Saturday, July 04, 2015
I am not what people would refer to the “strong, silent type.” Yet for seven days from June 25 – to July 1 I participated in a silent retreat conducted by the Jesuit Center in Wernersville, PA. Last fall I volunteered to be part of a study being conducted by Dr. Andrew Newberg of Jefferson Hospital in Philadelphia who is doing research on the relationship between spiritual practices and brain function. Dr. Newberg paid for my retreat in exchange for having my brain scanned (some would say “having my head examined”) before and after the experience. While the brain scans were an experience in themselves that required a fair amount of spiritual fortitude (I am thankful for having learned “yoga breathing”), the experience of living in silence for a week together with 30 other people was also informative and at times stressful.I also committed myself to be “off the grid” in the sense that I did not read or send emails, so I was not communicating with folks off campus either.
The retreat was “directed” which meant that we were being led through a series of “spiritual exercises” developed by Ignatius, the founder of the Jesuit Order, designed to develop and deepen one’s spiritual life. The full slate of Ignatian Exercises takes 30+ days, so we were given sort of an “Ignatian sampler” of various ways of praying, reading the Bible, and thinking about ourselves in relationship to God. I had never done anything like this, and yet I found that many of the exercises I was asked to do were similar to ways I had learned to pray or read the Bible in other settings. So though the overall feel of the Center and the retreat was very Roman Catholic (which I am very not), there were several points of connection to my own attempts at practicing and living out spiritual disciplines. One thing about Ignatius I found particularly helpful is that he thought of himself as a “contemplative in action,” and so instead of inviting one to withdraw from the world, he invites people to engage the world in and through one’s spiritual practice; I resonated deeply with that approach.
Now some people might relish the idea of being in a situation where you don’t have to talk to anybody as nothing short of wonderful. While at first I was relieved to not have to make the kind of small talk that usually happens at the beginning of a workshop or a conference, after about a day the silence started to get to me. I wanted to ask people questions, see what they were reading, and generally make the small talk 24 hours earlier I was relieved not to have to do. I should note that each morning I met with a spiritual director named Bruce with whom I could talk, and I expressed this frustration with him. Bruce just listened to my concerns, smiled and then gave me the exercises I was to do that day and I was sent into another 23 hours of silence on my own. By day three, I was feeling bored, and by day four I wondered if I should just call it quits. I did not sleep well, and I was in constant motion, trying to keep myself busy, and frankly not feeling all that spiritual.
Because I did not know anyone, I began giving them names in my mind. “Birdman” was a guy who before we went into silence shared that he experienced God in the singing of the birds; “Glider” was a woman who seemed just glide as she walked; “Coach” was a husky, short haired woman with a prosthetic leg, but who looked like she had been quite an athlete in her day; “Blindman” was in fact a blind guy; and “Distinguished” was a debonair gray-haired guy who always read a book at meals, and wore a shirt from a different university every day. Heaven knows, what names they gave me with Gandhi t- shirt, and my bright orange bike jersey.
Through it all, I realized that for me so much of my spirituality is tied to my relationships to and interaction with other people. While at different times in my life, I have tried meditation, centering prayer, lectio divina and other forms of inward-focus spiritual disciplines (I even was “a charismatic” for a while in the 1980’s), I have always come back to the fact that God seems most present to me in the midst of activities directed at working for social justice with other people engaged in those activities. For instance, when asked by Bruce to share some of my “peak” spiritual experiences, I told him about my arrest as part of civil disobedience action in 2009, and my participation in the 2010 U.S. Social Forum in Detroit; not exactly what I think he expected.
Ironically and coincidentally, while I was on retreat, the world and the nation experienced some ground-breaking and tragic events. The Supreme Court Decisions on gay marriage and supporting the Affordable Care Act, the bombings in Tunisia, France and Kuwait, Pres. Obama’s “Amazing Grace” eulogy at Rev. Clementa Pinckney’s funeral, and the burning of several African American churches, all occurred the week I was on retreat. I read of these events and found my heart both broken and inspired, sometimes simultaneously. However, even more than these concerns, my heart, mind and prayer was focused on the debate taking place in the Pennsylvania capitol over the state budget and funds to be allocated for public education funding, an issue and an effort I have been deeply involved with. I will say more about this particular aspect of my retreat in subsequent blog, but the deep need to pray for a broken and hurting world impressed itself upon me.
