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?