Today the dam burst. The anger, the frustration, the heartbreak… all of it spilled out of my inner self and flowed freely from my eyes. Good God, I don’t know how to do this anymore.
In the 1960s, I knew what to do. During the week, I played with every other child in my kindergarten class. My five-year-old boyfriend and I played “wedding” and pretended we were having a baby. I put toys inside my shirt to make my tummy look bigger. On Sundays, my family went to church. We sang familiar hymns, shared communion together, worshiped and prayed with each other, and learned to love like Jesus.
In the 1970s, I knew what to do. During the week, I was bused across town for school. I studied with and befriended the other children in my fifth grade class. On Sundays, my family went to church. We sang familiar hymns, shared communion together, worshiped and prayed with each other, and learned to love like Jesus.
In the 1980s, I knew what to do. During the week, my best friend at school was Carol. We studied German together; she was better at it than I was. On Sundays, my family went to church. We sang familiar hymns, shared communion together, worshiped and prayed with each other, and learned to love like Jesus.
In the 1990s, I knew what to do. During the week while I worked, a wonderful woman named Mia took care of my newborn. Mia and I were great friends, and I trusted my baby’s life into her care. On Sundays, my family went to church. We sang familiar hymns, shared communion together, worshiped and prayed with each other, and learned to love like Jesus.
In the 2000s, I knew what to do. During the week, I went to seminary. I was inspired by the work some of my classmates were doing – especially Nikki. Even though I was older, Nikki was who I wanted to be when I grew up. She really had her ministry life and thoughts together in a way I envied. On Sundays, my family went to church (although now I was the pastor). We sang familiar hymns, shared communion together, worshiped and prayed with each other, and learned to love like Jesus.
In the 2010s, I knew what to do. During the week, I worked with a young man from another country who lived in our home. His life to that point had taken many twisted turns, and we just wanted him to relax and enjoy life for a bit. On Sundays, he and the rest of my family went to church. We sang familiar hymns, shared communion together, worshiped and prayed with each other, and learned to love like Jesus.
Through it all, the weekdays held the everyday life and the Sundays belonged to Jesus. The common theme during all those years, my whole life, was that on Sundays my family went to church. We sang familiar hymns, shared communion together, worshiped and prayed with each other, and learned to love like Jesus.
But here we are in 2020, and I don’t know what to do. Even when the weekdays were terrible in past times, I knew that Sunday was coming. No matter what we faced, we would gather the Church. We would gather and sing and pray – together. That’s not possible right now. In 2020, a pandemic has all but shut down my beloved Sundays in the way I crave. There are no familiar hymns, no shared communion. Worship is different, and I cannot gather the Church like we've always done.
To make matters worse, 2020 has become a time of social disaster and, in many places, total chaos. If I ever needed to gather the Church, it would be today. Today I need to sing and pray and worship – face-to-face kind of worship. Worship where I can look into the eyes of those around me and draw strength from their strength. Worship where I can reach out and touch the hand of someone who is hurting. Worship where I can put behind me the biases and judgments and ridiculousness of the world, and I can truly focus on learning to love like Jesus – with a love that sees the sacred worth of every single human life with no divisions. None. Not economic divisions, social divisions, political divisions, racial divisions… especially that last one.
You see, the second commonality, in each of those above examples, is that my friends had skin tones that were different than mine. That’s not something I ever thought about through those years of sharing life with others. That would be like choosing my friends based on the thickness of their eyebrows. What a silly thought. Being black or being white is a really weird way of defining people. For the life of me, I cannot make sense of any of this, and the more I try, the more I want to bang my head against a wall.
And so today the dam burst. The anger, the frustration, the heartbreak… all of it spilled out of my inner self and flowed freely from my eyes. Good God, I don’t know how to do this anymore.
…to be continued…
In the 1960s, I knew what to do. During the week, I played with every other child in my kindergarten class. My five-year-old boyfriend and I played “wedding” and pretended we were having a baby. I put toys inside my shirt to make my tummy look bigger. On Sundays, my family went to church. We sang familiar hymns, shared communion together, worshiped and prayed with each other, and learned to love like Jesus.
In the 1970s, I knew what to do. During the week, I was bused across town for school. I studied with and befriended the other children in my fifth grade class. On Sundays, my family went to church. We sang familiar hymns, shared communion together, worshiped and prayed with each other, and learned to love like Jesus.
In the 1980s, I knew what to do. During the week, my best friend at school was Carol. We studied German together; she was better at it than I was. On Sundays, my family went to church. We sang familiar hymns, shared communion together, worshiped and prayed with each other, and learned to love like Jesus.
In the 1990s, I knew what to do. During the week while I worked, a wonderful woman named Mia took care of my newborn. Mia and I were great friends, and I trusted my baby’s life into her care. On Sundays, my family went to church. We sang familiar hymns, shared communion together, worshiped and prayed with each other, and learned to love like Jesus.
In the 2000s, I knew what to do. During the week, I went to seminary. I was inspired by the work some of my classmates were doing – especially Nikki. Even though I was older, Nikki was who I wanted to be when I grew up. She really had her ministry life and thoughts together in a way I envied. On Sundays, my family went to church (although now I was the pastor). We sang familiar hymns, shared communion together, worshiped and prayed with each other, and learned to love like Jesus.
In the 2010s, I knew what to do. During the week, I worked with a young man from another country who lived in our home. His life to that point had taken many twisted turns, and we just wanted him to relax and enjoy life for a bit. On Sundays, he and the rest of my family went to church. We sang familiar hymns, shared communion together, worshiped and prayed with each other, and learned to love like Jesus.
Through it all, the weekdays held the everyday life and the Sundays belonged to Jesus. The common theme during all those years, my whole life, was that on Sundays my family went to church. We sang familiar hymns, shared communion together, worshiped and prayed with each other, and learned to love like Jesus.
But here we are in 2020, and I don’t know what to do. Even when the weekdays were terrible in past times, I knew that Sunday was coming. No matter what we faced, we would gather the Church. We would gather and sing and pray – together. That’s not possible right now. In 2020, a pandemic has all but shut down my beloved Sundays in the way I crave. There are no familiar hymns, no shared communion. Worship is different, and I cannot gather the Church like we've always done.
To make matters worse, 2020 has become a time of social disaster and, in many places, total chaos. If I ever needed to gather the Church, it would be today. Today I need to sing and pray and worship – face-to-face kind of worship. Worship where I can look into the eyes of those around me and draw strength from their strength. Worship where I can reach out and touch the hand of someone who is hurting. Worship where I can put behind me the biases and judgments and ridiculousness of the world, and I can truly focus on learning to love like Jesus – with a love that sees the sacred worth of every single human life with no divisions. None. Not economic divisions, social divisions, political divisions, racial divisions… especially that last one.
You see, the second commonality, in each of those above examples, is that my friends had skin tones that were different than mine. That’s not something I ever thought about through those years of sharing life with others. That would be like choosing my friends based on the thickness of their eyebrows. What a silly thought. Being black or being white is a really weird way of defining people. For the life of me, I cannot make sense of any of this, and the more I try, the more I want to bang my head against a wall.
And so today the dam burst. The anger, the frustration, the heartbreak… all of it spilled out of my inner self and flowed freely from my eyes. Good God, I don’t know how to do this anymore.
…to be continued…