Spirit Pages

You'll never find your gold on a sandy beach
You'll never drill for oil on a city street
I know you're looking for a ruby in a mountain of rocks
But there ain't no Coup de Ville
Hiding at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box

—Meatloaf, Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad

By the time that we meet as a Board, we will have had our second re-opening experience. We are all together on a journey of more than two years—stewarding the church through unsafe waters, shepherding one another through unsafe times and remaining sane…if we have remained sane. There’s really no way of knowing in times as challenging as these. The good news is that, at worst, we know that two out of three ain’t bad.

I will be doing some travelling in the coming months. The Northern New England Chapter of the Unitarian Universalist Ministers Association is meeting in Maine at the end of next week. I am preaching in Arlington, MA on the 27th of March. In early April, I will be virtually attending the Finding Our Way Home Conference of UU Ministers of Color in Long Beach, CA and I will be attending the first post-COVID (can I say that?) in-person General Assembly is in Portland, OR this June. It is more travel than I care to do but it is important to practice community in a way that really matters. After two years of online substitutes, it will be good to be with vaccinated/boosted colleagues once again.

Collegiality matters. It creates the possibility of support that is life-affirming and soul-sustaining in times of crisis. Never what is as important as it was two weeks ago when North Chapel’s Community Conversation was Zoom-bombed by vulgarity and hatred. It was important to know precisely where North Chapel could turn for institutional support and it was important to know precisely where I could turn as well. That support was real for me because of the institutional work that I do—leadership committees, board representation, Star Island Conferences, ministerial retreats, the Woodstock Clergy group, the “triplets” (the Reverends Hutslar, Sawyer and Dunkley), the “Beatles” (the ministers from Hartland, Norwich, Montpelier and Woodstock) as well as some of the closest of my friends. That network of support was crucial last week as we responded quickly and dispassionately to the awful incident that unfolded electronically, right before our eyes.

Hateful energies do their best to disrupt what is tender, soft and beautiful. It tries its best to shake us in our boots. It tries its best to break us to our knees. Yet, wisdom reminds us, it is often when we are shaking in our boots that we being most courageous and North Chapel was terribly courageous in our collective response. The Board responded powerfully through the leadership of Michael Zsoldos and Kathy Astemborski. The congregation was assured that our hands were on the wheel and that we could move forward without fear. We may meet more challenges ahead but we are older now…and wiser. We are, as The Gospel of Matthew reminds us, “wise as serpents and gentle as doves.”

This past month, we saw the vile edge of American racism—raw, unleashed and virulent. I wish that experience on no one. At the same time, there has been a shift. Our collective posture on this issue has changed. We’ve all had a bit of an education. I am interested in how this might affect us, moving forward. The desire to ‘put things behind us’ may not serve us very well. At the same time, a dwelling on the vulgarity that we witnessed also disserves. Still further, chasing after the ‘culprits’ of systemic oppression is akin chasing after wild geese. They are different only in the sense that the wild goose chases, however unlikely, are capable of rendering a prize. The ‘culprits’ of systemic oppression are often untraceable.

I’ve reached out to colleagues to gain some insight on this issue. Many of them have been grappling with “the trolls” since April of 2020, not long after we all went online. The reports on my online UUMA support group reflect experiences that are similar to ours. Google searching online, the term “zoom-bomb” generated 47,500,000 responses in 0.55 seconds. What we experienced, unfortunately for the safety of online world, is not unique. Fortunately, it’s unlikely that there are 47,500,000 people surfing the net, looking for trouble. In perspective, 47,500,000 is approximately the number of people currently living in Spain. It is 5,500,000 more than the number of people living in Ukraine before it was invaded on the 24th of February. By the time our meeting, the population of Ukraine will fallen by as many as 3 million people. It goes without saying that 47,500,000 trolls may seem like a lot but a skilled handler with a devilish algorithm and an average laptop computer can produce precisely this in only minutes. What I am trying to say is the problems that we face may be both much smaller and much more consequential than they appear to be. The ability to find stillness and meaning in the midst of this chaos is maximally important right now. To that end, I would like to share that Liz Cassell, a member of the North Chapel community, was a Peace Corp volunteer who was stationed in Ukraine. She and I are meeting this week to discuss what we might do, moving forward. Peggy Kannenstine has expressed urgency and interest in this potential project. I am looking forward to the possibilities myself…especially because of a comment that Liz Cassell made after the Community Conversation was assaulted by an online boogeyman. She asked about the connection between the zoom-bombs to which we were subjected two weeks ago and the bombs that are currently falling in Ukraine.

We are in a new age and we should think about what electronic safety means in this environment. Technical solutions are important but far more valuable than this is the ability to understand the nature of what is happening…in the context of the overwhelming love and tenderness that online trolls try hard to weaken. A spiritual response to online hatred would be quite useful. Fortunately, a small group of ministers has been working on this issue over the years. Perhaps, it is now time to explore what we’re discovering.

As the nature of the COVID-19 crisis slowly changes over time, we at North Chapel are changing as well. We will have to relearn our social customs, sensitive to that which may have changed over the last two years.

Now it the time for gearing up for the future. We are almost done with wintering. In he book of this same title, Katherine May writes,

If happiness is a sill, that sadness is, too. Perhaps through all those years at school, or perhaps through other terrors, we are taught to ignore sadness, to stuff it down into our satchels and pretend it isn’t there. As adults, we often have to learn to hear the clarity of its call. That is wintering. It is the active acceptance of sadness. It is the practice of allowing ourselves to feel it as a need. It is the courage to stare down the worst parts of our experience and to commit to healing them the best we can. Wintering is a moment of intuition, our true needs felt keenly as a knife.

This is the great transition. The deep-frozen core of us is melting. River is breaking big ice. Slowly. Powerfully. On its journey to the ocean. And we are in that ocean, just now coming up for air. A poet writes,

Like an island rising, coming slowly from the sea

Causing tidal waves to beat and causing some catastrophe

The damage done, another sun shall rise and shine the day…

This is our charge now…to rise up gently, gracefully…after too long time away.

Previous Spirit Pages

Throughout the year our Minister wrote an article that was meant to get us thinking.

Below you’ll find those from previous months.

September 2021

Spirit Pages - jumpsite 1026 (Sail On the Day)

—l. dunkley

To hatch a crow, a black rainbow

Bent in emptiness

Over emptiness

But flying

These are the words Ted Hughes used to introduce a song entitled “My Little Town” on Paul Simon’s Still Crazy After All These Years (1975).

