Recognizing Abundance Even in Challenging Times

I think it's fair to say 2020 has been a rough one for most everyone. We've experienced upheaval in so many ways. COVID has brought many changes to our lives from changed routines to loss or diminishment of income to loss of loved ones. The deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and others have awakened many people, especially white people, to just how far we are from the highest aspirations of the United States' ideals. This week Louisville lost another bright light when 21-year-old Travis Nagdy, who grew into leadership through 6 months of continuous protests for racial justice, was shot and killed. The elections and its aftermath have exacerbated divisions that were already deep. Many of us are celebrating Thanksgiving (whose history brings its own complexities) in ways that break tradition. 

We may be mourning or angry or tired or so many other things and I wonder if, even as we experience all of those difficult emotions, we can find the places where we can exhale in relief, in gratitude, in satisfaction. I wonder if we can simultaneously notice points of gratitude that open us up in the midst of the complex emotions that can close us off, or at least allow these opening and closing emotions to ebb and flow within us.

Practicing gratitude (and it most certainly is a practice) is something I began just before the 2016 election. Every night for over 4 years now, I've posted on Facebook 5 things for which I'm thankful for, from the mundane to the extraordinary. This practice has helped me to stay grounded in a greater sense of wholeness- of all that is- especially during difficult times. In honor of the practice and this day, I'm sharing two videos that remind me of the expansive was we can notice abundance around us-

• beautiful imagery and Brother David Steindl-Rast’s reflection in A Good Day

• Carrie Newcomer's song Holy As the Day is Spent, a song I get to sing every year at my church's Thanksgiving service

I also want to share just a few of the things I'm particularly grateful for in 2020: 

• Frida- my 20-year-old cat: I have lived with no other being as long as I've lived with Frida. As all of us have spent more time at home and less time in the physical presence of other people outside of our household (I live alone, so...), her physical presence has been of great comfort. If you've been in my house or on a Zoom call with me, chances are, you've met Frida, or at least heard her. She's usually on my lap- as often as I'll let her be!

• My church community: Even though we haven't met in person since March, we have me weekly via Zoom and our community has even grown as we've welcomed friends and family who live outside of Louisville- in other cities, states, and countries. I appreciate the comfort of ritual, the intentional inclusion of different community members’ voices each week, and the many ways we've cultivated community and support for and with each other.

• Park walks with friends: As we navigate safe ways to be together, I have loved every walk I've taken with friends. These walks help me move my body, fill my spirit, and ground me in connections with Nature and people.

• People who brought me meals or small gifts, sent text messages or notes, graced me with their company when I was struggling. There have been a few times this year when I've had a hard time taking care of myself. During those times friends, family members, acquaintances, and sometimes even strangers stepped in and gave me the care I was struggling to give myself.

• Getting to know my neighbors: Every night at 7:00pm, my neighbors and I come out on our porches and bang drums, ring bells, play tambourines, and otherwise make noise. Sometimes my 10-year-old neighbor rides his skateboard down the street in costume in the midst of the joyful noise. Most Saturday nights we've also gathered (at a distance) around a fire pit in the middle of the street. We've had two outdoor karaoke nights, a pumpkin-carving night, a cookout, among other things. Even when we're back to whatever the new normal becomes, I suspect these ties will remain strong.

• Healthcare workers and public health officials: I don't even know where to start. What a mix of the challenges they've faced, whether direct care of COVID patients, protecting themselves from COVID, dealing with supply shortages, changing protocols as the information about COVID evolves, interacting with people who are difficult for any number of reasons, overworking. And they still keep showing up.

• Teachers, parents, students, anyone involved in education: The creativity and flexibility that this year is demanding is A LOT (true in this scenario and most every other). Families and schools have had to make tough choices, wondering if they're the right ones and if they'll have to pivot again as circumstances change.

• New or renewed dedication to racial justice coming alive in many people: both observing and being a part of the racial justice work going on right now is exciting. Seeing young people come forward to lead is exciting. Seeing people of all ages willing to risk safety, whether physical or emotional, so that our society is more equitable is exciting. Seeing structures of support form is exciting- therapists groups dedicated to protesters, lawyer groups ready to support people who got arrested in protests, volunteers who provide food, rides, sanctuary spaces, child care, education, training. Just wow.

The truth is that this is only the start to my list. It could easily have 100 points, but I'll leave the rest for another day... or for your imagination.  