In the end I got used to the silence in that it allowed and forced me to pay attention to the world inside and around me. I don’t know if the silence itself was the means to this awareness, but simply being in a place where one’s every need is provided in a comfortable and safe manner, allowed me to focus in a way that is often not possible in my day-to-day life. So when I finally drove home last Wednesday night, I did not turn on the radio or listen to anything except the wheels of my car on the road. As I got closer to home, I was not sure what to say, but when I arrived, and as Cynthia and I talked, words slowly came. Yet even these few days later, there is within in me a place of calm silence that still seeks to pay attention, to listen, to empathize and to be present in a way I think would make Ignatius proud.
Friday, June 19, 2015
One is guilty, but all are responsible (to paraphrase Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel). I awoke Thursday morning to the news of the tragic deaths of the nine people of Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, SC. Their only “crime” according to Dylann Roof, their killer, was that they were black. As a white person who does not share Roof’s racist views, I would like to believe that his action was a random act of violence at the hands of a troubled and deranged young man; that way I could go on feeling sad but free of any responsibility. Yet I know it is not that simple.
The tragic events of Wednesday night are only the most recent example of how tenuous life is for those who are black in this country. Going back nearly 400 years when African slaves were first brought to North America and the hundreds of years of torture and humiliation they endured, through the Jim Crow era and the lynchings, through the time of bombs, dogs and hoses of Bull Connor’s Birmingham to the unnecessary deaths of Trayvon, Michael, Eric, Tamir, Freddie and so many unnamed more at the hands of police brutality, to the recent tragedy in Charleston, the safety, security and mere livelihood of black people in America has been fragile and tenuous. I know that intellectually, but I have no idea what it is like to live in an environment where at any moment – even in a church at a Bible study – you could be gunned down; I can’t even imagine.
At its root the word “compassion” means “to suffer with” and to the extent I am able, I suffer with those who knew the victims personally or indirectly, and I suffer with those who experience these murders as a reflection of their own grief and suffering. Yet as a white person I can only approximate that suffering in a small way. Even if I were to change my skin color like John Howard Griffin (author of Black Like Me), or seek to pass as a black person like Rachel Dolezal, I cannot know what it is like to have the color of one’s skin be the sole characteristic that some use to judge whether or not your life has value. Black lives do matter not more than others, but as much as others. That is not a given in this country – that much I have come to understand, and to my limited ability to empathize I suffer with you.
However, responsibility goes beyond feeling sad and expressing compassion; it calls for continued action. I have sought to be a person who speaks, writes, teaches and marches for racial justice in all its forms, and I commit myself again today to that calling. While Dylann Roof may have acted on his own, the attitudes that moved him to do what he did came from a culture that at best tolerates and at worst promotes racism. He may have learned to hate from his family, from a group of friends, or from the numerous White Supremacist organizations on the Internet; it does not matter. As long as such attitudes are given credence, our work is not done. Moreover Roof, like all of us, lives in an American culture that routinely discriminates in education, employment, housing, criminal justice and so many more areas, even as it uses the language of inclusion and equality. As a person of faith and conscience, I will continue to work for the realization of a society where the color of one’s skin is not a target for others’ hate.
The 5th century Greek poet Aeschylus wrote: “He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, becomes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.” By “awful grace of God” he meant “filled with awe.” That is to say that understanding the grace of God lies beyond our full comprehension. I can only hope that this terrible tragedy and the ongoing struggle of what it means to be black in America can be changed as we move to address the racism in our society. Through that ongoing work and struggle, I pray we may grow in Wisdom and experience the Grace of God in ways that moves us forward toward the vision of the Beloved Community for which we long.
May my prayers, my thoughts, my compassion, my actions convey in some small way the comfort of God in this sad and terrible time.
Saturday, June 06, 2015
These last few days have confirmed for me the value of persevering toward our dreams. On Friday (June 5) I received a publisher’s draft of my forthcoming book White Allies in the Struggle for Racial Justice (due out Fall 2015). Approximately four years ago I began researching and writing the stories of White folks in U.S. history who had sought to be allies with People of Color in the struggle for racial justice. In the Spring of 2014 a publisher (Orbis Books) agreed to take a chance on the topic and I finished the first draft. In the last year there have been countless re-reads, rewrites, and edits to the point I thought it would never end. There were many times early in the process I despaired of finding a publisher, but even after the publisher agreed to work with me, I wondered if it would actually come to be. This Friday, seeing my words in book template form was the first time I really believed it would happen.