We had gone to the batting cages somewhere in Western Massachusetts - Marshall, Hank, Heidi and Dave and Frannie Lou, me and Chris. Hannah and Celeste were chillin’. During our roadside grilled cheeses, we noticed that planes had been steadily taking off and landing from an airstrip in the distance. All of the planes carved the same path in the late-summer sky and at intervals of altitude, likely marked by skill or temerity (or price), absurd beings would cast themselves from the plane, leading shoulder to the wind and leaping - presumably for pleasure - out and into the empty sky with nothing whatsoever to hold on to.

For some reason, this made me think of the Unitarian Universalist ministry. Called (by gravity, in this case), the absurd beings known to us as ministers come down to earth in strange rhythm - mightily crashing through the sky, first with great force and conviction and then with whim and lightness, like so many once adolescent but now cautiously mature and colorful autumn leaves. I remember thinking to myself, “Wow, those guys are so amazing.” And then each time, after uncommonly long seconds and as a paralyzing fear began to take hold, my thoughts transformed into something much closer to, “Wow, those guys are…insane. They are crazy…and potentially, even doomed.” And then the chutes would flower, grace would replace the urgency leaving me with thoughts about the meaning of commitment - leading shoulder down, posting deep and in the paint, hard-to-the-hoop-commitment - and of faith.

And then there is the story of the time in grad school when we were out at breakfast and my friend Buster asked me to look down at my plate. I was only having bacon and eggs, but somehow Buster was able to cobble together a whole theory about it. I think he called it something like, “Deconstructing the average, postmodern breakfast.” To make a long story short, he conjectured that the chicken was only “involved” with my breakfast - marginally invested, dropping off some eggs and going on about her way. Without dismissing chicken’s “significant contribution” to my morning meal, Buster was adamant about the fact that the bacon required of the pig a much deeper commitment.

…for to give one’s self upon an altar high, trying to remember our tale…

Songs, while pretty, can be dangerously seductive. The same is true of analogies. I hope that you know and can accept that it is only with the deepest admiration and respect that I am here likening my dearest friend to pig and pork-meat product…and vice versa. I do realize that the ministers-as-autumn-leaves reference was considerably more safe, but trust my meaning is clear. I applaud his commitment - leading shoulder down, posting deep and in the paint, hard-to-the-hoop-commitment.

Somehow these two stories remind me of Marshall on this day. What a stunning leap of faith his is. How inspirational. I cried a lot writing this song. I thank him for those tears and for the years of our laughter.

jump site 1026 (Sail On the Day)

for marshall

—l. dunkley

we taxi down the runway moving too slow to fly

and the wings of this airplane carry me in and through the sky

how can this be familiar—these first steps above the earth?

…from life as an eagle, from inner visions at birth?

late October and I’m walking lightly, high over Boston’s holy avenue

for to lie in Your open arms for a while…

…but You’re so much older than my name,

as if You marked the time

time and over, once again and after all the time it’s been the same

as if all Your love runs through mine

(sail on the day, sail on the day)

and so much larger than the heart I have to offer in this small life I live

giving over, giving often, over-giving all the same

knowing all Your love runs through mine

of the soundings: roaring engines

and the ache of this old plane ascending

we throttle up and climb this mountain in the air…

…but You’re so much deeper than my eyes,

as if these eyes could see

seeing over, seeing often, over-seeing all the same

as if all Your love runs through mine

(sail on the day, sail on the day)

high above, I see the places that I’ve been through in this small life I live

looking down, the ranging mountains under eagle on her wing

knowing all Your love runs through mine

over the cloud-line now

it looks like the sure, soft soul of heaven

I check my boots and tie this helmet on for real

and I sail on the day

leaning shoulder in the wind

got my pack, my chute’s inside, I’m diving out again

(sail on the day, sail on the day)

we taxied down the runway moving too slow to fly

wings of airplane and eagle carried me…

late October and I’m walking lightly, high over Boston’s holy avenue

for to lie in Your open arms for a while…

July 2021

Spirit Pages - Dreaming in Japan

—Rev. Dr. Leon Dunkley

You may say I’m a dreamer

But I’m not the only one

I hope someday you will join us

And the world will live as one

—John Lennon, Imagine

Whenever we so choose, we can lay ourselves down in the lush, green, strawberry fields where he did wander. We can lay ourselves down on the monument itself. We can place ourselves at the center of the circular memorial that bears his name…the one in Central Park, in midtown Manhattan in New York City; the one that is so close to the Dakota where he and Yoko Ono spent their loving years. We can lay ourselves down on the stones, among the leaves and grasses and fallen, flower petals. For this is summertime after all. We might as well enjoy it to the fullest!

Whenever we so choose, we can have this joy. All we have to do is release ourselves to its brave gift.

There truly is a monument in Central Park that is dedicated to John Lennon. Of course, when I say that this monument bears his name, I don’t mean these words precisely. They are only figurative. They are poetically imprecise. The monument does not literally bear the name: John Lennon. It bears the name of the central gesture of his life. It bears that name of the gift that John Lennon has given to us…the gift that is synonymous with his name. Imagine.

Imagine. What a deep-soul loving, birthday party present to offer to the mind! Lennon released Imagine back in October of 1971 and it quickly entered our lives. We danced. We learned to sing along.

Imagine there's no heaven

It's easy if you try

No hell below us

Above us only sky

Few besides Dylan were writing as expansively. Dylan wrote,

Although you might hear laughing, spinning, swinging madly across the sun

It's not aimed at anyone

It's just escaping on the run

And but for the sky there are no fences facing…

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man…

They played songs for us. They were young artists on the journey of a lifetime and they wrote songs for the journeys of our lives. These songs are still with us and whenever we so choose, we can lay ourselves down in them and sing.

It is ironic to some—and I get that—but I am not personally surprised that this song was featured in the Opening Ceremony in Tokyo, Japan as the Olympics got underway last week. Artists from four continents took part—John Legend for the Americas, Keith Urban for Australia, Alejandro Sanz for Europe and Angélique Kidjo for Africa.

