The Truth Will Set Us Free If We Let It

Truth is truth

No matter how we spin

The lies and the deceit

Do not always win.

Character prevails

Let’s see it more and more

I hope we find more of it

That’s what most of us implore.

Women tell the truth

They live within their skin

To doubt their stories

Is too deep a sin.

People in power

White men in the crowd

No longer get by with crimes

And that makes me proud.

Character matters

Though some would disagree

Those who put politics above it

Will surely come to see.

Shall we continue the journey

And move toward things that matter

Before we totally ruin ourselves

Lest more lives we would shatter.

There is hope in the land

I feel it in my soul

Maybe we’ve turned the corner

The truth must somehow be told. 

Dear God, Hear My Prayer

Dr. James Melvin Washington’s book, Conversations with God: Two Centuries of Prayers by African Americans, published in 1994, has been a steady read for me during our days of living in Abilene, Ada, and now Denison. You may ask why a white man reads a book of prayers by people of color. There are perhaps many, but amongst others, they keep me reminded of things that are true.

In the early morning hours this morning, I read two prayers, one by Matthew L.Watley, then a student at Howard University, and now a leader of people and recognized as such, and another by his father, William Donnel Watley, then a pastor for an AME church in New Jersey, and now a senior pastor for an AME church in Atlanta.

Young Watley prays the following:

“Dear God, if you please, let me be paranoid.

I know this sounds like the strangest request.

But it’s the only thing can fill this void.

And until it is fulfilled, I’ll find no rest.”

He goes on to write about judgments made against him because of his skin color and other things such as “poor education and unequal chances” and all manner of mistreatment, but that he is told that these things do not exist.

So, he writes:

“So God, you must see the need for me to be paranoid,

Then this world really wouldn’t be so bad.

Then all that I would see is not a true picture.

Lord, let me be paranoid so I know that I’m not mad.”

Then his father, the elder Watley, acknowledges to God his son’s prayers and then makes his own request, “I pray for holy restlessness and sensitivity to the racism that still affects the lives and impacts the aspirations of your children of the African sun.” Later in his prayer, he also beseeches God with, “God, grant us sensitivity without cynicism, righteous indignation devoid of bitterness, the wisdom of the serpent without its craftiness the gentleness of the dove without its naivete. Then, Lord, help us to direct all of this passion that we feel into meaningful action, we pray.”

For those of us who are watching, there is injustice and insanity in the world.  Based on one’s skin color or one’s name, the opportunities are different. There are better jobs, opportunities, higher placement in a wide range of settings if you have a “white” name and if your skin color is “white.” There are distinctions made by police around people of color versus those of us who are white. Then, the politics of the day can be maddening and we can go mad ourselves when we see the leader of our land engage in activities that demean people of color, women, the disabled, and children, amongst all manner of others. We see the undoing of things that we hold dear such as our indigenous people’s sacred land, to mention just one.  We see the “leader of the free world” endorsing for congress one who has multiple allegations of sexual misconduct because a “liberal” would mess with the vote. It appears that guns are more important than people. 

These things are seen by some and not by others. They are dismissed by some as irrelevant to the day and as important to others. 

I’d like to see things as they are, not how I am told to see them. I want to see the truth of injustices done and to do something about them rather than being sold a spin or a justification for them. 

So, today, like the younger Watley, I am asking for paranoia so as to know that I am not mad. I am also praying like the elder Watley for a holy restlessness and sensitivity to all manner of injustices in the world. And I vow to make a difference in my small corner of the world. 

I Hear He is Coming

I hear He is coming

The preacher told us so

He read from a big book

That was written long ago.

There was a prophet

A man who listened closely to God

He spoke to the rich and the poor

He cared a lot about those downtrod.

There was hopeless in the land

They had all lost their way

They were looking left and right

Trying to see a better day.

The prophet said he is coming

I just won’t tell you when

You better get prepared

You’ll face all of your sins.

The world we live sounds familiar

We stink up this big old joint

We have all chosen our paths

And toward hell much of us do point.

This world like that one

Bad stuff and other’s pain was craving

If it doesn’t come soon

I don’t know if it’ll be worth saving.

He’ll be born of a virgin

Something no one has done

He’ll bring us back to glory

He’ll be God’s only Son.

He’ll bring us to our knees

And we’ll worship at the throne

He’ll have a heart of justice

For those left undone.

Today is sit and I ponder

I’d like for him to come

And reign amongst my people

And to fix the world undone.

This thing is what we called it

Advent is a descriptive term

Jesus is coming as a baby

We have so very much to learn.

Mary and Joseph his parents

The donkey their traveling mode

He walked and carried them along

Not knowing of his precious load.

That sweet sweet day He was born

The world never to be the same

We all bow down to the Christ child

We worship His holy name.

