Voices in My Head

Got up this morning around 4:30, started some laundry, made the coffee and then thought to myself, "Now what chores can I get done before everyone gets up?  I know I'll polish all the silver."  And then I froze.  A little voice inside my head said, "Build a fire and just be.  Read, journal, pray.  Be still."  I so don't like that little voice.  I don't want to be still; when I'm still I think; when I think I feel; when I feel I cry; and I don't want ANY of that!  But I know the voice is right.  Sometimes we need to just sit.  (Caroline if you're reading this that doesn't mean sit in front of netflix for three days straight watching episode after episode of Grey's Anatomy.)  So I sat down, read the daily office, journaled, thought, prayed and cried.  I KNEW THAT WOULD HAPPEN!!!

I'm going to try to be coherent, but one thing I have learned is that when you sit and think the things that get connected don't always make sense.  Stick with me if you can.

The first thing I read was Psalm 46 "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear (yeah, right), though the earth be moved..." and I stopped and created my own thoughs--though I'm leaving a job I love, though I don't know what next year (which is coming tomorrow) holds for me, though I don't know how we're going to pay four tuitions, though I don't know who I am.  I really hated that last one.  Why the heck don't I know who I am; where did that thought come from!?!?!?!  I know who I am--I've been in therapy for crying out loud so I can know who I am.  I decided to ignore that thought because I didn't like it; I didn't believe it, and I convinced myself I could forget it and move on--maybe I hadn't had enough coffee.

Next I read Corinthians II 5:16-6:2--"So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation; everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new."  I like that I thought.  Tomorrow is a New Year and all things can become new.  It will be a New Year filled with new possibilities.  I am leaving a job I love but I know God will be with me in the New Year with whatever God has in store for me. This is going to be great--so why did I keep reading?  "All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them..."  That's fine, I thought, I can begin the New Year living fully reconciled--really what do I have to reconcile?  I'm fine; life is good--and then the tears started falling and that stupid voice in my head said, "You are so angry; you are so angry and so sad; just admit it.  You are angry and sad because you don't know who you are or because you have forgotten who you are, because you have allowed others to tell you what you should be, how you should be.  Own it."  Now I didn't just not like that little voice, I HATED that voice.  I really should have polished silver....

I sat, I journaled and I owned it.  I have been trying, really trying but I have not been able to let go of roles and expectations.  I have allowed others voices (some who didn't even mean to) to invade my head and tell me how I am supposed to be as a mother, as a wife, as a priest.  (I've already made a list of all the things I'm going to do in the house after the 18th so I can be the perfect wife keeping the perfect house, so I can feel worthy--that's another post, back to this one.) As much as I've tried to have my own voice, be my own person, those voices often drown me out and that is why I'm angry; that is why I need to accept that I am not fully reconciled; that is why I need to own my fear--wait what?  Fear of what?  Two things came--the fear of losing myself to the other voices and the fear of becoming one of those voices in someone else's head.

As I sat there a conversation with William from the previous night popped into my head (I told you this was all over the place.)  We were talking about the basketball team and different players.  "You know E?" William asked.  "He is the nicest senior out there.  He plays with heart and he cares about everyone.  When I'm a senior I want people to think of me like they do of him.  I want to be E.  And please don't tell his mother.  I'll be embarrassed"  (I need a priest out there to give me absolution because I did indeed text his mother; we need to hear positive things about our children; sorry William.)  I responded, "Really?  He seems so quiet."  "Mama," William continued, "You don't have to talk much to be a leader."  I kept repeating that conversation in my mind and thought, "I need to tell William he doesn't need to be E; he needs to be himself.  Learn from his leadership but then find your own way of being."  (I'm really good at telling other people what to do.)  Then E taught me--I returned to the he's quiet; and the "you don't have to talk much to be a leader."  E isn't trying to make people become him--E isn't trying to build himself up by having a bunch of little E's running around. E is leading in a way that allows others to become what they can be.  He may not even realize it, but his leadership is really mentoring.  Webster defines mentor as, "a trusted counselor or guide." Mentoring is not trying to replicate yourself, but sometimes because you are a good mentor people want to replicate you.  E is a mentor and because of that William respects E, wants to be E, not because E expects it but because he doesn't.