They sang

Imagine there are no countries

It isn't hard to do

Nothing to kill or die for

And no religion…

That’s ridiculous!! Of course, I’m kidding. I understand what John Lennon was saying and as someone who is deeply committed to faith, I am not in the slightest offended by the line… for it is not literally true. It is figurative and poetically imprecise. It’s paradoxical. It means both what it says and precisely to the opposite… for when “religion” becomes a thing for which we kill and die, we lose the value and the meaning of the word.

The word religion has a history. It is important to be mindful of that. The Oxford Dictionary shows us that the Latin root of the word “religion” is religare, meaning to bind or to connect. The word “ligament” is a relative of the word “religion.” It is meant to connect us. It is meant to call us beyond our differences. We are meant to see that which is larger than us… and when we cannot see such things, we are called to imagine them. Imagine that!

Whenever we so choose, we can lay ourselves down in the lush, green fields of life. As we near the end of a long, hard year and five months, we can lay ourselves down on the stones and among the leaves and the grasses and the fallen, flower petals and we can dream. We can choose now to enjoy life to the fullest!

May 2021

Spirit Pages—What Is Required of Us Now

—Rev. Dr. Leon Dunkley

He who sings, prays twice.
—St. Augustine

Ralph Waldo Emerson was eager to find meaning in faith. He was curious. He was hungry. He was deeply into his spirit’s journey. His journey led him across the Atlantic Ocean. He traveled to England. He wanted to visit with Samuel Taylor Coleridge before he died. Coleridge had an interesting perspective on American Unitarianism and one of its rising stars—Rev. William Ellery Channing, the young minister serving the Arlington Street Church in Boston. Coleridge made an accurate critique of what he was observing from afar.

Famously, in early May of 1819, Rev. Channing had preached his powerful sermon—Unitarian Christianity. Coleridge responded. He criticized Channing and said that his interpretation of Scripture was selective. Coleridge said that Channing drew from the Bible “the good but not the true.”

This is an excellent critique of 19th-century Unitarianism. It is also an excellent critique of 21st-century Unitarian Universalism. We do this sometimes. We focus on the sweetness sometimes. When we do this too much, we lose touch with reality. That is always spiritually (and personally) risky.

When Ralph Waldo Emerson learned just how critical Samuel Taylor Coleridge truly was of one of the new leaders in Unitarianism, he asked Coleridge if he was not, himself, a Unitarian minister. In a manner of speaking, it was a reality check. Coleridge stated that he was, indeed, a Unitarian minister and then asked Emerson, abruptly, ‘What’s your point?!’ This is not a quote, of course. I’m sure that Coleridge asked this question in the more acceptable and more elegant language of his day. The point is that it is important to be able to remain self-critical.

Last month, when Congresswoman Liz Cheney was being ousted from her position of leadership in the GOP, I remembered this much healthier internal critique. I was sad for Representative Cheney. To her adversaries, she said, correctly,

We must speak the truth. Our election was not stolen. And America has not failed. Every one of us who has sworn the oath must act to prevent the unraveling of our democracy. This is not about policy. This is not about partisanship. This is about our duty as Americans. Remaining silent and ignoring the lie emboldens the liar. I will not sit back and watch in silence while others lead our party down a path that abandons the rule of law and joins the former President's crusade to undermine our democracy.

This new species of ‘political correctness’—if one can call it that—can get you kicked out of the Republican Party. What does this mean for the Republican Party?

In the winter of 2017, a large crowd of people gathered in the sanctuary of First Parish Cambridge, Unitarian Universalist church in Harvard Square just outside of Boston. First Parish Cambridge has a long history of supporting social justice causes and daring public thought. Beginning in 1967, First Parish founded The Cambridge Forum, a public platform for the expression of new and noble ideas. The Cambridge Forum began broadcasting in 1970 and featured a broad range of public speakers:

Bella Abzug
Derek Bok
Shirley Chisholm
Mary Daly
Alan Dershowitz
Carlos Fuentes
Samuel Huntington
Nelson Mandela
Bill McKibben
Robert McNamara
Jack Mendelsohn
Joseph Nye
Carl Sagan
B.F. Skinner

The Forum hosted Nannerl Keohane who I know personally from my years in North Carolina. She was serving as the president of Duke University when I was teaching there. It also hosted Bill Schultz. This is important for us. After serving as minister to First Parish Church in Bedford, he served as president of Amnesty International and of the Unitarian Universalist Service Committee. He also served as president of the UUA until 1993.

In the winter of 2017, Cambridge Forum hosted a conversation between Amy Goodman from DemocracyNow in NYC and Noam Chomsky from MIT. Goodman began that evening’s presentation with a powerful question. Her words were these:

I wanted to ask you about this comment that you made. [You said] that the Republican Party...is the most dangerous organization in world history. Can you explain?

After some nervous laughter rippled through the gathered assembly, Chomsky responded—plainly, matter-of-factly, like he always does. His words were these:

I also said that it’s an extremely outrageous statement [to make]. But the question is whether it’s true.

I am not trying to be political here. I’m merely pointing out that which is increasingly and disturbingly clear. In this aspect of American public life, we are losing touch with reality. We do this sometimes…and it’s always risky.

What is good and what is true and what is true and what is not true has been a problem for us these days. The blurring of these boundaries has been causing a great deal of anxiety and consternation...about the terrible realities of the COVID-19 pandemic, about systemic racism and the problem of police violence, about how we tell the story of the founding and the history of our country, about how we come to know the loving truth about ourselves. We all need access to a story of ourselves that is both good and true. This requires many things of us—honesty, integrity, compassion, sympathy, empathy, forgiveness… Much is required of us and so very much is given—liberally—no matter which side of the aisle feels right.

For anyone who might be wondering why a critically thinking, Left-leaning, democratically inclined, liberal theologian would be thinking so much about Liz Cheney and the GOP, please remain aware of the depth of my commitment to human freedom. Please remember that it was the Republican Supreme Court Justice named Oliver Wendell Holmes, a Unitarian, who said,

The history of intellectual growth and discovery clearly demonstrates the need for unfettered freedom, the right to think the unthinkable, discuss the unmentionable, and challenge the unchallengeable. To curtail free expression strikes twice at intellectual freedom, for whoever deprives another of the right to state unpopular views necessarily also deprives others of the right to listen to those views.

We need not strike twice at freedom. We need to sing like St. Augustine. We need to pray twice—once for Chomsky and once for Cheney. Both of these good people are bold and brave. Both are wise and free. For the strengths of honesty, integrity, compassion, sympathy, empathy and forgiveness, this is what is required of us now.

