—

then something happens.

Our hearts stay open.

Our courage grows.

So when you come next week…

bring a pair of shoes.

Place them.

Take a moment.

Let them speak.

Let them mark you.

Because maybe this is what resurrection looks like in us:

Not that we forget the pain…

but that love refuses to let it disappear.