My mind jumped back to 2010--jump with me--I was interning at St. Mark's.  The Rev. Charles Hawkins and The Rev. Anne Vouga were the priests.  They are two of the smartest, most well read, articulate people I have ever met.  (And I am blessed beyond measure they are both my mentors and my friends.)  One day during our supervision time I said, "Charles I don't know if I want to preach here anymore."  Charles sat there silently--he has this annoying habit of NOT talking (kind of like E in case you don't get the connection).  I sat and squirmed a bit and then blurted out, "I can't preach like you and Anne.  Ya'll are so much smarter than I am.  You use examples from medieval literature and art--examples I've never heard of.  I use examples from football games."  He kept sitting there looking at me.  Finally he spoke, "And that Katherine is why you will continue to preach.  They don't need to hear my voice every Sunday.  They need to hear you and you need to claim your voice."

So I still sit here knowing I have tons of work to do but giving thanks for all those who have mentored me but today especially for Charles and E.  Ya'll's voices can stay in my head--

Details Don't Define Us

Sixteen years ago today our second son and third child was born.

And so I know that today, like every year we will retell the story of his birth. He was born six weeks early--a scheduled c-section.   I had been in and out of the hospital with kidney stones for the last three months--I will say again, "It wasn't so bad."
 Chris, who was running our own business and caring for a just turned 3  and 17 month old with no family in town, will say, "What do you know?  You were on morphine!"  (Can I get an 'Amen'- Lucy, Gillian, and Leslie?)  We will tell the story of how William was the only one we found out the gender of before and that SK prayed every Sunday during children's chapel that "that boy baby would turn into a girl"  because she already had a brother and needed a sister.  (She tricked me by asking me if God could do anything; I answered yes to which she said, "Then God can turn that baby into a girl." and so began her prayer crusade.) Later she would get a sister--for now Boss got a brother and a best friend.

 Just before Christmas (actually on our anniversary...) I had an amniocentesis and the doctor's said his lungs were ready.  They gave us the choice of December 28 or January 3.  Chris asked the question, "Are you sure it's safe?"  With an affirmative answer my fiscally conservative husband (he is such a balance to me) said, "We'll take the 28th.  I can write him off on this year's taxes and make it to the Peach Bowl."

We tell the story and it becomes part of our family.  The details say something about our family--we try (Chris tries) to be fiscally responsible, we believe strongly in the power of prayer and in living faith,  the siblings are close (most of the time) and we're neurotic sports fans.  Our family is not alone--people everywhere tell and retell birth stories--they become part of family stories sometimes for generations, and they begin to describe family life and family values.  The birth story we heard on Christmas Eve had a lot of details--the poor couple living in an occupied world,  the dirty stable, the shepherds, the fear--these details tell us something about God, about who God is--God came in the flesh amidst the brokenness, the dirtiness, the messiness of the world.  God came in the flesh and joined with the poor, the oppressed--God came in humility. But there are other details--the angels and the glory of heaven--these details also tell us about God.  They tell us about God's majesty, God's power, God's love.  These details which seem to contradict one another--I believe, actually describe the reality of the world and in fact the reality of the Christmas season for many people.  There is the joy, the wonder, the amazement, and for some of us, there is also the sorrow, the emptiness, the loneliness, and the brokenness.  We celebrate God's amazing love while at the same time gathering around a table where chairs are empty that should be full.  We are filled with love for those who surround us while we also long for the loving arms of people no longer here.

 The details matter.  The details, all the details, describe the reality of the world, the story of us, the people of God.  Our Gospel today, John's Gospel, leaves out the details.  Just as the details in the other Gospels tell us something about who God is and how God loves the world, I believe the lack of details in John's Gospel also tell us something.  In John's Gospel there is one line of the birth narrative, "And the word became flesh and dwelt among us."  The word became flesh and dwelt among us--us, the people who live in constant contradiction, in brokenness and in joy.  God came in the flesh and lived the life that we live--a life that is filled with love and with fear, with good times and with times of deep sorrow.  I think maybe John left out the other details because he was ready to move us forward, past just the day  and into what it means that God came in the flesh.  To move us forward into what it means to live Christmas all year long.  It's not that the details don't matter, it's just that there are other things that matter more--

What John tells us is that God came in the flesh so that we might become beloved children of God filled with the power of God through which we can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.  God came in the flesh so that we could be defined in the only way that matters--as beloved children of God.  The details describe--they describe parts of us but contrary to what the world wants us to believe, they don't define us.  It is all too easy to let the details define us--the divorcee, the alcoholic, the successful business person AND if we are honest with ourselves, it is all too easy for us to let the details of others define them.  Our Gospel today reminds us that our definition is we are beloved children of God period.