April 2021

Spirit Pages—Fun and Foolishness

—Rev. Dr. Leon Dunkley

“I don’t care what you think!” said the foolish Unitarian, blithely walking across the room to refill his cream-and-sugar coffee.

“That’s funny. I’m separate from you. I deeply care about what you think,” replied the foolish Universalist with her ginger-peach tea.

So, which way is it? What’s the rule here? Who says what’s right and who says what’s wrong? Where is our guru? What is our method? Who is our teacher? How are we supposed to make sense of this paradox?

I like contradictions. Do you? I like hearing stories about contradictions. One of my favorite spiritual teachers is Pema Chödrön. She is a public speaker, a widely published author and a practicing Buddhist. She seems to know a great deal about foolishness. At one of her meditation retreats, she addressed the issue of foolishness directly. She began one of her talks by saying, “Some people believe that the world is made up of material things. Those people are stupid.” Many in the audience laughed. They hadn’t expected her to be so catty. She continued by saying, “Other people believe that the world is made up of spiritual things.” She paused for a moment and then said, “Those people are even more stupid.”

The laughter in the room was more robust the second time around. It was easier for that group of people—the seekers of spirit that she had gathered around her—it was easier for them to laugh at themselves than it was to laugh at other people. It was a joyful thing to laugh about not being separate from one another. In the story that Pema Chödrön told, the materially-inclined and the spiritually-inclined are “both alike” in foolishness.

Foolishness is a good place for two separate things to begin. Beginning in foolishness is promising. It’s light-hearted and suggestive of growth. It’s way more exciting than dignity. Starting in dignity can be a bit of a bummer, a bit of a drag. I’m not exaggerating. Shakespeare began in dignity and that led too quickly to sorrow. He started in dignity when he wrote Romeo and Juliet. Its Prologue begins as follows:

Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;

It’s great poetry but Romeo dies and Juliet dies… Dignity is a great place to end up when all is done but dignity is a terrible place to start.

I like Shakespeare so much more when he begins with foolishness, when he begins with folly. Like in Much Ado About Nothing, in the film version anyway. It starts with the poem:

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.

Men were deceivers ever,

One foot in sea, and one on shore,

To one thing constant never.

Then sigh not so, but let them go,

And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your sounds of woe

Into hey nonny, nonny.

If one were to compare them, there is much less hardship in this play than in the other…which is hardly surprising. One is a tragedy and the other is a farce. Maybe we could use a little farce. We’d breathe easier. Maybe we could use the laughter, the buffoonery, the horseplay, the whimsy, the lightness… Sometimes foolishness is wisdom in disguise. Maybe after April foolishness comes wisdom…comes wisdom come what may.

On one hand, the foolish Unitarian didn’t care about what others thought. It sounds a little harsh but sometimes, there can be wisdom in this. If someone says that love is foolish, that peace is foolish, that joy is foolish... It’s important not to care about what others think in times like these. Even Jesus would agree. Sometimes you have “to shake the dust from your feet” and just move on. It’s foolish to stay in a situation in which we are devalued.

On the other hand, the foolish Universalist did care about what others thought. And there can be wisdom in this as well. If someone says that love of wisdom, that peace is joyful, that some fools are wise... It’s important to care about what others think sometimes. It seems like there’s no rule here. Both perspectives are true and both are false, depending on the circumstances. One has to make sense of the situation for one’s self—no guru, no method, no teacher. That’s where the real fun is.

February 2021

Spirit Pages—Start Working on Your Answer!

—Rev. Dr. Leon Dunkley

With my eyes as bright as any young, aspiring teacher, I looked out on the world to see what I could find of love, of power, of dignity. I wanted to offer a good lesson to my students. I was still teaching college in March of 2001. It was six months before a trip that I was planning to take to South Africa. WCAR was happening there. The WCAR abbreviation stood for the World Conference Against Racism, Xenophobia and Related Intolerance.

WCAR was a huge deal. It was being planned by the United Nations and I really wanted to go. I filled out an application. I had requested that the Mary Lou Williams Center for Black Culture at Duke University be recognized as an NGO, as a non-governmental organization. I was the director of the Mary Lou Williams Center at the time. When I learned that we were accepted, I was so excited. I tried to prepare. I wanted to bring my best to the world conference. I thought to myself, “What can I do with my time to get ready?” That was why I was looking out on the world to see what I could find.

I realized that we were fast approaching an anniversary (if you can call it that). Ten years earlier, in March of 1991, Rodney King was brutally beaten by a team of police officers in Los Angeles after a high-speed chase on I-210. George Holliday filmed the event and sent the footage to a local news station. News spread like wildfire. Clear evidence of systemic police violence was publically available for all to see. It was unmistakable, incontrovertible, impossible to miss. So, fourteen months later, when the case against the LAPD had concluded, the world was watching. ‘What would be the outcome in this clear case of abuse of power?’

When the news came in that the jury acquitted all four police officers of assault and three of the four, of using excessive force, Los Angeles erupted in riotous violence. Within hours of the acquittals, the fires began. They burned for six days. Sixty-three people died and nearly 2,400 people were injured. The National Guard was sent in. The U.S. Army showed up. The Marine Corps was there as well. It was one of the critical moments in contemporary American history where race is concerned. All of the officers were white. Four men in uniforms beat a black man senseless and were it not for George Holliday film, the world would not have known.

This was the event, I thought, that would have value at the United Nations conference, at the World Conference Against Racism, Xenophobia and Related Intolerance. It would also be useful for my students at the Mary Lou Williams Center. So, I put something together. I got a speaker. I showed the footage. I gathered my students together on that ten-year anniversary and I asked them, “Where were you on March 3rd in 1991?”

I loved my students dearly but on that day they angered me. I will never forgive them for what they shared with me that day. Hearing my “Where were you?” question, most of my students remained silent. The bravest among them spoke up and she spoke up on behalf of all of them. If I remember correctly, her name was Mecca-Asia Zabresky—beautiful, bright and brave…a young African American woman. She said, “Leon, we were eight- or nine-years-old in ’91.” I thought the world of her but I wanted to punish her somehow…even though I knew that she was right.

I’m kidding, of course. I didn’t really want to punish Mecca-Asia Zabresky. I was surprised by how quickly the years go by. It’s weird to think that that college sophomore is almost 40-years-old now.