For what are you grateful? 

How has 2020 brought blessings to your life? 

We Repeat What We Don't Repair

The original title of this essay was "Domination, Dismissal, and Dehumanization." I decided that might feel too intimidating for an essay title, but I'm still going to share a few reflections on these things. 

We live in a culture of domination, dismissal, and dehumanization. Regardless of our religion, political or ideological leanings, race, age, or other qualities, most of us fall into these patterns at some point or another because we are immersed in them. We don't have to look too far in our relationships, communities, country, world to see these playing out all around us. If we're in a position of privilege, we exert our power in ways that limit someone else's, consciously and unconsciously. We write off someone we disagree with because they're clearly wrong and therefore not worth our attention. Hmpf! We call a politician or a candidate a derogatory name because it makes us feel superior. All of these things separate us from each other. 

If you're like me, you may talk the good talk about compassion and love and then forget or choose not to extend compassion and love to the "bad" people, the ones we see doing harm. Doesn't doing so let them off the hook? 

Yesterday's gospel reading at church was the one about loving our neighbors as ourselves. Regardless of your spiritual tradition, it's likely that this idea of unconditional love is a part of your belief system. But how do we do it? And why? 

We repeat what we don't repair. 

If I wish to live in a world in which power-with, rather than power-over, is the norm, I practice it now.  

If I wish to live in a world in which I am seen and heard and so is everyone else, I practice it now. 

If I wish to live in a world in which respect is the norm, I practice it now. 

If I don't practice them now, I perpetuate the very systems I wish to interrupt and change, just maybe with people in leadership with whom I align myself more. 

Acknowledging someone's humanity doesn't mean I accept the harm that they're doing. It does mean that I can see that person as more than the harm they're doing. I'll still work to end the harm, but I'll also live in the possibility that the person can change. It doesn't mean I stay in relationship with the person. I can still have boundaries. I can wish them well from afar, and when I say "well," I mean that their needs are truly met on a deep level, so deeply that they won't continue to do harm. Their well-being, their healing, brings me and you and everyone else closer to collective well-being. 2020 has shown us how much we need to heal. 

The goal is to heal me and you and everybody else. Patching the fabric of humanity. Mending the tears. Stitch by tiny stitch. Practice by tiny practice. Practicing love toward my neighbor as myself. Remembering that everyone is my neighbor. Practicing until these acts are the ones we automatically repeat and not the acts of domination, dismissal, and dehumanization. With every action a new stitch in the tapestry of interconnection. Slowly. Steadily. Stepping back every so often to see the bigger picture, the progress we've made. Bringing the cloth close again to continue the work. Stitch. Stitch. Stitch. 

What patterns of harm-doing in our world do you see reflected in your own actions?

What is one practice that helps you or could help you to interrupt the pattern?

What do you think would change as a result of your "mending"? 

Kindom-Building

The following are words I delivered to my beloved church community on Sunday, October 11.

Twenty-eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time (October 11, 2020)

Isaiah 25:6-10; Philippians 4:12-14, 19-20; Matthew 22:1-14

*Note: You’ll see the word kindom, not kingdom, throughout this reflection- this is not an error. This term was used in the version of the gospel reading I read and is another gender-neutral word for the Reign of God. I love its beautiful reminder of our kinship.

Whew! When I first read, then re-read…and then re-read this gospel reading, I wasn’t too excited to preach about it. While I love the idea of the kindom of God being like the wedding feast, like the banquet Isaiah describes, I had a harder time digging into the murder, burning, and gnashing of teeth. What do I do with all that?

Some interpreters of this gospel would say that this story is a warning of how God will punish us for not accepting the invitation to the kindom or for not attending in the right garments, by “putting on Christ.” I have a hard time believing that God, who I understand to be Love, is looking to pounce on us like that. However, I do think we humans- sometimes confounding, sometimes maddening, humans- are well-experienced in that kind of shame, blame, and punishment. We do it to ourselves and we do it to each other. 

And so I want to get back to the kindom, to some sense of hope. The banquet is one part of the vision- a feast that offers enough for all and is accessible to all. We have enough food for everyone in the world right now, and yet that food does not reach all who need it, despite the work of Nobel Peace Prize-winning World Food Programme or Bread for the World, or Feed Louisville that was born just 6 months ago in response to food insecurity brought on by the economic crisis. Surely we can practice banquet-setting more expansively.  

