We need to talk…

In my family, the words “We need to talk…” tend to signal something serious–some kind of issue that needs to be dealt with…a clearing of the air. That’s not always true, but I have to admit that when I hear (or say) those words, my gut clenches a bit and I begin to wonder “Uh-oh…now what?”

So let me say them to you. “We need to talk…” I hope your gut doesn’t clench, but there are some issues we need to deal with…some air that needs to be cleared.

I am alarmed at much of the rhetoric I am seeing and hearing. We’re not talking with each other…we’re talking past each other–and we’re so focused on making sure that we get our say in, that our responses are well-crafted, that we’re not listening. That alarms me for our future–and for what our kids are learning from us.

I’m not saying that we can’t disagree. We can…and I think we must, because we need to hear a diversity of viewpoints. After all, we come from a variety of backgrounds…we’ve had very diverse experiences as we’ve grown up and as we’ve interacted with others. So why shouldn’t our viewpoints be different?

But somehow we need to be able to see that diversity as a strength. We have been blessed through the years with foods and words from different cultures…with stories and spiritual practices from different faith traditions…with knowledge that has been saved because past cultures thought it important.

Please hear what I’m saying. I’m not suggesting that we cannot / should not stand against injustice, division, hate. I believe we must. But we must do that in ways that are not hateful themselves. Is that difficult? You bet! But I believe that we have examples that we can follow that show it’s possible.

In the movie Gandhi, there’s a scene that makes me shudder when I think of it. Gandhi was leading a protest against the policy of forcing India to buy salt at high prices from England…he mobilized literally hundreds of people in a march to the sea to make salt–where they were met by English soldiers. They marched four abreast towards the sea…were clubbed down and carried away by those waiting to help…and the next group stepped forward. There seemed to be no end to the people who were willing to take a non-violent stand against injustice–and the policy was changed.

I also look at the pictures from the Civil Rights movement–when individuals marched peacefully in protest, meeting water cannons, snarling dogs, and words of hate. Eventually things changed–not as much as we would have hoped, but people began to think.

I hear people talking about the possibility (probability?) of a “soft” civil war–a war of words. Words are important–and the way we use them can either help lead us to finding ways of working together or they can lead to violence.

We can disagree on ways to reach goals…we can even at times disagree on what those goals should be. But what we shouldn’t disagree on is the need to see “the other” as human, as brother and sister…and the need to use our environment wisely so that all living things (human and otherwise) can do more than just survive but can have abundant life.

We need to talk…

Questions…and more questions…

I have struggled with trying to figure out how to say what I want to say, because I know some of the words I use will turn people off…will convince them that my mind is already made up…will be offensive to some. But I don’t know what other words to use. So I’m just asking you to please be willing to suspend your preconceptions of who I am and what you think I’m going to say…

Over the last few days I’ve heard and seen a lot of comments attacking parents who have crossed our borders illegally…asking how they could put their children in danger…suggesting that those who have been protesting the current administration’s policies don’t care about the children in the United States who are separated from their parents who are in the military or in jail…asking where the protestors over the last few administrations were when some of these same issues were a problem.

I can’t answer all of those questions. All I can do is share what I understand.

Right now I don’t really care who started the policy. I can spend a lot of breath in the blame game—but at the end of the day, families…and vulnerable children…are still hurting. My brothers and I sometimes got into arguments and—when our parents got tired—we pointed fingers at each other. “He started it.” “No, she did.” That wasn’t important to our folks. What WAS important was this: “It doesn’t matter who started it. It’s time to stop it.”

I do know there are children who are in foster care in this country because of choices their parents made or who are separated from the families because of military obligations. I know they hurt as well, and I wonder if we can’t find a better way to help them as well.

But what probably bothers me the most are the comments questioning the parenting of fathers and mothers who have made dangerous trips to try to get to this country with their children. “How could they risk their children’s lives?” I really struggle with this. It feels like those questions are coming from a position of privilege. I don’t mean that as an attack on anyone.

Let me try to phrase it a different way.

I’m a mother in a country whose government has no real control…whose officials are steeped in corruption. I cannot trust the police—they are controlled by the local gangs. My husband did his best to support us, but there is no real work unless you are part of the gang. He refused to go along with what they wanted, and one night he was attacked and killed. I know who did it, but even if I went to the police, nothing would happen because the gang pays the police to turn their backs. I’m afraid to go to the police, because when you do, you get killed as well—and then what will happen to my children? That happened to my neighbor.

I have four children—two girls and two boys. The boys are 4 and 6. They are good boys and I want them to have a good life. But the gang is already after them. They want them to be runners. If we refuse, they will kill the boys. That is what they do to tell others not to refuse. My girls are 9 and 11. They are beautiful girls, and that scares me. I cannot let them go out on their own, because if I do, they will probably not come home. The leader of the gang is demanding that I send them to him. I know what happens to girls who are taken by the gang. They are raped…again and again. And when they are no longer “useful,” they are killed. But if I tell him “no,” they will be killed.

There is no hope for us here. I cannot stay. I have heard of men who will help us get to a safer place, to a country where we can start again. It is expensive and will take everything I have. And it is dangerous…but it cannot be any more dangerous than it is to stay here. Perhaps my children and I will die on the journey. But we will die here if we stay.

I’ve never had to live like that. I can’t imagine what it is like. But I CAN understand the fears of that mother and her hope and desire for a better future for her children.