And here we are again. It is March of 2021. It is now thirty years after the tragic beating of Rodney King. Are we any closer to the garden? In spite of obvious news to the contrary, I think that we are. I believe it. I believe that I can feel it in my soul. As the Los Angeles police chief said at the time of the beating, thirty years ago now,

We believe the officers used excessive force taking him into custody. In our review, we find that officers struck him with batons between fifty-three and fifty-six times.

So, on Wednesday, March 3rd in 2021, at 10:00am, I will ring the Revere Bell at North Chapel between fifty-three and fifty-six times. This way North Chapel will honor Rodney King, the man who believed that we can all “get along.” Although it was profoundly unpopular at the time, Rodney King had longed for peace. He did not believe in adding more fuel to the fire. As he shared in great detail in his book, The Riot Within: My Journey from Rebellion to Redemption,

The way I was raised in my religion, we have to be able to get along with each other. That’s your brother and sister. You can’t threaten somebody in your household. America is my house.

As we are not yet two months from the insurrection, are we able to consider more deeply what Rodney King was trying to say? Are we willing to think more compassionately and more critically about peace?

In ten years, on some college campus, there will be another teacher like me. There will be another bright, young student like Mecca. And the teacher will put together a program of some kind. They will get a speaker. They will show a film. They will gather students together on that ten-year anniversary, on January 6th of 2031. And the teacher will ask, just as naively as I did, “Where were you on January 6th of 2021?” So, if you are eight- or nine-years-old right now and want to get an A in college, start working on your answer. Believe you me, that teacher will be VERY grateful!!

January 2021

Spirit Pages—Free

—Rev. Dr. Leon Dunkley

Something very beautiful is rising.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity. But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free.

—Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King

August 28th, 1963

Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C.

President Abraham Lincoln spoke with strength and whole-heartedness. He did so at a time of trepidation and insecurity. He did so at the height of the American Civil War (1861 to 1865). There was great discomfort all around him. The way forward in meaningful peace was almost too hard to see. Yet, from within the din of battle and its consequences, from deep inside the maelstrom, he found the strength of heart lead. We have come to cherish his example.

President Lincoln’s address, delivered at the dedication of the National Cemetery at Gettysburg, is one of the most deeply treasured examples of the American rhetorical tradition. In mid November of 1863, Lincoln said,

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

This was the highest and the best that Lincoln could do in a time of crisis. This was the full measure of his integrity, his intellect and his honesty. He delivered these words in the midst of great conflict. At the complex fulcrum of that conflict s was the issues of American slavery, the still-point around which the “war between the states” was waged.

We give language to that war is different ways. We make meaning of that war in different ways. We tell different stories…and we’ve grown. They say that up from its ashes, an American phoenix soon will rise. For some of us, this is plainly true or, at least, it seems to be. Just ask Jeff Bezos whose net worth is now estimated at $200 billion. That’s a lot of money…and Jeff Bezos is free to earn it…but do we really think that that’s what President Lincoln had in mind when he gave his great address at Gettysburg? Was he thinking about the future possibility of Amazon when he tried his best top honor “the brave men, living and dead” who struggled and fought and lost their lives? Was he thinking about wealth accumulation or humility when he reminded us that our lives are as precious as they are short…that, in a sacred sense, we are all inconsequential, that…

The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

In a market sense, it is possible to place a value on a human life. It is profane. It is moral…but it is possible. We did it for years—from 1619 until 1863. In some ways, we are still doing it today.

In a sacred sense, we know that that this kind of purchase is not what strengthens us. We are at the cusp of an impossible recovery. It will take a while. It will take a lot of work but we are on the brink of moving very powerfully forward—both as a nation and as a world. Abraham Lincoln is showing the way… not only the Abraham Lincoln who died on April 15th of 1865 but the Abraham Lincoln who lives in us today. In 1863, we concerned ourselves with “the last full measure of devotion” of those who gave their lives. In 2021, we concern ourselves with the first full measure of devotion for the living.

In this new time of trepidation and insecurity, may we speak with strength and whole-heartedness, guided forward by the rule of law. May we speak with grace and integrity, made humble by those who came before. May we journey gently onward in out united struggle to be free.

December 2020

Find Ways Through the Darkness

Rev. Dr. Leon Dunkley

It all started on Wednesday night. Some of the forecasters said that there would be as much as two inches of snow. That would be enough snow to recall the spirit of Christmas. That would be enough for Santa and his sleigh to safely land, noiselessly on rooftops all across the Upper Valley. We got so much more than that!! Mercy! Lord above!

On Thursday morning, at daybreak, long before sunrise, a gorgeous, blue light shone. Cold blue. The illumination was striking and it was magnified by the new fallen snow. It was beautiful—so lovely, the coming sunrise in the east… The moment reminded me of the magic men of the Magi, the priestly class in ancient Persia…not that they had snowfall in the desert back in the day. Of course, they didn’t. They only had the striking illumination at the break of day, the sunlight that always rises in the east. A poet writes,

Those magic men of the Magi

Some people call them wise

Or Oriental, even kings

Well, anyway, those guys

They visited with Jesus

They sure enjoyed their stay

Then warned in a dream of King Herod’s scheme

They went home by another way…

Keep a weather eye to the chart on high

And go home another way

The warning in the Bible is clear—avoid catastrophe and travel in the safest way one can.

The magic men of the Magi kept a weather eye to the chart on high… In other words, their journey was guided by the stars above their heads. They knew and understood the night sky so well that they could dependably steer a safe course through the desert in darkness. I really love the romance and the danger of that kind of way-finding.

In fact, I remember this adventure that I had years ago. I had an adventure on my bicycle. It was awesome. It was not a wise adventure and I do not recommend it. So, as they say, “Don’t try this at home.” It was a starry night. Moonless. I was riding around in Durham, New Hampshire. There were no cars on the road. I got going down an unlit road that ran straight along the river and led up to a power station and an old bridge. I had been on that road several times before and I knew where it led. I pretty much knew its contours. I was comfortable on that road.

I remember being struck by how bright it was that night, when I started out on my cycling journey. The sun had been down for hours. There was no sunset glow in the western sky. When I set out, the only illumination that I could see were the streetlights and the starlight and, once I got close to the river, the streetlights were gone. It was only starlight.

