Today was all about reflection: there was yard/garden work in the morning for me, quiet
reading/prayers later,a wee nap along with a late afternoon visit with Di before more gardening. I will spend an hour of prayer, lament and rejoicing with the PBS news crew @ 6 pm and then prepare a simple pesto supper. As I cut the grass, edged the garden, weeded and weed wacked areas in need of order, I was stunned: our garden is bursting with beauty right now. There are deep purple irises, bold pink azaleas, lilacs, pale wild roses, sky blue forget-me-nots, orange day lilies, a white dogwood tree, lavender creepin' charlie on the periphery of the lawn, and a few unknown little red wildflowers peeping out from within the ground cover - even a few white daisies in my still evolving wildflower patch. At the start of this day, I took in these thoughts from Pádraig Ó Tuama's work in the Corrymela Prayerbook.
Let us listen to the sounds of our own voices, of our own names, of our own fears.
Let us name the harsh light and soft darkness that surround us...
The world is big, and wide, and wild and wonderful and wicked,
and our lives are murky, magnificent, malleable and full of meaning.
Oremus.
Let us pray.
~ Pádraig Ó Tuama, from "Oremus," in DAILY PRAYER WITH THE CORRYMEELA COMMUNITY
We will join him in a virtual workshop tomorrow through the IMAGE Journal. It seems that his journey and insights are resonating with my own these days - and I am grateful. As I read, think, ponder, fret, pray, trust and then read some more about where this nation - and so much of the world, too - could go if we were to put people before profits, I find it hard to image a truly compassionate culture and economy for the United States. I know they exist, of course. Not perfectly and not without their own dark sides as well. But in real time, there are Western societies where health care, education, community policing, hospitals to say nothing of psychiatric care, community diversity and gender equality are considered to be essential rights not privileges. They are part of what human beings need to thrive in safety, creativity and hope. On Easter 2020, Pope Francis spoke of the need for a Universal Basic Income as a foundation for justice. The Anglican and United Churches of Canada have endorsed such a "leap forward" and have committed their energies and resources to influencing public policy.(see https://www.united-church.ca/news/seize-moment-universal-basic-income-canada)A number of city councils in the United States are beginning to have this conversation, too as well a serious consideration of defunding our militarized police forces and using tax dollars in creative ways to advance safety and social peace.
Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor, writing in The New Yorker today offers a few home grown insights that have help me as I try to imagine new possibilities. Her wisdom is a stretch for me as I am so enmeshed in the the privileges of the status quo. And yet she speaks truth to power in ways that I trust and aspire towards with heart, flesh and soul. And while it is still early in the convergence of our contagion and social uprising to draw conclusions, I am grateful for minds far more creative and wise than my own who can see what is still not yet clear to me. She writes:
There have been planned demonstrations, and there have also been violent and explosive outbursts that can only be described as a revolt or an uprising. Riots are not only the voice of the unheard, as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., famously said; they are the rowdy entry of the oppressed into the political realm. They become a stage of political theatre where joy, revulsion, sadness, anger, and excitement clash wildly in a cathartic dance. They are a festival of the oppressed.
For once in their lives, many of the participants can be seen, heard, and felt in public. People are pulled from the margins into a powerful force that can no longer be ignored, beaten, or easily discarded. Offering the first tastes of real freedom, when the police are for once afraid of the crowd, the riot can be destructive, unruly, violent, and unpredictable. But within that contradictory tangle emerge demands and aspirations for a society different from the one we in which we live. Not only do the rebels express their own dismay but they also showcase our entire social dilemma. As King said, of the uprisings in the late nineteen-sixties, “I am not sad that Black Americans are rebelling; this was not only inevitable but eminently desirable. Without this magnificent ferment among Negroes, the old evasions and procrastinations would have continued indefinitely. Black men have slammed the door shut on a past of deadening passivity. Except for the Reconstruction years, they have never in their long history on American soil struggled with such creativity and courage for their freedom. These are our bright years of emergence; though they are painful ones, they cannot be avoided.”
King continued, “The black revolution is much more than a struggle for the rights of Negroes. It is forcing America to face all its interrelated flaws—racism, poverty, militarism, and materialism. It is exposing the evils that are rooted deeply in the whole structure of our society. It reveals systemic rather than superficial flaws and suggests that radical reconstruction of society itself is the real issue to be faced.”
By now, it should be clear what the demands of young black people are: an end to racism, police abuse, and violence; and the right to be free of the economic coercion of poverty and inequality. The question is: How do we change this country? It’s not a new question; for African-Americans, it’s a question as old as the nation itself. A large part of the reason that rebels swell the streets with clenched fists and expressive eyes is the refusal or inability of this society to engage that question in a satisfying way. Instead, those asking the question are patronized with sweet-sounding speeches, made with alliterative apologia, often interspersed with recitations about the meaning of America, and ultimately in defense of the status quo. There is a palpable poverty of intellect, a lack of imagination, and a banality of ideas pervading mainstream politics today. Old and failed propositions are recycled, but proclaimed as new, reviving cynicism and dismay.
For once in their lives, many of the participants can be seen, heard, and felt in public. People are pulled from the margins into a powerful force that can no longer be ignored, beaten, or easily discarded. Offering the first tastes of real freedom, when the police are for once afraid of the crowd, the riot can be destructive, unruly, violent, and unpredictable. But within that contradictory tangle emerge demands and aspirations for a society different from the one we in which we live. Not only do the rebels express their own dismay but they also showcase our entire social dilemma. As King said, of the uprisings in the late nineteen-sixties, “I am not sad that Black Americans are rebelling; this was not only inevitable but eminently desirable. Without this magnificent ferment among Negroes, the old evasions and procrastinations would have continued indefinitely. Black men have slammed the door shut on a past of deadening passivity. Except for the Reconstruction years, they have never in their long history on American soil struggled with such creativity and courage for their freedom. These are our bright years of emergence; though they are painful ones, they cannot be avoided.”
King continued, “The black revolution is much more than a struggle for the rights of Negroes. It is forcing America to face all its interrelated flaws—racism, poverty, militarism, and materialism. It is exposing the evils that are rooted deeply in the whole structure of our society. It reveals systemic rather than superficial flaws and suggests that radical reconstruction of society itself is the real issue to be faced.”
By now, it should be clear what the demands of young black people are: an end to racism, police abuse, and violence; and the right to be free of the economic coercion of poverty and inequality. The question is: How do we change this country? It’s not a new question; for African-Americans, it’s a question as old as the nation itself. A large part of the reason that rebels swell the streets with clenched fists and expressive eyes is the refusal or inability of this society to engage that question in a satisfying way. Instead, those asking the question are patronized with sweet-sounding speeches, made with alliterative apologia, often interspersed with recitations about the meaning of America, and ultimately in defense of the status quo. There is a palpable poverty of intellect, a lack of imagination, and a banality of ideas pervading mainstream politics today. Old and failed propositions are recycled, but proclaimed as new, reviving cynicism and dismay.
(see the whole article @ https://www.newyorker.com/news/our-columnists/how-do-we-change-america?)
Rumi once wrote: "Be patient where you sit in the dark... dawn is coming." I trust that with my being. I also trust the God is doing a new thing within and among us. For now that means listening. And waiting. Reflecting on this new moment in my solitude even as I search for ways to honor the poet Lucille Clifton's admonition: "You might as well answer the door, my child, the truth is furiously knocking."
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