The prophet was named Isaiah

The truth he told quite clear

The child’s name was to be Immanuel

His birth is drawing near.

Lord, I've Got Some Doing to Do

Lord,

I’ve got some doing to do

A little bit of this and a little bit of that

Want just to do it and cause no spat

And I want my doing to be done toward you.

Lord,

            You are the witness who watches day and night

            Knowing when I’m asleep or when I’m doing right

            You see into the heart right past my explanations

            You cut through my red tape and see my machinations.

Lord,

            This world needs some doing

            And it needs that doing now

            The wicked keep on growing stronger

            Don’t think we can wait a whole lot longer.

Lord,

            Some people are just kicked to the curb

            Or ignored in the midst of the crowd

            Is it the wrong country of origin or the color of skin

            Or is it about my blindness that keeps me from making amends.

Lord,

            Who will die while I sit and pray

            Whose mama longs and yearns for a brighter day

            For someone to touch her daughter over there with a smile

            To say to that old guy, let’s just sit here for just a while.

           

Lord,

            People like me need hope

            We want to know there’s a plan

            That we are not left out here alone

            Device our schemes in the ever shifting sand.

Lord,

            People out there are dying

            I hear a lot of folks crying

            They are languishing in the dust

            They want to know what’s just.

Lord,

            Folks make a joke and poke fun here and there

That person’s torment and that human’s history

That kid’s speech and that woman’s hair

I’m on the inside and silence worsens the misery.

Lord,

            Me and my people are all rather small

            Some of us can just barely crawl

            Our faith is real and put into your hand

            Renew our hope, and beside you we’ll stand.

Lord,

            Our hope is in you

            And some still have these really big dreams

            Must they be deferred, too

            Midst those cries, those screams.

Lord,

            Save us from our prejudices

            Amaze us at how we can empathize

            Keep us from going over the precipice

            Show us what we can all realize.

Yes, Lord,

I’ve got some doing to do

A little bit of this and a little bit of that

Want just to do it and cause no spat

And I want my doing to be done toward you.

           

Amen

Teaching and Wondering about Tables

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays.  Hopefully, Thanksgiving and Thanksliving abide at this house, but on that day, there is something special with the people and the food and the conversation and all that goes on at our house or at someone else's house.

How big was your table?  Not so much in terms of its dimensions, but those that it included? Did your table honor younger and older, richer and poorer, left leaning and right leaning, and all of the other "voices" that make for the rich texture of conversation, life, and relationships?

On Sunday morning I pondered the same things internally, and then ultimately asked the class the same question after we meandered about the texts.  We started with I Corinthians 8 and the challenges of the meat sacrificed to idols and the question of who is the "weaker" brother or sister.  We also wondered out loud as to what was the parallel in our world today.  The notion that knowledge puffs up but agape love builds up gave us pause.  Then we segued to other love passages and especially those that explicitly hit on the notion of relationships, like John 21, Jesus and Peter; like Ephesians 5 and a deconstruction of lovingly responding to the needs of the other person unconditionally (submission) and putting the needs of others above your own (agape love) and how they might be rather synonymous; and then we talked about entitlements of our own compared with Paul's in I Corinthians 9.

Then we landed on the notion that we are free in Christ to surrender our entitlements so as to bear witness to the love of Jesus in the world and what that would look like.  If anyone had entitlements, it would be Paul for sure.  Entitlements is a human condition that says something about all of us. He was willing to become whatever was needed so as to tell the story of Jesus. Did some surrendering of his entitlements.

Sometimes our entitlements simply speak to fear.

If we expand the table and move toward more inclusiveness rather than exclusiveness, we find our entitlements and presuppositions being challenged.

One person in the class caught my attention when she said that people know if we are judging them or loving them.

Our table at Thanksgiving was not terribly diverse.  Sure we have the left and the right folks.  Our table at church yesterday was somewhat diverse though statistically not so. I am reading Paul, Jesus, and the Psalmist. Sprinkled alongside the Bible texts are John Pavlovitz, Michael Waters, Melissa Milewski, and Pete Daniels.  That is a diverse set of readings.

They connect at a certain level and around a certain number of themes.

What do you suppose they are?

More on this topic in a day or so.

How big is your table?