The road along the river was lined with trees. Their upper branches reached across the pavement, as if to make a lovely canopy. Lovely, in the light of day. At nighttime, you couldn’t see much of anything. There I was, on this tree-lined road. I could only barely see where I was going. The farther I went down the river road, the heavier the foliage and the darker it got. It got to the point where I could only barely see what was right in front of me. So, rather than turn around like I should have done, I decided to continue on…into the darkness…into my own unknown. It wasn’t a smart decision but neither am I sometimes. I chose to continue on. The upside was that I knew that the power station and the old bridge were very close. The downside was that it was dark. I could barely see where I was going.

Just then, I got the crazy idea to look to stars for guidance. I was riding really slowly at this point. I looked out and above me. I still see the road with my peripheral vision but I could also see the stars so high above. They were shining through the highest reaches of the canopy. I quoted “Sea Fever,” the John Masefield poem from way back in the day. I started reciting it to myself.

I must down to the seas again,

to lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship

and a star to steer her by;

Suddenly, I was in the clear. There was much more light. I had made it to my destination. I could see the power station in the distance and the old bridge that reached out across the water. I’d made it. I felt a bit proud like that tall ship, finding its way across a lonely sea…and I felt a bit foolish, like a full-grown man riding his bike in the middle of the night. So, I felt a foolish pride…and I made a memory. That memory was nearly lost but it came back to me on Thursday morning, after the snow started falling on Wednesday night. I remembered that I can find my way through the darkness…as long as I keep my chin up and as long as I have a little bit of light.

November 2020

So Much Squash on My Hands

Rev. Dr. Leon Dunkley

Some people say that winter in this time of COVD-19 is going to be a little bit of a challenge. I think that’s true but I’m trying to turn that challenge into a positive thing. I’m almost there but not quite just yet. I have a ways to go. I have to admit that I don’t always have the best attitude about things like this. I’m doing my best.

So, I’m giving myself a challenge over the next few months or so. I am going to set a spiritual goal for myself—the goal of forgiveness. I define forgiveness as the willingness to let go of blame and accept the world that I cannot change. I have been at this for many years now. I’m getting pretty good at it. So, my goals are pretty big not. They didn’t start big. They started small—really small, almost petty, in fact. It was important to do set a goal that was reachable.

That still seems like good advice. So, I’m taking myself up on that. I am choosing a reachable goal for myself this winter. I am going to set the goal of forgiveness for myself and really go for it over the next few months. This started out as a fairly practical idea. It wasn’t particularly noble. I was just afraid this strange winter might present me with too much time alone. I feared that I might have too much time on my hands…which is not a rational thought. I am way busier now than I was before the COVID crisis began.

I remember back in March. “Oh, my gosh! I’m a squash!” March seems like a couple of years ago now. I remember thinking about how wise is would be to set a spiritual goal for myself. I figured that setting goal would give me something to focus on as I hunkered down and holed up and sheltered in place. I thought I would diet…or go on an exercise plan…or make a garden…or learn Japanese…or put some time into learning something new on my guitar.

Well, I didn’t diet…at all. In fact, I’m sure that I’ve gained a few pounds. And I didn’t start exercising. I did make a garden. I went nuts on it in early May. I tilled three huge plots, all by hand. I broke a metal shovel in the process. I’m stubborn…so, I didn’t stop using the broken shovel. I figured out how to keep using it even after it was clearly broken. It had become like a friend to me and I didn’t want to let it go. So, I didn’t.

One thing that I am learning in all of this time alone… I am less anxious about talking about my life. I share things that I didn’t share before. I’ve become more brave. It’s not particularly reveal but I’m glad to share that I would garden

in the early morning, before that bugs and the summer sun got too intense. Every so often, someone would walk by…or ride by on a bicycle…or drive by in a car with the windows down. Often, they would stop…when I was doing something that was interesting, like stacking large stones to make a cairn. And always, they would stop when I was doing something wrong or ridiculous. That caught their attention. Sometimes, they would give me advice. It’s nice to share gardening wisdom. Other times, they would just take notice and see how things worked out over time.

I cut my garden into an old, hay field. I did it by hand. I used no power tools. I think I got some neighborhood credit for that but you never know with some Vermonters. If I did get credit, it wasn’t universal. The gentleman down the road with the motorized tiller would have been glad to help me out. I didn’t ask. I knew that he had the equipment but I was determined to do it myself. He laughed at me for that but I know for sure that he respected my choice. Gardening is like a playful competition in my neck of the woods. The competition is fierce but it’s always friendly.

I was going to grow flowers but I chickened out. I was going to grow sunflowers and impatiens. I didn’t, though. I grew vegetables instead. I grew so much food. I was astounded at all that I grew. I grew three kinds of chard, bunch of different kinds of tomatoes, collards, cabbage, tomatillos, three kinds of squashes—Acorns, Butternuts and Delicatas. I figured out good ways to bake it up with duck fat and seasonings. I grew a lot of them. To be honest, I’m getting a little bit sick of squash, especially the Butternuts.

Butternut squash is my favorite. It was the first squash that I planted…and it was the first to get eaten up by the local groundhog and that made me pretty angry. Too angry, perhaps. When I replanted, I did so with a vengeance. And I planted too many and by the end of the summer, I was awash in squash. I had so much squash on my hands! I gave a bunch of them away. It made most people happy. It only bummed out the people who had grown more squash as I had. I get that.

Anyway, that was the spring and that was the summer and the first part of autumn. Now, as we head into winter, I won’t be doing any gardening. And I d

on’t feel inspired to diet or to exercise, although I probably should. Yet, somehow, I still look forward to winter. I look forward to the challenge and the depth of life experience and spending good time alone. I’m not thinking about ways to fight off my loneliness. I’m finding ways of embracing it. I am preparing some classes that I will offer over the next few months. Maybe some of you will be interested.

I’m looking forward to winter. It is a chance to get patient with myself. It will be a challenge to quiet down and think and grow and slowly change. I’m game for that. Maybe, I’ll borrow a pair of snowshoes and make a practice of walking in the morning. Maybe I’ll teach my cat how to wear cool sunglasses and play the bass guitar. You never know.

The point is, despite the obvious challenge that is ahead for all of us, I am actually looking forward to the dark and cold of winter. And when it does get hard (and it will sometimes), I will be gentle and patient with myself, even when the front-page news makes me angry and anxious. I make this promise to myself…that I will find ways of finding beauty in this challenging and beauty-filled world.

And I promise to eat as much squash as I possibly can.

