Sunday Musings – August 25, 2019
Where are the voices of compassion?
Every Friday the magic of the internet brings the newsletter from Trinity Church Wall Street. If I scroll down to near the bottom I can access a video of the previous Sunday’s sermon as well of some of the other sermons delivered by various clergy who serve with the community of Trinity. All of the sermons are thought provoking although given our individual histories we all hear each sermon differently. I love the passion of some of the clergy, the poignant challenge of others, and the soothing reminder by still others. The Reverend Winnie Varghese is one of those whose articulate passion grabs my heart and my mind challenging me to reclaim the simple truth that we must make our voices heard in the desert of these times. We must speak out for justice and not against those whose understanding of the world is held together by grids in which each person is assigned their small space. We must speak to the fear of those who sense of worth is tied to the illusionary safely of their grid. We must speak to the heart of those whose wall of anger is borne of fear which would keep children separated from parents, farm and factory workers with or without green cards denied simple gratitude, and women (and men) regulated to sexual body parts, We must speak to the fear from which the bully behavior of individuals, companies and nations originates.
It is tempting to speak out against those use hate, greed, exclusivity and false prophecy which is attributed to a god who is posited as a self-centered, angry, revengeful teenager whose feeling are so fragile that he/she/it must strike out with vengeance.
As individuals gather several times a day to face Mecca; as others gather on various sabbath days, the challenge is to risk positing a God which speaks to the pain which keeps many locked in their place on the grid and viewing those outside their grid as “the other”. The challenge is to truly proclaim the good news that indeed we can visit the sick, welcome the hungry and those fleeing all forms of violence, take the hand of the prisoner who needs a mentor and not a guard, and beat the sword or guns into implements which will help cultivate food.
On this Sunday morning I am reminded of the words of Bigger Thomas in Richard Wright’s Native Son, “You can’t do nothin except kill me and that ain’t nothin.”; of those in the Holocaust camps who created beautiful music, of those in countries such as Estonia who made amazing sculptures out of munition part when they were controlled by the Soviet Union, of those who refuse to give up their dance of life.
When I first came to Wheeling there was a man who dressed in the costume of a woman and proudly strolled the streets. It is true that his or her makeup skills sometimes extended the lips or the accented the cheeks a tad too red, but he had the courage to proudly share his dance. This was long, long before the first Pride event would touch even the edges of this community.
I often find myself reacting to the action of the fearful; to the actions of those who costumes may be greed, exclusivity, and isolation with self-righteous distain which is not helpful or healing for anyone. I am better at catching myself these days; at just non-judgmentally noticing and stopping myself from speaking judgmental or even hateful words. Yet, it is often a challenge to keep my dance positive; to look past the superficial costumes and embrace those whose lives seems to be guided by fear. We need to weep over the pain of others while demonstrating the simple joy of loving the outcast. In my Christian tradition when the disciples questioned Jesus chatting with the prostitute and he replies “Let those who are without sin throw the first stone.” we are given the only lesson we need – to show up with joy and unconditional love.
This then is the challenge as we move through a time of great change; a time when the mirrors of fear are very bright.
Written. August 25, 2019
Jimmy F Pickett
coachpickett.org
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