Despite my proliferation of blogs, writing does not come easy to me. I am truly in awe of people who write for a living or who write profusely. A musician friend of mine once told me that being a professional musician is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration; I feel the same way about writing. I thoroughly enjoyed researching and interviewing the subjects in my book. I came to feel deeply connected to them and their stories inspired me. I even convinced myself that if the book never got published, simply learning and engaging with these amazing people was worth the effort. On the other hand, the writing has been laborious, frustrating and exhausting. So to realize this book will actually come to be makes me truly grateful. While I still have to re-read and edit the manuscript one more time, soon this book which was only an idea four years ago, will become a reality.
However, even more inspiring was an event I attended on Saturday (June 6) morning at Sweet Union Baptist Church in the Carroll Park neighborhood of West Philadelphia. Over five years ago I began talking with Zack Ritvalsky, pastor of the church and learned of his vision to transform the Carroll Park neighborhood. One day he came across something called the Mondragon Model of community development. In 1941 a Roman Catholic priest, Jose Maria Arizmendiarrieta was sent to a small parish in the village of Mondragon located in the mountainous Basque region of northeastern Spain. Father Arizmendiarrieta started a technical college that taught business skills, as well as the basic principles of Catholic social teaching. In 1955 he selected five young men to start a cooperative business, who decided to pool their profits and then give money back to the community to start new coops. Today the Mondragon Corporation oversees 250 cooperative business ventures around the world, all built on the simple vision of worker-owned cooperatives giving back to their communities, and allowing people to own a part of their livelihood.
Pastor Zack shared the Mondragon model with some people in his church and neighborhood, and
In his book The Answer to How is Yes, Peter Block says that too often we sacrifice what really matters in life to what seems “possible” and “practical;” in doing so, we too quickly forsake our passions, values and dreams. Block writes: “The price of practicality is its way of deflecting us from our deeper values” (p. 25). Block is not suggesting that we should not plan and seek to take practical measures to achieve our goals, but he is suggesting that too often we allow the tendency to be “realistic” to keep us from following our dreams, pursuing our passions, and living our lives according to our deepest convictions.
These past few days I have experienced how the impracticality of pursuing a dream can actually pay off, and how what seems improbable, or even impossible, can come into being. In the ancient Hebrew prophetic book of Jeremiah, the prophet buys a field outside of Jerusalem just as the city is about to be captured and destroyed by their Babylonian enemies. Jeremiah has been tortured, discredited, and dismissed as a nuisance; no one is paying attention to him or his message. Nonetheless he buys the field as a concrete testimony to his belief that one day God will restore the city and its people to a life a peace and prosperity; at the time such a belief was not only considered impractical, it was ludicrous. Yet Jeremiah prevailed with his crazy dream of a new Jerusalem, and eventually it came to be ( See Jeremiah 32).
So here is to crazy dreamers – like Jeremiah, like Pastor Zack and the members of HMC2, and to one would-be writer who wanted to share some stories about some other crazy dreamers. May we always follow our passions and visions in spite of what seems impossible.
Members of HMC2 preparing to make their investment
[All pictures from the author]
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
In his book Liberation Theology: An Introductory Guide theologian Robert McAfee Brown asks the question: “Is it a Kairos moment for us?” The book was published in 1993. Nearly two years earlier, a Los Angeles taxi driver named Rodney King was chased and then beaten by four LA police officers; a video camera captured the beatings and the whole world watched. A year later in August 1992 when the four officers were acquitted of charges of assault and battery, riots erupted in the South Central section of LA, and over 2000 persons were injured while 53 were killed. As South Central burned, Rodney King was quoted asking “Can't we all just get along?”
These events, and the national controversy that followed, highlighted a number of chronic ills in American society including institutional racism, economic disparity, police brutality, unequal educational opportunities, political polarity, and inequity in the criminal justice system. Brown wrote: "If ever there was a ‘Kairos time’ this is it.” (p. 109).