I've told ya'll before the story of my discernment in England and how I was told that every time I saw a particular person who drove me batty I had to say to myself, "God loves _________ as much as God loves me."  And I've told you how it was hard and every once in awhile I wanted to say, but maybe me just a little more because ____________ is....  I wanted to let descriptions qualify the given--we are both equally beloved children of God.  I've told ya'll that was hard but that over time it got easier and while it didn't make me want to be best friends, it changed me and it changed how I viewed___________.  Today as I was thinking about this sermon I thought, "you know that was hard, but sometimes what is even more difficult is believing it about ourselves.  Sometimes it is harder for us, harder for me, to believe that the only thing that defines us is that we are beloved children of God. and not the details of our lives.  We think about the mistakes we have made in life, the words we have spoken and wish we hadn't, the broken relationships, and we have a hard time accepting, truly accepting, that those are parts of our life but not who we are.  Because God came in the flesh they can't, they don't define us.

I have a challenge for each of us.  For the next month when you get up and look in the mirror, first thing, I want you to say to yourself, "I am a beloved child of God and through God's power working within me I can change the world."  I believe, I really believe that if each of us does that then at the end of January, we

will each be changed, this congregation will be changed, Louisville will be changed, and the world will be changed.  The power of God working within each of us, beloved children of God, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.  Amen

Fear Not---Yeah Right....

The hour was coming to an end and my therapist said, "So let me sum up what I've heard this hour.  You're afraid to resign even though your husband says he supports you 100% because of not having another job.  You're afraid people will think you're a failure and won't like you for listening to God's voice and resigning. You're afraid people will call you a quitter." (She's not only an amazing therapist, she's also well versed in theology.)  "You're afraid to talk to your child _________, about ______ and to ____________ about ____________because contrary to all other evidence you're convinced __________will hate you and you'll be known as a terrible mother and in 20 years they'll desert you."  (Notice the blanks--I do filter some things.) "You're afraid to call your mother because you haven't talked to her in awhile and you're afraid of what she might say.  You're afraid of not having the 'perfect' Christmas because what will that say about you.  You're afraid of not being the perfect priest, the perfect wife, the perfect mother so you're killing yourself.  You're afraid of,  I can't even remember all the things you're afraid of.  Sounds to me like you're living your life afraid."  "Yeah," I thought silently fuming, "And I'm also afraid of punching my much loved therapist in the face for pointing it out."  I hugged her (did I mention I love her) and headed back to the office with "I'm afraid" echoing in my mind.

I sat at my desk reading and re-reading the Gospel for Advent 4. (Luke 1:26-38)  This advent season I have been preoccupied (read obsessed) with Mary and Joseph and understanding their relationship.  I was thinking about how afraid they must have been--both of them.  It kept going through my mind, "Mary was afraid and she said yes anyway.  Joseph despite his probable fear supported Mary 100% as she stepped out in faith despite her fear.  He was an amazing man and a model of discipleship, marriage and faith."  And then that other annoying voice--you know the one that has the voice of my therapist but is in my head said, "Yeah, kind of like Chris.  But you're too afraid."  Before I knew what my hands were doing I texted Chris to "make sure" he supported me and then sent an email to the bishop asking for a meeting after the holidays to discuss what I'd decided through prayer and discernment. (He also knew I was struggling with this but contrary to my annoying therapist he was silently praying for and supporting me not pointing out my fear and weaknesses!)  Within five minutes I got a text from him (yep we have a cool, hip bishop here in the Diocese of Ky), "Can you come to the office now?" I guess he did know I allow fear to rule my life and he was not going to let my moment of courage go unnoticed.
(PSA for all clergy--if you need your bishop to respond immediately put in the subject line of an email "Discernment decision")

