an evening of music, poetry and solidarity: a prefigurative community of trust and tenderness

Tonight we will share a wildly eclectic evening of music, poetry and solidarity in what I have come to call a "prefigurative community of trust and tenderness." MLK spoke of this same encounter as "the Beloved community" while Jesus simply said, "the kingdom of God."

Outwardly, of course, tonight's event will be a benefit for the immigrant initiatives of BIO - Berkshire Interfaith Organizing - the regional social justice organization I helped found almost ten years ago. In the parlance of our public commitment, we say: "BIO acts towards justice by building relationships within our communities and across lines of difference, developing our leaders' skills in the public arena, and taking action on issues of common concern. The proceeds from tonight’s concert will support a sanctuary congregation in the Berkshires – a place of safety supported by the inter-faith community for those seeking a new and hope-filled life in a new land – an act of love and solidarity in the face of all the forces of hatred that wound us all." So this works - these are good and honest words - and they are all too limited.

For what will transpire tonight - and at other similar events - is soul work. For a few hours, beyond any conscious choice, people will practice laying down their fears long enough to harmonize with one another. Like the old spiritual, "Down by the Riverside," puts it: for a discrete moment in real time, we will rehearse "laying down our swords, shields, and burdens" so that we might taste and see what it feels like to "study war no more." In a quiet act of incarnation, we will open our hearts to trust. To vulnerability. To tenderness. Not ideologically. Not intellectually. And not denominationally. We will do it in song. Do it by clapping our hands. And by sitting next to strangers. 

What I am talking about is counter-intuitive politics that allows us to get out of our own way long enough to participate in the Spirit's deepest desire for each and all of us. The ancient Hebrew soul singer sang in Psalm 133: "How good and pleasant it is when sisters and brothers dwell in unity." For most of my life I have understood political, social, and spiritual change to be about compelling enough people to stand together in public long enough that we are able to push others into more just behavior. MLK cut to the chase when we said: “It may be true that the law cannot make a man love me, but it can stop him from lynching me, and I think that's pretty important.” This will never change: one form of social transformation requires organizing people to break down the barriers of organized money and privilege.

And... over the past 20+ years I have stumbled upon another way of assisting and supporting the work of organizing: the beloved community. Each of us must know in our flesh what healing our wounds feels like. Often we cannot imagine (let alone conceptualize) what we haven't experienced. This seems to be true both personally and socially. But when we have been touched inwardly by the reality of tenderness and trust - by the presence of the holy within our humanity - new possibilities can take shape and form outwardly. New songs can be sung. New heavens and new earths can be envisioned. And realized. I have long cherished this song from the ancient soul singer of Israel:

For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth;

the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. 

But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating;

for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy...

no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it,

or the cry of distress. No more shall there be in it

an infant that lives but a few days,

or an old person who does not live out a lifetime;

for one who dies at a hundred years will be considered a youth,

and one who falls short of a hundred will be considered accursed. 

They shall build houses and inhabit them;

they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit. 

They shall not build and another inhabit;

they shall not plant and another eat;

for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be,

and my chosen shall long enjoy the work of their hands. 

They shall not labor in vain, or bear children for calamity;

for they shall be offspring blessed by the Lord—

and their descendants as well. Before they call I will answer,

while they are yet speaking I will hear. 

The wolf and the lamb shall feed together,

the lion shall eat straw like the ox;

but the serpent—its food shall be dust!

They shall not hurt or destroy

on all my holy mountain,

says the Lord.

The first time I experienced such a blessing was in Washington, DC during the summer of 1968. Dr. King had been assassinated in April - Robert Kennedy in June - and my church youth group was traveling to centers of hope and justice. We had been to rural Pennsylvania, Appalachia, and now urban DC and Baltimore. Seated in the Potter's House, a coffee house ministry of the Church of the Savior, surrounded by artists, musicians, and poets who were singing and speaking about a new way of being, I shared what St. Paul described in I Corinthians 12:

I know a person in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven—whether in the body or out of the body I do not know; God knows. And I know that such a person—whether in the body or out of the body I do not know; God knows— was caught up into Paradise...

At some point I descended - how long had I been gone - no clue! But during my ascent I felt a call to ministry as the holy said to me: YOU could help with this, too! That is, I could do my part with the arts to encourage open hearts and trust. After that summer, I have been blessed by various times of being lifted up into the beloved community: at Springsteen concerts, in Russian Orthodox worship, in a small Black church in rural Mississippi, at the birth of my children, with the L'Arche community of Ottawa. And creating music and poetry with the cadre of artists joining with me again tonight. Our goal - and prayer - is to create safe space for each and all of us to know what trust and solidarity feels like from the inside out. Psalm 34 gets it right: Taste... and see the goodness of God's mercy. Psalm 46 is equally evocative: Be still... and know. As are the words from the Revelation of St. John:

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,“See, the home of God is among mortals. God will dwell with us; we will be God's peoples, and God will be with us, wiping away every tear from our yes. Death will be no more; nor
mourning and crying for pain will be no more as the first things have passed away.”

If you're in town, please join us.

An Evening of

Music, Poetry and Solidarity

First Church on Park Square

27 East Street, Pittsfield, MA

413.447.7351 - http://www.firstchurchpittsfield.org

Friday, November 22, 2019 - 7:00 pm

(Suggested donation is $12)

Andy Kelly – Charlie Tokarz -Linda Worster  

Jon Haddad - John Hamilton – Eileen Markland 

Juan Pablo Morales - James Lumsden - Jon Grenoble

Dianne De Mott, Brian Staubach, Dave McDermott 

Dream Center Worship Team -Berkshire County Poets