Kairos is a Greek word for time used in the New (or Christian) Testament of the Bible to signify a moment for decision or a time for opportunity. Kairos contrasts with another Greek word for time, Chronos, which also appears in the New Testament, but refers to measured time or clock time. Chronos is used when we say “the time is 3 o’clock,” whereas Kairos is used when we say “our time has come!” Kairos means there is coming together of several factors that cause this moment to seem significantly pregnant with possibilities for new life, new action, and new opportunities.
So when Brown asks “Is it a Kairos moment?” what he is really asking is: “Are we up to the challenge of the present opportunities? And “Are we ready to seize and act on those opportunities?” That question was posed over 20 years ago, and it would seem that the problems, challenges, and disparities that existed in 1993 have been greatly exacerbated in 2015. There is a chilling similarity in the deaths of Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Freddie Gray, and Tamir Rice to the beating of Rodney King. While not as devastating as the 1992 riots of South Central, there is an echo we hear in the 2015 riots in Baltimore. Racism, economic disparity, educational inequity, and police brutality are even more pronounced today than they were in 1993, and the political divide we see in legislatures from Washington D.C. to every state house and city hall makes 1993 seem like a harmonious time. If Brown could ask about Kairos in 1993, we have even more reason to do so in 2015.
The big difference I see today as opposed to 23 years ago, is that a sustained and organized movement linking racial, economic, social, and criminal justice together has taken shape in the country. Black Lives Matter has joined forces with the movements for a $15/hr. minimum wage, job creation, improved public education, and accountability for law enforcement officers. While there was looting in Ferguson and violence in Baltimore, what has emerged far stronger is a multi-racial, multi-ethnic, multi-class, cross-generational movement saying that things have got to change. Centuries ago St. Augustine of Hippo said that Hope has two daughters –anger at the way things are and courage to change them. In our time we see organized anger and courage confronting employers to raise their wages, pressuring legislators to fully fund public schools, and calling local police departments to public accountability.
To those who like and benefit from the way things are, this coordinated movement is not good news; in fact it is quite threatening. Those who live comfortable geographical and emotional distances from the suffering of the vast millions in our country don’t want to see their taxes raised, their profits diminished or their livelihood challenged. To many in positions of comfort and power, these events seem to suggest that the very fabric of the nation is coming unraveled. Their fears are well-founded because if this movement continues, the fabric of a society that benefits the few at the expense of the many will begin to unravel. If this movement continues, those who have been able to ignore and benefit indirectly from the status quo will find their comforts challenged.
I do not say these things lightly or without some fear of my own. The explosion of anger that occurred recently in Baltimore reveals a seething rage that exists in many communities. While no one is calling for or looking for violence, when rage is released, it can be destructive and devastating. This is why leadership is so critical, particularly among the young. The elders from the days of Civil Rights and other movements can advise, but the young carry the energy to move things forward. So the young leaders of the unions, racial justice, and social justice groups are so critical to capitalizing on this moment.
The fact is things must change in our society. The fact things are not as they should be in the U.S. When we have a public school system that systematically under-funds schools in poor areas and in communities of color, things must change. When ten percent of the population controls 70% of the wealth, things must change. When someone works a full time job for $7.25/hour and cannot afford to feed, house and clothe themselves much less their family, things must change. When Black and Brown men are twice as likely to be convicted and incarcerated for the same crimes committed by White folks, things must change.
These things must change, and if they do change, they will be disruptive to the society as we know it. The question remains: will these young leaders and the movements they represent seize the moment? Will things actually change? Perhaps it is too early to tell, but there seems to be an alignment of awareness, leadership, organization, and the will to challenge the dominant powers, and so it just might be we are in a Kairos moment.
[Images from Google Images]
Monday, May 25, 2015
Memorial Day is a day to remember – particularly those who have fought and died in war. Originally called Decoration Day when it was begun following the Civil War, it was a day set aside to decorate the graves of those who had died in battle. On Memorial Day there are often marches and vigils for former veterans to be remembered.
I have never been one to glorify war, even though I feel deeply sad for those who have had to fight in one – usually not of their own choosing. Thus, I have rarely “celebrated” this day in any way that could be construed as “patriotic.” However, I do like to pause remember those who have fought and died in the battle for peace and social justice. They are what the writer of Hebrews refers to as the “great cloud of witnesses” who guide me and inspire me by their lives and examples.
