It’s hard to keep the tears in their place. Maybe that’s what this is all about.
I have been weeping for four days now. I wept as I joined in worship with the good folk of Minnehaha UMC as they marked MLK Jr Sunday and the power of scriptural justice brought to voice through him and through each of us. I awakened on Sunday without car access (having kids home from college is not without its challenges) and thought about sitting Sunday out in the company of newspapers and coffee. But I knew in my heart that I had to participate in the power of song and celebration. I also knew there would be a mighty preach in there (my husband is the pastor, my bias is real) and so I hailed a taxi and got myself to the power of community and faith on a day that my heart needed to mark.
The prayer over the gifts on Sunday was given by a woman who had known in her own being the power of racism. She had lived internment camp evil in Hawaii and as a woman of color she had known what it was to be denigrated and as she prayed gratitude for a world turned upside down through the inaguration of Barak Obama, her voice broke and my heart cracked open. The tears would not be barricaded.
I have heard the words of scripture quoted and the sensitibilities of our powerful and demanding God – the insistence upon justice and peace – voiced by person after person through this inaguration and I believe I believe I believe that we are living into a new day of promise and reconciliation even as we roll up the sleeves of our beings to do the work awaiting us.
I am proud of my children and the many who lent their hearts and bodies to the movement that eventuated in this season of hope. I am proud of the vision and promise of this country and of the millions who showed up to mark it on a Minnesota-esque day in Washington DC.
The tears belong outside. After long weeping over the despair that has gripped us collectively and the fear that has threatened our promise, I am leaking hope through the waters of my eyes. And the world sparkles, yes it does.