My heart aches for them—as it also aches for ALL families and children who are separated from each other, regardless of the cause.

But finger pointing and playing the blame game doesn’t help us get any closer to a solution. We have to listen to each other, because there ARE valid concerns being expressed. So how can we resolve the issues in ways that can hopefully help bring healing to situations that are so difficult to deal with? I’m not sure what the answers are.

One thing I do know, though. We are ALL human beings, people of worth…created, I believe, by the same God I worship, in the image of God. If I can see the image of the Divine in each person, maybe…just maybe…that’s where we can start trying to find answers.

Have we lost our souls?

I grew up understanding that I should live by the Golden Rule. In modern terminology, it might be expressed this way: “Treat others like you want to be treated.” When I was older, I realized that there is a version of that in all of the world’s major religions.

I also grew up with the understanding that love is the greatest commandment of all. “Love God with all your being…love your neighbor as you love yourself.”

And this…”Whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me.”

I also grew up reading (and in choir, singing) the last part of the poem by Emma Lazarus that is engraved on the Statue of Liberty. But the entire poem is worth reading today:

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she

With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

And then I look around my country today…and the religion I have claimed…and I don’t recognize either of them.

Christianity–or what claims to be Christianity by so many people–seems so far removed from what I learned as a child. And my country–a place of freedom and hope, even if / when imperfectly expressed–now seems to have turned its back on the promise engraved on the Statue of Liberty.

I do recognize that there are problems that we need to deal with re: immigration. But to separate frightened children from their one source of comfort? and then issue directives to staff that they are not to physically comfort them? To tell parents who are fleeing violence and oppression that if they come into this country–whether illegally or legally seeking asylum–their children will be removed from them without them having a chance to explain what is going on (if they can even understand themselves what is happening)…and to tell them they don’t know if they will see their children again?

I used to wonder how good people could have done what many Nazis did. What happened to their consciences? Did they not have any empathy for those parents and children? How were they able to separate parents from children and then go home without a qualm to play with their own children?

I used to think that we would never be like that. But I’m afraid that I’m wrong.

My own faith tradition believes that God continues to speak to us today. When I go back to re-read some of that contemporary guidance, I am challenged and convicted.

There are subtle, yet powerful, influences in the world, some even claiming to represent Christ, that seek to divide people and nations to accomplish their destructive aims. That which seeks to harden one human heart against another by constructing walls of fear and prejudice is not of God. Be especially alert to these influences, lest they divide you or divert you from the mission to which you are called.

God, the Eternal Creator, weeps for the poor, displaced, mistreated, and diseased of the world because of their unnecessary suffering. Such conditions are not God’s will. Open your ears to hear the pleading of mothers and fathers in all nations who desperately seek a future of hope for their children. Do not turn away from them. For in their welfare resides your welfare.

I pray that we will find our souls again before it is too late…for all of us.

 

Love on four legs

I am a dog person. Always have been, beginning with Lucky, the toy Boston bull terrier we had when I was a kid.

Our most recent dog was Rascal, a schnoodle. We got him when he was about six months old and had him for thirteen years. He died a couple of months ago of heart failure. We knew that was probably coming; we just didn’t expect it so soon.

I knew I wanted another dog. But I was thinking that I would probably wait for another month or so…get through some major activities I have coming up. But…

Some friends who volunteer at a shelter called and said they had a dog that they thought would work. I wanted a small lap dog, and they had one. So we went out to see.  They brought her down the hall to the meet-and-greet room–and she was perfect! She and I immediately bonded, and she came home with us.

Her name at the shelter was Little Girl–but that didn’t seem quite right. So she is now Little Bit, and she is happily making herself at home. The only challenge is that she has staked such a claim on me that she doesn’t want to let another dog around…and we had planned on allowing another dog to join the family for our grandson. But that’s apparently not going to happen–at least for a while!

She is mine–definitely mine! She is excited to see other people, including Charlie and our grandkids…but I am hers!

She’s 3 years old, a terrier mix, and she’s working at figuring out all the newness around.

There are times when you just need love on four legs…love that is unconditional, that claims you regardless of anything else. And so…meet Little Bit!

 

WWJD

WWJD? Remember those wristbands that were popular a few years ago with those letters on them? WWJD?

What would Jesus do?

If you wore that wristband, what did it mean to you? Was it just a nice thought? Or were you wearing it to say “I am the representative of Jesus to those I meet…and so how should I behave so that they see Jesus in me?”

Jesus wasn’t an easy person to follow! He didn’t just go along with the way things were…he challenged the status quo big time! He spent time with the marginalized…those who were considered unclean, who weren’t welcome in the “nice” settings. He wasn’t particularly concerned about keeping the letter of the law; he was more concerned about the spirit of the law being in the heart. He saw all people as being worth God’s love–and he made sure they knew it.

So…

WWJD? What would Jesus do today?

If you are his follower, what are you doing today so that people see Jesus in you? There aren’t easy answers to that question. But it’s an important question to ask.

There’s another question that I think goes along with this…If you were arrested for being a follower of Jesus, would there be enough evidence to convict you?

We’re each going to respond differently to those questions. But for those of us who claim to be followers of this guy who spent his entire life upsetting the way things were, how are we upsetting the status quo in ways that acknowledge the worth of each individual? What would Jesus do? What are we doing?