I have previously written about the “work” of Father Gregory Boyle with the gang members and former gang members in the city of Los Angeles. Gang members in such cities must learn that they do not have the luxury of touching their own wounds or the wounds of others if they are to survive in the very tough world in which they find themselves. Yet, Father Boyle and those who share the gift of this ministry with him, know that the wounds of these men and women are but a reflection of our own wounds. It is this humility and openness which allow them the honor of sometimes being trusted with the pain and the hearts of some of these seemingly hardened gang members. The book title, Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion was suggested by one these men. When Father Boyle says to him, “You are a giant among men. I am impressed with how heroic you are.” The obviously touched gang member says, “Dam G, I am going to tattoo that on my heart.”
Father Boyle quotes from a poem of William Blake about learning “how to bear the beams of love.” Funny, I had read and read this part of his book several times and, yet, had somehow missed the reference to this powerful line in William Blake’s poem, “The Little Black Boy.” In case, you, as was true for me, have either forgotten or missed this powerful poem, here it is in its entirety:
The Little Black Boy
BY WILLIAM BLAKE
My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O! my soul is white;
White as an angel is the English child:
But I am black as if bereav'd of light.
My mother taught me underneath a tree
And sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kissed me,
And pointing to the east began to say.
Look on the rising sun: there God does live
And gives his light, and gives his heat away.
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning joy in the noonday.
And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love,
And these black bodies and this sun-burnt face
Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear
The cloud will vanish we shall hear his voice.
Saying: come out from the grove my love & care,
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.
Thus did my mother say and kissed me,
And thus I say to little English boy.
When I from black and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy:
Ill shade him from the heat till he can bear,
To lean in joy upon our fathers knee.
And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like him and he will then love me.
I had again, on my iPhone, listened to Father Boyle reading the first portion of his book while I was working out at the gym this morning. I often use this gift of time to listen to those who would guide me in this journey towards having the courage to love.
Already at 6:00 a.m. when I arrived at the gym I am thinking about events such as the “collateral damage” at the hospital in Afghanistan staffed by Doctors Without Borders, the overwhelming rain in the very same city as so recently was the site of the courage of forgiveness following the mass shooting at a church, and the statement by the pastor of a church in Oregon whose daughter was at the site of yet another mass shooting at a community college last week. The pastor, who is the father of one of the children who survived, said when asked if he can forgive the shooter: “Can I be honest? I don’t know. That’s the worst part of my job. I don’t know….I don’t focus on the man. I focus on the evil that was in the man.” This pastor is Randy Scroggins, pastor of the New Beginnings Church of God in Roseburg, Oregon. I find it ironic that the church is named “New Beginnings” although the name is, of course, a poignant reminder of that man Jesus who seemed to assume that we all deserve a new beginning; we all deserve to bear the beams of love. Somehow the folks at the church in Charleston which was recently the site of another shooting were able to immediately see the wounds of the shooter as reflected in the wounds of those shot, of those killed, and those who were left to grieve. In seeing one’s own wounds reflected by the violence one touches not only one own wounds but the wounds of Christ. That is, after all, the point of the story: to teach us both courage and compassion.
I cannot, of course, say whether faced with the same situation I would follow the example of the folks at the Charleston Church or the pastor of the church in Oregon. Naturally, I would like to think that I would follow the example of the folks at the Charleston Church. I would like to think that I would see that what the pastor is calling “the evil” in the shooter is the but a mirror of the pain which allows each of us to treat ourselves and others as less then; to treat the store clerk as a robotic functionary; to treat the less than humble, seemingly self-righteous person as someone who is undeserving of our love because, after all, we are less self-righteous than they are! Yes, I would like to think that my behavior will always mirror the love which Jesus, the Buddha, Allah, and others extended to the tax collector, the prostitute, and the thief. I would like to think that I would embrace the shooter as a part of me which can out of fear, hopelessness or pain shut myself off from the humanness I share with all others. I would like to think that I might “learn to bear the beams of love.” Somehow, William Blake already envisioned, despite living in England in the 18th and 19th century, that love is energy which does indeed send out powerful beams when then get “tattooed “ on the hearts of all whom the beams touch.
The image that evokes in my mind is juxtaposed alongside the little black boy, the little while boy, and the joyful, embracing mother in Blake’s poem. This seems a lovely filter with which to approach this day. I am indebted to William Blake, Father Boyle, and, yes, pastor Randy Scroggins for giving me the possibility of the vision of the courage to face myself and to welcome the beams of love.
Written October 5, 2015
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