Lord, I'm Thankful for a Thing or Two, Updated

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

Wife and my kids and my dog are some

Just need to keep thankin’ till my days are done.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

Friends down here and friends over there

Without those friends, I’d be nowhere.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

Wrong in the world keep me up all night

Lookin’ for change to make it all right.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

High ideals buried deep in the heart

All come from You right from the start.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

Right to vote and to take a stand

Trying to get it right as much as I can.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

Stories of old that make us cry

Hope for the future lest we die.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

Thanksgiving Day is drawin’ near

Hope for justice maybe this year.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

Food on the table, hands will cling

Thanks to you we might even sing.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

For vision that inspires, for hope within

For faith in humanity again and again.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

Coffee in the morning, and time with you

Reading through the Book and other things, too.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

Waking each day with my wife, my bride

Feeling inspired with her by my side.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

Friends out east friends out west

Workin’ real hard and get no rest.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

Justice is hard and it comes real slow

Keep on workin’ with little to show.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord I’m thankful for a thing or two

Justice is worth it, those sleepless nights

Injustice is wrong, keep the right in sight.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

Grandsons five, younger and now older

Granddaughter makes six, here on my shoulder

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

A life now lived with minimal regrets

Looking to the future as sun soon sets.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

Things to read and words to write

Justice to stir to continue the fight.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two

People who are called to walk beside

Feeling disregard, trying to stem the tide.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Lord, I’m hopin’ for a thing or two.

Yes, I’m hopin’ for a thing or two.

Yes, I’m thankful for a thing or two.

Home for Dorothy and Eddie

This morning I am prompted to ponder home and a homeland. What is home but that place and space where you put your feet and your lay your head and you find your stuff that you find meaningful and you can breathe.  What is a homeland but a larger space and place where the ebb and flow and the people and the symbols and the language and its history connect with you in a deep sense and you say something or say maybe nothing at all that this is my homeland and these are my people and what I value most is found here.

Forever and a day I have had these yearnings for a home and a homeland. Even when we were away from our homeland, I found myself feeling most secure and at peace when we owned the brick and the mortar and the grass and the trees and found a place to come home to at the end of a long sojourn elsewhere.  Home necessarily included the people inside the house which was a home which was grounded in space and time.  Familiarity and predictability of the coming and the going and who was there and when they were not there things were all out of sync and had no rhythm or rhyme.

I think that is why amongst other things the story of Eddie and Dorothy Wise moves me so.  They met on the campus of Howard. Their connection was almost immediate. He yearned for home with chickens and dogs and pigs, lots of pigs. His home became her home and his homeland became their homeland.

Their story of struggle is well chronicled in a large document over in my filing cabinet. Edward and I wrote about them in 2008, and now here in 2017, we are hearing about them again and again because their story is so compelling that we cannot ignore it. It is told in all of its brutality on national radio. The interviewer with his penetrating questions, Eddie with his strong voice, and eventually Eddie with his gentle voice in the nursing home where Dorothy with her weak voice accepts the cookie and drink that Eddie has brought for his “Brown Sugar.”

You can listen to it here.

You can learn more about their circumstances here. 

Not their home. In a place of not their home. She died in a place not their home.

Their home had been taken away by the misdeeds of people with agendas that were clear to them and clear to Eddie and Dorothy. Eddie and Dorothy did not have the power or the place to change the course of those events. Those people who made those decisions had the power and the pen and the position and the system to make things work for those folks but not for those folks.

And then their home was no more. They were driven from it by a large group of uniformed and armed men. Uniformed and armed men who have no claim to the land and home driving people from the land and their home who have a legitimate claim to the land and the home.

Yes. Today I am pondering home and its meanings and why it is so important to me. I am also pondering such for people who have to fight and scratch and claw to hold on to their home and homeland.

I do not know of such deeper things.  Such matters are beyond my experience.  They are not beyond my ability to imagine and to empathize.  And when I do move into that space, my blood runs cold, my heart is ripped out, and my beliefs in justice and its righteous causes confirmed, and my conviction that there are people in power who have darkness in their hearts and they play the cold cruel songs of systemic racism.

And people are driven from their homes.

And then it was taken away.  The big boys with big guns and big pieces of paper came and drove them away.  They asserted themselves into a home that was not their own but they had the power of the paper and the writing on the paper to usher the folks who were at home out of their home and into a cheap motel, one which they could afford. Four walls, close quarters, concrete parking lot. A place to stay but not a home. A place to lay the head for some indeterminable length of time until things changed. Not their home but a place they stayed until they stayed there no more.

Then Dorothy died.

What does Eddie call home now? 

Dear God, Amen, and PS: Come Quickly

November 6, 2017

Dear God:

It is a dangerous world out there.  It is a treacherous place to live. Feelings of safety run the gamut from those who feel very safe to those who look over their shoulders at every turn.

We are bombarded by the left and the right and those supposedly in the middle, but who knows what is up and what is down and who can be trusted to the left and the right.

One more killing of innocent people, more than half of a church wiped out by a deranged white guy dressed in black with enough guns and rounds for a war. He had weapons of war and they had weapons fighting spiritual warfare. Someone was outnumbered. Someone or someones were not adequately prepped for the fight.

My soul grieves.  My heart is heavy.