When I imagine the kindom, and specifically the banquet, my mind goes to a hot Friday afternoon in Nulu, July 24 to be exact. A group of us, led by our Black siblings, had marched from the Big Four Bridge to Market Street. When we arrived at the corner of Market and Shelby, a group mobilized to first block off Market at Shelby and then at Clay. In the now pedestrian-safe street, a different group of people set out a line of tables with tablecloths, fresh flowers, and chairs. Snacks and water were made available. Demands to make the gentrified area more equitable for Black and Brown folks were prominently displayed. The atmosphere was festive and inviting. A trampoline was set up, a piano was brought out, and large canvasses, formerly known as mattresses, were set up with outlines like a coloring book for people to paint. After the space was set up, people were relaxing and enjoying each other, weaving together threads of intersectional community. This was a welcoming space for anyone who chose to join. This was a taste of kindom.

Like in the gospel, most of the city of Louisville didn’t take notice that it was happening. Some people turned away. Some, mostly white people, were angry, verbally attacking protesters, as they had before and have since, who would dare to disrupt their lives by creatively and joyfully claiming dignity and agency, the very essence of their divine nature.  

Shortly after this joyful space was created, police officers lined either end of the blocked street and also blocked off the side streets around us. They put up police tape and threatened to arrest anyone who was inside the perimeter because it was an “unlawful assembly.” It wasn’t long before the police broke the barricades set up by protesters, knocked down the tables, and started arresting people.  No longer a vision of hope, it became another example of state power asserting itself over those who are trying to bring a greater sense of kindom to us now. The police responses, that day and too many others, are not kindom images.

My mind returns to the streets of Louisville, particularly the area between 5th and 6th, Jefferson and Liberty, now known as Injustice Square or sometimes Breonna Square, for more glimpses of the kindom. Over the last 137 days, strangers have become friends and chosen families. Food, drinks, masks, clothing, and sunscreen have been shared. Rage, fear, grief, exhaustion, joy, laughter, gratitude, and hope have also been shared.

Yesterday many hundreds of mostly white people, some of whom I see here today, marched from Tyler Park to the square, some for the very first time, after listening to Black community leaders like Charles Booker and Sadiqa Reynolds. My vision of kindom includes valuing Black lives as much as white lives and trusting Black people when they tell us their lived experiences. My vision includes raising our voices together, in chant and in song, expressing the values that move us through the streets, to the polls, to empowered action of any kind. My idea of kindom includes experimenting with those values, being willing to own up to the mistakes and failures in the experiments, and trying again.   

When I continue to imagine the kindom of God, my mind turns to beloved community member Michael Whiting, whose death anniversary is today. What might our world look like if, like Michael, all of us made time for meditation, slowing down to ground ourselves in our deepest values? What if, like Michael, we took time to study multiple faith traditions and philosophies with openness and curiosity and encouraged interfaith and inter-ideological dialogue? What if all of us were so passionate about peacemaking that we wrote songs about it and taught children and young people and other adults about it? Might these be kindom experiences on earth?  

In my vision of the kindom, my mind turns to our opening song, a vision of community where all are welcome, and to these words of Wendell Berry from Jayber Crow: “for the community must always be marred by members who are indifferent to it or against it, who are nonetheless its members and maybe nonetheless essential to it.” I believe the kindom includes radical hospitality and the hard work of radical acceptance, even and especially of those we struggle to love and accept.

Perhaps because my imagination isn’t expansive enough to hold the full vision, like in Berry’s description, I don’t imagine the kindom to be conflict-free. But when there is conflict, I imagine restorative rather than punitive practices. I imagine accountability processes that create understanding, connection, and healing.

If we look around our world, it seems we are so very far from the kindom. Electoral politics, capitalism, racism, mysogyny, hunger, poverty, ecological devastation. We see the deaths of too many people from too many preventable causes. We see our Mother Earth burning. These are enough to cause weeping and gnashing of teeth. In fact, in 2020 as these realities become even more obvious, we are actually cracking more of our teeth, according to dentists.

In the midst of it all, may we tend to kindom-building, bringing kindom ways into how we care for ourselves, our relationships, our community, our world. The good news is that we are already doing it. May we lean further into these practices and experiments, learning as we go. May our practices and experiments ripple out beyond us, touching the places farthest from the kindom vision. Our lives and the lives of generations after us depend on it.