The next 5 days were a blur.  I resigned to my rector; we told the vestry; and the letter went out to the congregation.  Every step of the way I was and am afraid; every step of the way my heart grieves and yet recognizes I am listening to and responding to God despite my fear.  And every step of the way that has been supported by so many people around me.  I give thanks for the many many clergy friends who have reached out to me meeting me for drinks and coffee during this very busy season when they really didn't have the time.  I give thanks for the friends and family in Louisville and beyond that have reached out to love and support me with calls, emails, texts, and facebook posts-I even give thanks for that annoying therapist who I love dearly.  And I give thanks that Father Jon put me in the pulpit Advent 4 even though I was so afraid.

Advent 4 Sermon  (Inspired by a commentary I read that wouldn't leave me)

This advent season I can't stop thinking about Mary and Joseph and how their lives so quickly changed.  Perhaps it's because Chris and I just celebrated our 21st anniversary on Thursday or perhaps it's because we just sent our first to college this fall, but my heart has been nostalgic and full of admiration for the faith of both Mary and Joseph and how they responded to God--how they went from being a young betrothed couple thinking they would live a quiet life to this.

Twenty one years ago I, a recent graduate with a graduate degree in psychology, married a teacher and coach.  Our plans included Chris moving into administration and probably becoming a head master of a boarding school where I could be the school psychologist and we could rear our four children spaced out every 3 years.  Perhaps the only thing that stayed true to our plan was the 4 children--of course they were born in 4 1/2 years as opposed to my "planned" spacing.  I can tell you I never dreamed we would be living in Louisville and I'd be a priest (I probably wouldn't have gotten married in December if I knew that part).  So this season I have been thinking about Mary and Joseph--I think so often Joseph gets left out as a model of faithful discipleship and instead just gets a supporting role.  But he was a faithful disciple--he stayed with Mary despite the ridicule he could have received from the community. He wasn't and isn't just an extra in the story--

But there are 3 points about Mary and today's Gospel I would like to focus on.  (So those of you who want to know when the sermon is almost over, it's when I say, 'and third')  First Mary is called the favored one.  Favored?  Think about this for a minute.  The angel comes to Mary and calls her favored and then goes on to tell her she is going to conceive out of wedlock--the favored one is going to risk humiliation, possible rejection from Joseph, and really her life.  In those days Joseph had every right to stone her to death for becoming pregnant not by him.  The favored one had to tell her parents, Joseph and ultimately the community would know too. The favored one had to give birth in a barn and then rear and love this child Jesus and eventually follow him to the cross where she saw her son ridiculed and crucified.   I'm not so sure I want that kind of favoritism.

But what it does tell us (besides being a really good argument against the prosperity gospel) is that being the favored one, the faithful one, does not guarantee an easy life.  It doesn't mean health and wealth will be heaped upon you.  It doesn't mean it's easy living but it does mean that responding to God's call despite the risks, despite the fear, means that in some way, perhaps in ways we can't even begin to imagine and with a power we don't even recognize, we too might play a part in God's plan for the healing and reconciliation of the world.

Second, Mary asks, "How can this be?"  And I imagine she also thought, "and what am I going to tell my parents? Tell Joseph?" I wonder if after Mary said yes she had moments of doubt and fear.  I think she did; Mary, the favored one, was human and I cannot imagine anyone saying yes to this and not having times of grief for what her life might have been (the life she planned--the simple quiet life), times of doubt, times of fear.  Those words, "How can this be?" in a split second changed her life and changed the world. We too have times we utter those words--we get a terminal diagnosis and we say, "how can this be?"; we lose a job, a relationship comes to an end; a transfer happens--even in joyful but unexpected moments-- promotions, pregnancies (Chris every 9 months when I told him I was pregnant again said, "How can this be?") we say, "how can this be?" and our world changes.  The path we thought we were living, would continue to live, takes a totally new direction and we follow the path carrying with us our doubt, our fear, and our faith.