We are picking sides as we always do.  The rhetoric is the same. 

If we outlaw guns, only outlaws will have guns.  The problem is not guns. The problem is mental health. Texas has the most liberal gun laws in the state. There are good people in the NRA, so leave us alone. The NRA owns America as one of the largest lobbies in the country.

We could go on and on, Lord, with the language of the day.

It is the same language that we used following Sandy Hook, Miami, Las Vegas, and now Sutherland Springs. There are more. Lots more. There are too many to list but you know them all. You know them all too well, and we only see through a glass dimly.

We pray. We say we will pray. Our thoughts and prayers are with the victims and their families. The last time we prayed.  Before that we prayed.  Before that we prayed.  Praying is a thing we do, or at least we say that we do, but sometimes I think we say we do when what we actually do is say those words as a routine way of attempting to acknowledge the pain and suffering of others. I think is akin to “I’m thinking about you.” That is my cynical self speaking. Today is it loud.

Don’t get me wrong, Lord, I’m keen on praying.  You and I talk real often, and in fact that is what we are doing now as I try to grasp the magnitude of what is happening. Even as I pray those words, I realize that the magnitude of this thing is too big for me.  It is not, however, too big for you.

I have always thought that prayer without action is a waste of words.  The Spanish proverb is “pray, but keep hammering.”  The Russian, or maybe it is Scottish, or maybe it is from Randy Harris, is “pray and row for shore.”

Here in America we do a good job of praying, but we’re not good at rowing for shore.  We whine and complain and bemoan the carnage in the lives of people, but we do nothing beyond that.  Then, when carnage strikes again, we go through the same actions.

These are fighting words. America loves its guns.  America loves its 2^nd Amendment. We default to emotional language when somebody perceived to be from the left questions these things.

Yes, Lord, I think we love the 2^nd Amendment and our guns more than we care about people. People are curiously expendable, but guns and the 2^nd Amendment are here to stay.  Curiously enough that when that document was written, the guns of war that we have now were not available and a black person was considered 3/5s of a human. In every act of carnage on American soil, weapons of war have been used. How many AR-15s or other similar weapons are needed, how many rounds for them are needed, how many of whatever are needed to protect the family, to hunt wild animals?

No, we do not pray and row for shore.  We say our prayers and sit and wait for the current to take us to some place. We pray and leave matters the same. We pray and do nothing.

Sensible gun control, addressing mental illness, and figuring how to have fewer weapons of war in the hands of the mentally ill are serious issues.  If we cared about people as much as we care about our guns, then we’d do something.  If we were truly Pro-Life, we’d do something.  We are not Pro-Life, we are selectively Pro-Life.  We attempt to protect the lives of the unborn, and rightfully so, but we do not protect the lives of the party goers at the concert, those having a good time with friends in the bar, the children and their teachers at school, or the young and old worshippers in our churches. Three churches of late in South Carolina, Tennessee, and Texas.  And even one has suggested that we have a system of checking in our pockets and all, like we do when we go to court or the airport. 

We’ll rally the troops.  We’ll say the right things about the deceased and the killer.  We’ll declare it a mental health problem. We’ll pray.

Until the next time.

Then we’ll do it all over again.

Until the next time.

Then we’ll do it all over again.

Until next time, I simply say amen.

PS: Come quickly.

Way Down South

Several years ago I was in southern Georgia interviewing farmers and families and hearing their stories of discrimination in dealing with the USDA.  One particular name kept coming up again and again.  One day I walked through the cemetery there in town and recognized the name.  These words come to mind when I think about the farmers and the system that they had to negotiate there in their community.

Way Down South

Down South
Way down south if you know what I mean
There is a cemetery on the edge of town
That the whites work hard to keep clean.

The monuments

The big monuments you can surely see
Stand with pride in the sun
Perhaps for longer than eternity.

That tombstone

That one over there with the name I know
Looks to be a symbol for some important man
And surely that is more than just show.

That man

He owned that town often I was told
Set all those prices for seed and cotton
And now his bones lie cold.

His scales

Those big scales over there
Weighed light for the black folks
And to argue they didn’t dare.

His prices

The prices he set on the seed
Now those dollars were pretty high
That was all he’d need.

His control

His control of it all from start to finish
Of the seeds to the land to the price of the cotton
Served to keep them down, their souls to diminish.

No one argued

Not one argued or you’d pay a price
If they did their cotton was not bought
They learned that the man did not play nice.

Now that man

That man who owned this town
Lies buried beneath that big monument
His name of great renown.

That farmer

That farmer whose skin is black
Knew the bank was coming long before it did
And the land he loved he’ll never get back.

Such is life

Such is life when your skin is dark
Way down in the Bible belt south
Where Jim Crow still lives on in too many hearts.