From Black History Month to Lent

To hear Brandi read this week’s essay, click here: https://youtu.be/B7bo6jGEauk

As Black History Month closes out, I am speaking up again. I didn’t write during February because sometimes being an ally means shutting my mouth and making space for my own heart to pay attention to the wisdom in those around me. (To that end, let me interrupt myself to recommend some incredible Black writers from the last 2 years. Read one and give me a call!

Non-Fiction

Dante Stewart, Shoutin’ in the Fire*

Esau McCaulley, Reading While Black*

Ibram Kendi, How to be an AntiRacist

Jemar Tisby, How to Fight Racism*

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Notes on Grief

*From an overtly Christian perspective

Fiction

Colson Whitehead, Harlem Shuffle

James McBride, Deacon King Kong

Yaa Gyasi, Transcendent Kingdom

Ta-Nehisi Coates, The Water Dancer

Brit Bennett, The Vanishing Half

This concludes our interruption).

Maybe the void I left created room for another voice to rise. It certainly created room to teach me new things about myself and my approach to pursuing justice and reform in the systems in which I participate. One of the things I learned this month is that I often approach the need for equity from a scarcity mindset. I mistakenly believe if I don’t do the work then the work won’t get done. That I care and know more than the average white woman in my world, so it is my job to draw attention to the wrong around us. Like a costumed teenager flipping signs selling subs on a street corner, I think no one will pay attention unless I raise my voice.

My active hushing led me to see the vanity in thinking I’m the only one. I now see the narcissism, sadness and stress I carried when I thought the appetite for change and discomfort are lacking in those around me. My voice is simply one of many, and all of us actively pursue justice for those around us in some small way. My voice and my role matter, but I am wrong to think courage and compassion are scarce. I now see that we live in abundance. We live in hope.

Most of us do love comfort, but all of us easily give it up for people we love. Most of us think our ideas are the best ideas, but we shift and imagine anew when we are at a table of mutual trust. Most of us do think we work harder for less than anyone ever sees, but we find deep wells of compassion when we are moved by the hard work of another. Most of us instinctively center our own experience, but we inconvenience ourselves and step aside when something in us sees the dignity and humanity in a person often pushed aside.

We know how to care for each other sacrificially. We know how to admit we didn’t know as much as thought we did. We know how to challenge the stereotypes that drive us. We know how to apologize and commit to do better. We know how to give second and third chances with no expectation of total reform. We know how to do hard things just to show up for someone else. We do it all the time. We do it for the people we claim as ours.

What would it take to claim more people as worthy of our care? What would it take to see the value in people we usually don’t see? What would it take to expand our us?

For people who find hope in the life and witness of Christ, Lent begins this week. I think Lent is a wonderful time to take inventory of our lives. How do we live, who do we value, where do we find hope, how do we invest in the restoration of our community to the One who made us all to belong? Each week I’ll send daily readings that I hope remind you that the incarnation of God into the body of Jesus is the ultimate gesture of embodied solidarity. God expanded God’s us through the person of Jesus Christ. Join me as I try to go and do likewise…

Remember friends, God’s kindness leads us to repentance, and God’s mercy is sufficient to meet us in every hard place. Silence trains you to listen to God, to find your own voice and to value the voices of others. Stillness reminds you that you are limited (and loved!), and that you are a human being, not fully measured by your productivity or impression on others. Solitude teaches you to know and love the image of God in you, and to embrace the process of each day, seeing every interaction as a gift. Begin a daily practice of silence, stillness and solitude, and embrace Lent to find a new rhythm of grace.

Week One: Commune with God in silence

“God is that way with us, He wants to hold us still with Him in silence…They cannot all be brilliant or rich or beautiful. They cannot all even dream beautiful dreams like God gives some of us. They cannot all enjoy music. Their hearts do not all burn with love. But everybody can learn to hold God…We shall not become like Christ until we give Him more time.”                                                    -Brother Lawrence

“We enter into a patient dialogue trusting that such a discussion is good for our souls.” –Esau McCaulley

“Maybe you search for understanding, but find only one thing for sure, which is that truth comes in small moments and visions, not galaxies and canyons; not the crash of ocean waves and cymbals. Most traditions teach that truth is in these small holy moments.”                                                  -Anne Lamott

3/2 Matthew 5:1-12

3/3 Proverbs 2:1-15

3/4 Ps 94:12-22

3/5 Micah 6:6-8; Mark 7:5-8

3/6 Luke 7:18-23

3/7 Ps 90:12-17; 91:1-2

3/8 Ps 95:1-8

our fraying selves

To hear Brandi’ read this essay instead, visit https://youtu.be/lvdy_cPgO0E

I am a teacher, and this week I have had the privilege of talking with some other teachers who were honest about the weariness they feel. Education in the Covid era is not for the faint of heart, and I sense the compiled exhaustion they experience.