And third, (almost over ya'll) the angel Gabriel departed. And Mary was left to go tell her parents, to tell Joseph--not knowing if she would be killed--I think probably feeling very scared, very alone.  The light had been surrounding her; the presence of God through the angel was clear; the strong presence of God warmed her, strengthened her, gave her courage, and then seemed to leave her and she was left to live out the 'yes' she had given.  I suspect many of us here today have had those moments when we powerfully felt the presence of God; we heard God clearly and we responded, and I suspect many of us have also had those moments when we felt like we said yes; we stepped out in faith and God disappeared and we were alone--we felt alone and possibly afraid, possibly angry, possibly sad, feeling deserted as we embraced this new path.  It may feel that way, but just as God stayed with Mary, God stays with us.  Last week I talked about how we as Christians are called to bring the presence of and love of God to those places of darkness and brokenness in the world.  We are called to bring the sure and certain hope that God remains with us even when it doesn't feel like it, even when all 'evidence' points to the contrary.  God is with us when we cry out, "how can this be?" and God remains with us when we live out the answer.  Amen

Inspired by Addie Szczesiul--Advent 3 Sermon

On Advent 1 Father Jon’s sermon asked us to use advent as a reminder to stay awake and alert.  He stressed there is so much brokenness, so much violence, so many sensational news stories that compete for our attention that it is easy to move from one to the other and forget the last.  As an illustration, he reminded us there are still Christians being persecuted in Iraq but we don’t hear much about it anymore; there is a new story—a new headline.  He challenged us to not let the media decide when it’s time to let something go, to fall back asleep, but rather to stay awake and alert to the world and to respond.  That sermon stayed with me for days and then just a few days ago it hit me again.

Most of you know last weekend I took the 10 states in five days trip.  On Wednesday the babies and I (yes, they would be my 14 and almost 16 year old children) set off for a youth conference in New Orleans.  We got as far as Athens, Alabama (not the Athens I love….), checked into a hotel and headed out for dinner.  We were seated in a booth—the babies across from me.  I just wanted to watch my beloved Hoos (and might I add my beloved undefeated Hoos) play a little hoops.  Suddenly both babies were turning red and saying, “I can’t believe it.”  “Not again.”  “This can’t be happening.”  “Mama, what are we gonna do?”  You see, this was the night it was announced the police officer was not indicted in Eric Garner’s death.  They were facing a different TV and that was showing CNN.  They became more and more agitated—louder and redder and kept saying, “Mama, what are we going to do?”  I began glancing around the restaurant partially to see what kind of scene we were creating but also hoping that maybe someone, anyone, had an answer because I sure didn’t. 

We headed back to the hotel and they kept asking what we were going to do; they kept saying, “This just isn’t right.” and pacing.  I texted SK and my husband telling them what was going on (again hoping someone had an answer) and what I got back from SK was, “Good they should be outraged.” and from Chris, “I don’t know what to tell them but I’m glad they care.”  I finally went to sleep; they continued to watch the coverage and to pace.  I woke up haunted—haunted and hopeful.  I didn’t have an answer for them, but we were heading to Province IV where I knew there were adults and other youth who would also be struggling with the question and who would talk and pray about it.  The future leaders of the church in this Province were gathering and I know them well enough to know the church will be in good hands, so I was hopeful---and relieved.  As we got on the interstate I shared with them my assurance that this would be discussed by future leaders of the church and that I was relieved about that.  Caroline in her very Caroline way said, “That’s great Mama, but I don’t just want to sit around and talk and pray about it, I want to DO something.”  I heard her…

These events this week have me thinking a lot about what it is that we as Christians bring to the table of doing something.  Why should we get together with one another and talk and pray?  Why should we partner with other agencies in our work?  What makes us different than other people, other organizations that want to do something; that in fact do do something.  Why should we respond as Christians when there are many other organizations—the Kiwanis, the Junior League, and others that might be able to respond even better?  Other organizations that might have more organization?  What do we bring to the table that is different?  Why do we as Christians need to be at the table?  Each week right here in our church we feed and clothe those in need—how is what we do any different than Dare to Care or the clothes closet on Broadway?