Every blessing,

October 2020

Remembering “Kindness” in the COVID Crisis

—Rev. Dr. Leon Dunkley

Sitting in the gazebo behind North Chapel in the autumn afternoons, so much is happening. The chipmunks scamper. The bees buzz and threaten. The yellow and the orange and the auburn leaves fall down, touching the earth for the first time, having lived their whole lives above it all. This old poem came back to my mind. I remembered it only as “Kindness” but the title was a little longer.

ways Kindness may name

– l. dunkley

“I saw a falling star burn up above the Las Vegas sands

It wasn’t the one that you gave to me

that night down south between the trailers

Not the early one you can wish upon

Not the northern one that guides in the sailors”

—“This Flight Tonight,” Joni Mitchell

as I remain

and River falls into the sea…as I remain

I see your face and River smiling back at me…as I remain

then will I know

as for the first time on the ground…then will I know

and falsely claim all this and heaven for my own…then will I know

(refrain)

darkness touching—analyzing myth and mourning

true believing that I should have seen the signs

darkness touching—here, survived by this day dawning…

…sun…

…breaking North Carolina pines

sending light over April’s shoulder as she goes

may the Graces know her way

sending light into the open arms of this young man today

Waterstouchingbridge, if I’m alive tomorrow morning

and Kindness names the ways I know,

if Ocean guides my way…

I’ll go

as I remain

as Mountain falls into the sky…as I remain

within this valley taking first steps out of time…as I remain

then will I go

to where waters tend to fall…then will I go

and lay beneath the wave in answer to her call…then will I go

(refrain)

darkness touching—analyzing myth and mourning

true believing that I should have seen the signs

darkness touching—here, survived by this day dawning…

…sun…

…breaking North Carolina pines

sending light over April’s shoulder as she goes

may the Graces know her way

sending light into the open arms of this young man today

Waterstouchingbridge, if I’m alive tomorrow morning

and Kindness names the ways I know,

if Ocean guides my way…

I’ll go

as I remain

as Stars are fallen through the earth…as I remain

as constellations seem to gather in the verse…as I remain

then will I know

as for the first time in the sky…then will I know

whole constellations seem to settle in your eyes…then will I know

(refrain)

darkness touching—analyzing myth and mourning

true believing that I should have seen the signs

darkness touching—here, survived by this day dawning…

…sun…

…breaking North Carolina pines

sending light over April’s shoulder as she goes

may the Graces know her way

sending light into the open arms of this young man today

Waterstouchingbridge, if I’m alive tomorrow morning

and Kindness names the ways I know,

if Ocean guides my way…

I’ll go

September 2020

Here Comes the Good Part—Rev. Dr. Leon Dunkley

I sit quietly more and more these days. I find that I need to…before I meditate. I am terrible at meditating when I haven’t prepared myself.

I went for a walk the other day. Walked up a mountain in New Hampshire. The trail was challenging but only about a mile long…so I could keep my pretenses. I got to the top and met this man who did body work and energy work. Massage, yoga, breathing exercises. He is really experiencing a challenge in this time of COVID-19. He said, “I touch people and teach them how to breathe. Yeah, this is a hard time for me.”

His disposition was wonderful. I had such a good time talking to him. He was gentle, kind, wise, patient, grounded, powerful. He was all of things that I want to be when I grow up…but he was about twenty years younger than me. We joked around a lot.

We were talking about mediation and various Buddhist practices and I accidentally used the word “vipassanā” instead of the “savasana.” Vipassanā means “special-seeing” or “insight.” It is commonly used to refer to the practice of silent retreat that is designed to cultivate this experience. Savasana means Corpse Pose, the yoga position. One lies flat on one’s back with one’s arms at one’s side, palms up, ankles touch, toes fall to either side. It is the position at which the heart can relax the most. It can feel uncomfortable at first but it’s so restorative…and it’s really good for you.

I said the wrong word and I didn’t mean to do it. My new friend corrected me. My competitive personally then went on to misuse words intentionally. There is a scene in an episode of The West Wing in which Jed Bartlet conveys the love that he has for his daughter’s intellect by playing the same game with her. She was an aspiring physician, not a yoga practitioner. So, of course, the game was different. The word-game that I played with my friend on the mountain was a game about terms of yoga and mediation. The word-game that Jed Bartlet played with his daughter was a game about the different fields of medicine.

Father: I hear you’re thinking about ophthalmology.

Daughter: Nope. That’s oncology.

Father: Why would you want to study people’s feet?

Daughter: That’s podiatry.

Father: No, podiatry is children’s medicine.

Daughter: Pediatrics.

Father: I thought it was obstetrics.

Daughter: That’s pregnant women.

Father: And what’s the study of feet?

Daughter: Dad, you’re not going to make me laugh.

Father: So, endocrinology would be what? Disorders of the gallbladder?

Daughter: The thyroid.

Father: I’m pretty sure you’re wrong about that. I think endocrinology is your sub-specialty of internal medicine, devoted to the digestive system.

Daughter: That would be gastroenterology.

Father: Are you sure it’s not nephrology, immunology, cardiology, or dermatology?

Daughter: Would you stop it? I’m trying to watch the movie.

Father: Okay. Here comes the good part.

The terms were different but the principle was the same. For these two fictional people, this was an I love you game. It was a game of deference, challenge and respect. For me and my new friend at the top of the mountain, it was not that intimate. Yet, to say that it was not loving would be a mistake.

It just takes a few seconds…and we can find the deepest places of our hearts. If we can learn to sit quietly in order to prepare ourselves—by casting off the tensions of the day that don’t belong to us and by taking responsibility for the things that do belong to us. This is a basic practice of fairness and interpersonal integrity. It is a practice of clearing the mind and meeting the magic of each new day. It is a way of looking forward in life. It is a way of saying to ourselves, “Here comes the good part.”

July 2020

Get Past the Awkward Moment —Rev. Dr. Leon Dunkley

There were two naked people knocking on the front door of the house in the middle of the day. In all other ways, it was a regular day. The sun was out. It wasn’t too hot. It wasn’t too cold. The mail was delivered on time. The sky wasn’t falling. The world wasn’t ending. There was a roof over the family’s head and there was food enough to eat… Everything was absolutely normal…except for the naked people knocking on the front door…casually. Maybe that part was the weirdest thing.