I also care about quite a few health professionals, and they too, struggle to find the hope and joy in serving others for which they are known. It is not just Omicron, or caring for hurting people who reject the convictions of those who comfort them. It is entering the 24th month of this work. It is long, wins feel rare, and losses pile up.

Because it is late January, I’m also thinking a lot about many friends of color navigating the days between Martin Luther King, Jr’s Holiday and Black History Month. This year, in addition to bracing themselves for the blows that come with performative tributes to Civil Rights Heroes, matched all too often with little to no action, they also, we also, have to grapple with the fact that our Congress will not secure easy access to the voting booth. Additionally, in these two weeks between King and Black History, we discover that Southern States, states that protected slave owners and white supremacist segregation, have drawn new district maps that appear to intentionally diminish the voting power of Black and Brown bodies. For folks who care deeply about equity, about protecting those our society has a track record of abusing, late January 2022 feels dark.

I live at the intersection of these identities: an educator, married to a health care professional, with White and Black children, who cares deeply about injustice and equity. Everywhere I look, hope is hard to find. Purpose, even, can feel hard to pinpoint. This week I don’t have a lot of fire, and I certainly don’t have big answers. Instead, I’d like to offer a few small glimpses of restorative hope, of perspective that might help us find the ground beneath us.

First, you aren’t alone. If you are lonely, angry, weary…you aren’t alone. If you wonder how your work or presence matters each day, you aren’t alone. If you find yourself ragey or teary or numb, you aren’t alone. If you vacillate between purposeful action and passive abdication, you aren’t alone. I believe we were all made in God’s Divine image, and I believe God when God says the poor in spirit will be comforted, that those with broken hearts will be bound up. Moreover, I find great solace in the fact that humanity is groaning together right now. Folks from Burkina Faso and Yemen are scared and hurting. Those of Jewish or Asian descent in America face the chronic unease of fear. Parents in line for groceries they can’t afford live with anxiety crawling within. We are not alone. In the vision of humanity called the Beloved Community by King and others, inspired by the teachings of Jesus, our community holds us in joy and in devastation. We are holding each other even now, sharing a long term, slowly unfolding trauma. You aren’t alone.

Second, do what you can do, not what you can’t. I am typically driven by Big P Purpose, but these days I struggle to find it. When I find myself frustrated by all that I can’t control, I find a small glimpse of hope in showing up as well as I can for the people in front of me. I’m not trying to save the world this week, but if a friend comes to mind, I can reach out. If a patient or student appears, I can offer them my full attention. If a kid is scared or upset, I can hold them. Each of us has a lot we cannot do. So be it. Each of us also has a little we can do. So do it.

When we feel the fraying of our inner selves, sometimes we hear a call that helps us rise to a big occasion. This week, I humbly submit that your Self, as small and battered as you might feel, is a beautiful reminder of God’s eternal community. Just in be-ing, you remind those around you that we all belong to a shared community. Look around, be where you are, knowing you are enough, and that you are held.

ted lasso and john lewis

To hear Brandi read this week’s essay, click here: https://youtu.be/_N6O2z0tFtw

On Saturday, the city of Nashville renamed Fifth Avenue Rep. John Lewis Way. The street runs through the heart of downtown, bordering the best of Nashville’s musical roots, the Predators’ arena, the Music City Center, the Sounds’ stadium, and other places of power and entertainment. Although Lewis grew up in and faithfully served Georgia in Congress for decades, he came to Nashville for his college education. Nashville’s Black church leaders mentored him, and taught him that the way of Christ is a path that seeks restorative justice for others with relentlessly nonviolent, prophetic bodily resistance. He went on to embody such work as he was arrested integrating Nashville’s Woolworth’s lunch counter (on 5th Avenue, no less), and as he was badly beaten marching with Dr. King across the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama. As a college kid, he learned from his elders, and then went on to teach all of us a new way.

At the ceremony this weekend, a Blues singer from North Nashville sang a tribute she wrote last spring after George Floyd was murdered. In the chorus, she named the fact that a lot of us are weary. I’ve only been in the work for justice and equity for a decade, and some days I feel bone tired. I listened to her words, surrounded by older sisters and brothers who had given their lives to the movement for expanded civil and human rights. They are weary. She sang, “If your feet are tired of walking, let the children lead the way.”