Thus in no particular order let me share just a few of those who I remember as veterans for peace and social justice. While others inspire me who are still living, these are some who have passed on but who live in and thru me in so many ways. The descriptions are in no way comprehensive and are only given for identification purposes.
Martin Luther King, Jr – Civil rights leader, killed in 1968 during a Memphis garbage workers strike.
Frederick Douglass – former slave, abolitionist, advocate of rights for women and African Americans in the 19th century
Viola Liuzzo – woman who went to Selma during the march of 1965; murdered by the KKK while transporting marchers back and forth
John Woolman – Quaker in the 18th century who convinced Quakers of relinquish their slaves
Myles Horton – founder of Highlander and educator for civil rights, labor justice and so much more
Henri Nouwen – priest, contemplative, one who sought to link prayer and action in all things
Anne Braden – civil rights activist in Louisville, who along with her husband advocated for equal housing rights for African Americans in the 1950’s, a lifelong activist into her 80’s
Abraham Joshua Heschel – Jewish Rabbi, mystic, friend of Martin Luther King, advocate for justice
Nelson Mandela - South African leader who led the fight to overturn apartheid
Tom Scheuermann – my youth leader (in Young Life) who more than anyone shaped my faith
Kemah Washington – friend and cellmate following our action against a gun shop in 2009
John Rankin – white abolitionist preacher in southern Ohio who sheltered thousands of runaway slaves on their trek North to freedom
Levi Coffin – Quaker abolitionist in Indiana and Cincinnati who helped thousands escaping slavery to freedom
Reinhold Niebuhr – theologian and public intellectual in the mid 20th century who linked faith and justice
Clarence Jordan – founder of Koinonia farms a deliberately inter-racial Christian community in south Georgia, died in his late 50’s in 1968.
Oscar Romero – Salvadoran Archbishop in El Salvador killed in the 1980’s for his support of of the oppressed of that country
Paulo Freire – Brazilian educator, one who brought literacy to the poor in a way that both educated and empowered them
Dietrich Bonhoeffer – German pastor and theologian killed in a Nazi prison in 1945 shortly before the end of World War II.
Sis Boyd – my mother, my constant supporter, the one who first showed me compassion for the world, died 2005.
Saturday, May 16, 2015
This past Thursday, May 14 I learned of the passing of a good friend, Kemah Washington. Kemah and I were brought together on a cold January afternoon in 2009, when we joined 10 others in protesting the process of straw purchasing being conducted in and through Colismo’s gun shop. Fred Kaufman, Kemah and I sat down in front of the door leading into the store, when they would not allow us to enter to ask Mr. Colisimo to sign the Responsible Gun Dealer’s Code of Conduct. In and through that protest, the interfaith, gun violence prevention organization Heeding God’s Call was born.
Kemah, Fred and I were put in the same cell, and for much of that time Kemah talked about his late father, Fr. Paul Washington, former rector of Church of the Advocate in North Philly. Fr. Washington was an organizer, an activist, and a man of God who lived his faith out in a pursuit of justice. As one drives down Ridge Ave in North Philly across from Fairmount Park, there is a building size mural of Fr. Washington overlooking a playground – a tribute to Fr. Washington love for the people of North Philly. Kemah told us story after story of the how his father had worked for the improvement of his community, and what an amazing activist and person he was.
Because of his father’s experience and his own efforts to bring about change, Kemah knew what often happened to Black men in a jail cell – they ended staying much longer than need be. I could see that the 12 hours he spent there really wore on him. He confided to me that while he was glad he took part in the action against Colisimos, he didn't want to spend any more time in jail than he had to. I was glad when he was released 12 hours after we were arrested. I stayed another 13 hours, but I am sure it would have run him down; I know it did me.
While not as famous as his father, Kemah was well known in North Philly for his efforts to carry on his father’s mission, sponsoring all sorts of community events, including an incredible jazz festival of local artists and poets. I attended one of those festivals; it was nothing short of amazing. After our arrest and trial, Kemah continued to stand outside Colisimos twice a week calling attention to complicity in the straw purchasing process. I sometimes joined him thru the hot summer days out there, and we would share stories of life. Every time I saw him he simply referred to me as his “cellmate.”