I believe that what makes us different is that we bring the presence of God and we bring hope.  Today marks the anniversary of the massacre in Newtown Conn.  I am blessed to have a friend in ministry there and almost every day she shares with me another example of how the presence of God was brought and continues to be brought to the people of Newtwon.  As dark as it was, Christians showed up and there was light—perhaps it was only a glimmer for a time, but the light of Christ was and is and will continue to be present in that community as they heal and it will be present throughout the world as we all heal.  In this world there are many people, good people, who move from aiding one problem to another; people who want nothing more than to help others. What we as Christians bring in addition to our hands to do the work is our hearts filled with the love of Christ and the hope, the belief, that one day there won’t be any more brokenness.  One day the world will be whole and good and right, there will be no more hungry or lonely or afraid.  There will be no more oppression and violence—there will no longer be the next story.

I am going to read an essay to you.  This essay was written by a young teenager last week, the day after my children learned about Eric Garner—she is one of my best high school friend’s daughter.  Some of you might find it too political for the pulpit; too raw.  Some of you might even be angry.  However you hear it I think it is important to remember that our youth care.  And I think it’s time we listen to them but not just listen that we do with them.  No matter your opinion, I ask that you hear it all the way through and that you pay particular attention to the end. 

Really, you don’t need to develop an opinion about the devastating events that have been occurring more and more across our country recently.  As humans, we all should have the common sense to see that what is happening is wrong, even if others are telling us differently. If you are human, you know the difference between self defense and murder.  If you are human you know that if a person has been brought to the ground and has said, “I can’t breathe” nine times, they are not a threat.  If you are human, you know that a man supporting six children does not deserve to die for a petty crime while his killer walks free.  If you are human, you know what putting both hands in the air means, and you know that it doesn’t mean eight bullets in the chest.  If you are human, you know sadness and loss and anger, you know that people should be able to express feeling and fight for something they believe in, and you know they don’t deserve to be shot down for standing up.  If you are human you know the difference between an innocent child playing in a park and a person who could potentially put others’ lives at risk, you know that twelve years old is too young to have been put in the ground just two days ago, that an officer’s “mistake” couldn’t possibly be a good enough excuse for a grieving mother who will never see her child grow up.  If you are human, you know that a black boy carrying nothing but an Arizona iced tea and a bag of Skittles is less likely to be a threat than a racist with a loaded gun.  And if you are human, you have the common sense to look at the world around you and see that something needs to change.  It is time for us to be more human.                             ~Addie Szczesiul

Something needs to change.  Over 2000 years ago, God knew something needed to be changed and God became human to show us what being human can and should be.  God came in the flesh so that we could live into our full humanity.  God knows sadness and loss and anger, and God in the flesh showed us that people should be able to express feelings and fight for something they believe in. Jesus did that and was crucified for standing up to what was wrong.  It is time for us to stay awake, to see that something needs to change and to strive day after day to live into our full, complete, and good humanity.

As Christians we bring the hope that through the brokenness there can be blessing.  That no matter how dark it seems there can be and is the presence of God—that healing and reconciliation can and will happen.  God came in the flesh and God’s human body was broken, but from that brokenness came blessing for us all.  Each week as we celebrate the Eucharist, we remember the blessing we receive from that brokenness.  Rowan Williams writes in his new book, “By identifying himself with the broken bread and the spilled wine, the broken flesh and the shed blood, Jesus says that this death which is approaching is a door into hope.  And it is at that moment when he is looking forward most clearly and vividly to his death, even before the Garden of Gethsemane casts its shadow, that Jesus gives thanks.  That is, he connects his experience with the reality of God, because that is what thanksgiving does….And when Jesus gives thanks at that moment before the breaking and spilling, before the wounds and the blood it is as if he is connecting the darkest places of human experience with God the Giver; as if he is saying that even in these dark places God continues to give, and therefore, we must continue to give thanks.” (p. 48)  He continues, “Sometimes after receiving Holy Communion, a I look around a congregation, large or small, I have a sensation I can only sum up as this is it—this is the moment when people see one another and the world properly; when they are filled with the Holy Spirit and when they are equipped to go and do God’s work.  It my last only a few seconds, but there it is.  It has happened and it happens again and again.” (p. 58)

Today as you come to the altar and receive, leave and look to your left and right—look at the humanness and the image of God in each of those here and think about the humanness and the image of God in ALL those throughout the world.  It may only last a few seconds, but perhaps if we keep coming and we keep trying as we leave each week then next week it will be a few more seconds and the week after a little longer, and the week after a little longer until one day it will just be it.   Amen.