Prophetic words. If you are tired, look around. We are surrounded by young people who are ready to pick up the torch. They see the world differently than we do and they can offer solutions that we struggle to find.

Good leadership does not align with hoarding power or knowledge, but requires us to be learners at the feet of others, giving them the space and influence to shape our next steps.

After the new sign bearing John Lewis Way was revealed, a parade began, pulsing with Black joy and dignity. While city elders and members of the Lewis family rode in carts, a professional New Orleans-style street band played and sang, dancers leading the way out front. It was a gorgeous sensory overload of awesome. Halfway down the march route, there was a group of young teenagers lined up, proudly wearing their Pearl-Cohn High School Firebirds gear. A small group of dancers and a drumline, they waited for the dignitaries to approach. The march paused as the drums began and the dancers performed. They were excellent. Slowly, the professionals from the official march broke ranks and drew near, shouting out encouragement, praising these young folks who carried on their tradition. Slowly, a few of them moved into line, joining the High School drum line, while taking care to follow the lead of the teenagers beside them. The young people began to stand a little taller, strike a little stronger, smiles spreading across their faces. The professional musicians gave their public blessing to these fabulous young people, simultaneously showing them the way while also welcoming them into the fold.

They made it clear that presence of young folk was needed, that the torch could be passed, that the work will continue in the capable of hands of this new generation.

If you know me, you know I was right up in the mix, tapping my foot and crying my eyes out. Public displays of courage, excellence, empathy and blessing make me weep.

John Lewis made his mark on America when he was just a kid. His career notwithstanding, he helped awaken the moral conscience of our city and then the Nation before he was old enough to rent a car. Young people have a lot to teach us, if we will only listen. Some of us middle and elderly aged folk feel overwhelmed by the changes to our social order. We feel displaced and lost, unsure of what normal looks like, uncertain of how secure or powerful we will be in this brave new world. As we navigate our own discomfort, let’s take care not to poison our kids. Instead of telling them how to feel about the changes in politics and power dynamics, let’s ask them what they notice and how they feel about it.

We might be working hard to save a world order for our kids that they do not want.

Some of us welcome the sharing of power and the disruption that brings, but feel weary at the relentless nature of the work. We aren’t sure that our tactics are effective anymore, and we waiver between hope and despair. As we navigate our own cynicism, let’s take care not to ignore the creative hope our kids offer. Instead of telling them who to blame or how to feel about differing political positions, let’s ask them what they notice and what they want to do about it.

Whether the push for equity and universal dignity make you exhausted (but hopeful) or nervous (and vulnerable), let the children lead the way. Look to our youth, honoring their effort, welcoming them to the table, and following their lead.

On a less serious note, and because season 2 of Ted Lasso comes out this week, we could also look to Apple TV for notes on how to expand our us.

The world has gone crazy for Ted Lasso. I am here for it. One of my sisters is often my portal to pop culture, and I think she actually built and starting driving the Ted Lasso bandwagon. She got my siblings and me on board early in the pandemic, and Ted’s infectious hope and way of seeing the human beings hiding underneath the people around him has raised the bar for how we live together.

Since she is a media oracle, I finally obeyed her order to watch Mythic Quest. The show did not look appealing to me. I am neither a video gamer nor a technology and coding enthusiast, so I’ve been dragging my feet for a year. Now that I’ve starting watching, I’ll just say that it is always best to do what the oracle tells you to do.

Between the 2 seasons of Mythic Quest, there is an interstitial episode that is part fantasy, part reality. The mythical moment rips off the Sword and the Stone, Harry Potter, animated Robin Hood and the Bible. It is fabulous. Despair has taken over the village, and the King holds a tournament to foster good will and to maybe find the one figure worthy of pulling the Sword of Light from the tree in which it is embedded, thereby restoring hope to the kingdom. The narration reads thus:

“The smallest of them all was destined to prevail. And though he was beaten, he did not break, refusing to give in, he rose and rose and rose again, fueled by a belief no blow could extinguish. With each act of bravery, the people began to believe as well, until at last they cheered his victory. The resilient champion had broken the curse and freed the sword. The people of the kingdom—young and old—learned that day that to dispel the darkness, we must only believe in the light.”

Pay attention to the magical young bearers of light around you. They need our blessing, and they can show us a new way forward.