Kemah and I came from different worlds. I grew up in a comfortable Midwestern suburb while he was raised in the stressed community in North Philly. Yet the act of civil disobedience brought us together, and in the midst of our shared experience we realized we had much in common: the love of families, concern for our kids, frustrations with our jobs and a desire to see a safer, less violent city.
In the last few years my main contact with Kemah was through email and Facebook. He was always sending out announcements about various cultural and political events in North Philly from concerts and poetry readings to gatherings to call for the release of death row inmate Abu Mumia Jamal. I had recently heard he had gotten sick and I wanted to reach out to him. I did not realize it was this serious, and now I regret not reaching out earlier. However, mostly I am grateful for having known and shared a special moment –albeit in a grungy, smelly jail cell – with this humble man of God who cared so deeply for people and who touched so many lives – including mine.
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,
it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,
it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity,
it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness,
it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair,
These opening words to Charles Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities capture my feelings as I read and watch the news from Baltimore.
I woke up this morning to the front page news of riots last night in the aftermath of the Freddie Gray shooting and funeral. The news became more personal because my daughter works at Johns Hopkins University on the northern edge of Baltimore, and the school was closed in response to the violence. I have talked with friends and it seems like the events in Baltimore are more of the same: Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Brandon Tate Brown, Tamir Rice and now Freddie Gray. Young Black men killed in confrontations with police.
A couple weeks ago in a course on social justice that I teach to first and second year college students, we read about the beating of Rodney King by Los Angeles police in 1992 and the riots that followed. None of those 18-20 year old students were alive at that time, and yet the issues were the same that arose in Ferguson and are at issue in Baltimore: poverty, racial injustice, police brutality, frustration, anger and rioting. Then I thought of 24 years earlier in 1968 following the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King and riots that erupted in cities across the country, and again the issues were the same.
As a nation we think we are making progress and for a time we do. Funding for schools is increased, job training is provided, and neighborhoods improve but then as a nation we lose our edge, our vigilance and our concern, and again the forces of inequity and injustice take over. Many scholars have indicated that the inequities we experience today have their roots in the economic and criminal justice policies adopted in the early 1980’s reducing taxes on the rich and corporations, decreasing the services and programs for the poor and targeting drug and criminal enforcement policies in low income communities of color. And so is it any wonder that every 20 years or so, people explode.
I am reminded of the questions raised by Langston Hughes in his classic poem , “A Dream Deferred:”
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
At the same time I see this injustice, I am encouraged by the Black Lives Matter movement and other such groups of young people and young adults who have come together to call attention to a whole range of injustices in wages, school funding, police behavior, the right to unionize and so much more. I am encouraged that these groups have allied themselves with more seasoned groups to work
together for common goals. I have tried to impress upon my students that they are living in historic times, that a social movement is emerging such as not been seen since the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950’s and `1960’s, a movement comprise of young and old, of rich and poor, of all races and ethnicities, of gay and straight, of documented and undocumented – all committed to a democracy that works for all and not the privileged few. It’s a movement fueled by anger and frustration, informed by complex social analysis, and facilitated by social media. Moreover, in my view it’s a movement that will not fade or go away but is growing, expanding, and in some places like Philadelphia is becoming a force that politicians and corporate leaders need to listen to. I suspect that is happening elsewhere as well.
So while I grieve the fact that another Black man has died an unnecessary death at the hands of police authorities, and it baffles me how law enforcement personnel don’t seem to be getting the message that these sorts of incidents will no longer go unnoticed, and I am saddened by the looting and violence that has occurred, I see a reason for hope. In a poem to former priest, Nicaraguan leader, and poet Ernesto Cardenal, Robert McAfee Brown wrote:
You have shown us
that beauty also dwells
in misery’s environs
and by its presence here
can work huge transformations
You have shown us
that there is nothing more beautiful
than a human face
on fire with the love of justice*
I pray that like Ernesto Cardenal, the tragic death of Freddie Gray and so many others can give us faces on fire with a thirst and love for justice that will not be quenched until transformation comes.
* poem by Robert McAfee Brown "To Ernesto: Poet/Revolutionary in Liberation Theology: an Introductory Guide
Pictures from Google Images