Williams, Rowan; Being Christian Baptism, Bible, Eucharist, Prayer. (Grand Rapids, MI:  William B. Eerdmans Publishing,    

    2014)

                                                               

What are We Going To Do?

Last Wednesday the babies and I set out for our 10 states in 6 day trek.  We left full of excitement for all the adventures we had ahead--Province IV Youth Leadership, a wedding, and a funeral.  The first afternoon we drove 6 hours and arrived in Athens, Alabama (not the Athens we hold near and dear to our hearts, but the temperatures were above 60 so we weren't complaining too loudly.)  It was past 8 and we were starving.  As we settled into our booth for dinner a breaking news story flashed across the screen.  The Eric Garner decision had been released and there were protests erupting in New York.  I sighed; the babies became enraged.  They turned bright red and began talking quite loudly (wonder where they get that?).  They were animated, appalled, and firing questions at me.  I kept glancing around the restaurant wondering if people were staring, but also hoping someone had some answers for my children because I had few if any.  The question they asked the most was, "What are we going to do?"

I had no answer for that either, but I knew I was headed for New Orleans where we would be gathering with an amazing group of youth and adults who would put their heads and hearts together in prayer and conversation.  Together we would ask the questions that were coarsing through our individual minds and together we would work to bring hope, healing and reconciliation.  I didn't have answers but I knew this gathering would be full of youth (and adults) who had yet to acquiesce to the belief that "this was just how things were going to be."  This gathering would be full of people who believed in and worked for the coming Kingdom of God--full of people who were still "convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers , nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."  (Romans 8:38-39; NRSV) We might not yet know how, but we believed that God will reign and love will win.   I prayed that my own two children would find some peace or at least feel less lonely in their outrage.  All evening they paced the hotel room watching the news and looking at me with eyes that used to be so full of hope and trust but were becoming clouded with cynicism and defeat.  I wanted that shroud to be lifted before it overtook them, and I knew Province IV and the people there would help me do that.  And I wasn't wrong.  We are still asking the questions; the children are still struggling with why they have to ask the question, but they are also full of conviction that we can begin to become part of the solution and that all begins with asking the question, "What are we going to do?"

The weekend continued to progress--we made our stop in Georgia for the wedding of my sister and now brother-in-law.  What a privilege it was to officiate.  Sunday morning we left for Raleigh so I could officiate at my Uncle Jimmy's memorial service and then attend the reception following.  It was so important to me that I honor Uncle Jimmy and try to capture who he was as well as to proclaim the Gospel.  I'm not sure I'm qualified to do either, but I did my best.  I was quite impressed with myself that I got through only choking up a time or two--well until the reception....

During the reception several people got up to speak about Uncle Jimmy or "Jones" as most people knew him (those people who were not lucky enough to be his niece).  Most of the time it was funny--he was funny and fun.  One of his close friends moved to the microphone with his wife and his guitar. He said he wanted to play a song Uncle Jimmy had written back in the 60's.  And he began to play and to sing, and that is when I lost it.  I cried because I wanted Uncle Jimmy to be the one up there singing, and I cried because he, in the 60's, was asking the same question that my children were asking now, "what are we going to do?"  I cried because I want my children to know well the man who started asking that question so long ago when it was not popular to ask the question, and I want them to be able to talk to him about how he lived his life because he asked and continued to ask AND TRIED TO ANSWER the questions, "What are we going to do?"  I cried because 50 years later we are still having to ask that question, and I cried because there are good people who will no longer be with us when we can stop.  But we must start--we must try.

Today I still tear up when I pull the song up on my computer and listen to my uncle. (You can listen to him here Ballad of MLK)  But I am also proud--proud that my children are part of a family that has and will and will forever ask the question and try to be part of the solution.  I don't know who of us will still be here when the question is finally put to rest, but I know we'll never stop trying.  And I am proud that more and more people are joining in the chorus of "What are we going to do?" and more and more people are searching for a place to start.

I know we're not alone--who else is asking, "What are we going to do?"  Who's willing to start?