This broad daylight nudity is the opening event of a recent public service announcement (or PSA). A short skit ensues. It talks about the need for proper sex education for youth and young adults—for all of us, really. This is a daring and wonderfully funny video. It’s making the rounds online. It is called “‘Porn stars’ deployed in New Zealand government’s online safety campaign.” It was part of New Zealand’s Keep It Real program designed to encourage parents to have meaningful conversations with the children about…you know…the birds and the bees.

The video is awkward and hilarious (in my opinion). Two naked people knock on the front door of a home in the suburbs in the morning hours. A woman (the mother) is dressed in a robe and politely answers the door. She has a towel on her head. Clearly, she has just gotten out of the shower.

Needless to say, the woman is a bit shocked by the nudity on the front porch. Who wouldn’t be shocked by two naked people on your front doorstep in the morning? The naked woman is the first to speak. She did most of the talking. She said, “Hiya! I’m Sue. This is Derek.” Derek smiled and waved politely. Naked Sue explained their presence. She said, “We’re here because your son just looked us up online…you know, to watch us.”

Awkward.

The robed and toweled woman-mother was surprised. She was slack-jawed. She nearly spills her coffee but she didn’t. She composes herself. She called for her son to come downstairs and she asked a clarifying question: “So, he watches you online…?” She wanted to be sure that she understood what the naked people were implying.

Naked Sue and Naked Derek took the anxious mother’s cue and provided her with the information that she needed. She is told about the many different ways that her son accessed sexual content on the Internet. Then, Naked Sue explained (quite casually, actually), “We usually perform for adults but your son is just a kid. He might not know how relationships actually work.” Turning toward Derek, Sue continued, “We don’t even talk about consent, do we?” Derek shakes his head and Sue says, “We just get straight to it.” The PSA is both serious and light-hearted.

Answering his mother’s call, the poor kid comes down the stairs. He’s about ten. He’s got a laptop in one hand and a bowl of breakfast cereal with milk in the other. He sees his secret, fantasy characters standing right before him in real life…and drops his breakfast on the floor. No one reacts…which is funny…especially when the 1950s, Americana theme music kicks in.

At this point, the mother engages—full power, full speed. Calmly, wisely, she says, “Alright. It sounds like it’s time to have a talk about the difference between what you see online and real-life relationships. No judgment.” The mother’s attitude was serious but delightful. The kid was at a loss, to say the least, but he did just great.

Then, the public service announcement narrator took over and said, “Many young kiwis are using porn to learn about sex” and the skit was over. Mission accomplished…with a whole lot of joy thrown in for good measure.

The whole thing is so well done. It has generated a lot of conversation about a subject that many of us find so difficult to talk about. In a healthy and light-hearted way, this porn star PSA breaks through pretenses and makes a point—it is so important to talk openly and honestly about sex and sexuality.

Unitarian Universalists have long believed that healthy conversation about sex and sexuality a high value, something to be cherished. That’s why educators from the Unitarian Universalist Association together with educators from the United Church of Christ got together and created a series of courses called Our Whole Lives (or OWL) in the 1990s. There are six, different, age-appropriate courses:

Kindergarten–1st grade
4th grade–6th grade
7th grade–9the grade
10th grade–12th grade
Young adults (18- to 35-year-olds)
Adults (36+-year olds)

It is an important subject for everyone, at every stage of living.

Having healthy conversations about sex and sexuality with our loved ones is such an important thing to do. Of course, it’s uncomfortable. Of course, it’s awkward and embarrassing sometimes. But it is also beneficial.

Sex is important for all of us. We’d be nowhere without it. Becoming comfortable talking about sex and sexuality is a way to be real and honest with one another. When we know that we can be real and honest with one another about the things that are important in life, we experience our lives in a much more meaningful way. Yes, it might be weird and embarrassing and awkward but so what? It’s better to go through a little discomfort together than it is to go it alone and leave things up to the Internet. Go ahead and talk with the people that you love. If you need help, we have the tools that you need. I promise you, it’s better than waiting until the naked people start knocking on the front door.

June 2020

“Enduring With…” —Rev. Dr. Leon Dunkley

There is a saying that we used to value that no longer matters because it’s no longer true. Something that we held dear is lost to us. We once believed that: Life is not measured in the number of breaths we take but in the number of times life leaves us breathless.

We have lost the meaning of these words.

It is hard when we lose something that has been precious to us but we have lost the beauty of this poetry. We’ve lost its value, its elegance and its currency…because when one is prone…when one’s body is pressed face-down into the pavement, when one’s legs are restrained and when one’s neck is crimped beneath the crushing weight of an agent of the state, life most certainly is measured in “the number of breaths we take.”

Sixteen times, on May 25th, George Floyd said, “I can’t breathe.” As he cried, four police officers who were supposed to have been sworn to his protection did not hear him…or could not hear him…or would not hear him…or did not care. Together, they took his life and stole the meaning of our poetry on an otherwise peaceful Monday evening.

Three days later, at the site of this killing, a protest was organized. A woman named Gwen Carr spoke out bravely. She recognized, shockingly, that, The police officers come into our neighborhoods. They brutalize. They terrorize. They murder our children. And we have done nothing.

Gwen Carr was anguished and helpless. She could not have been otherwise. For what happened to George Floyd also happened to her own son six years earlier.

Gwen Carr is the mother of a man named Eric Garner. In mid-July of 2014, on suspicion of improperly selling cigarettes, her son was killed on Bay Street in Staten Island. Like George Floyd in Minneapolis, Eric Garner in Staten Island was prone, held face-down on the sidewalk. His legs were restrained by others as the forearm of a 29-year-old officer named Daniel Pantaleo choked his neck and crushed his throat. Gasping for air and for life, Eric Garner cried out, “I can’t breathe.” The police officers in Staten Island did not, could not or would not hear him…or they didn’t care.

We’ve lost something in three different ways—instantly, over the span of nine quick minutes and slowly over the course of long years. Something within us dies that is connected to these three kinds of loss—something immeasurably beautiful, something precious, something lovely. George and Eric and so many others were just this—immeasurably beautiful, precious and lovely. They were also, all of them, black. This we can clearly name. We cannot always name what we have lost. Most often, it only clarifies in retrospect.

In an interview with CNN, Garner’s daughter Erica felt that it was pride and not racism that led to the officer choking her father. Erica held a vigil and “die-in” on December 11, 2014, on Staten Island in memory of her father, near where he died. On her Twitter account, she vowed to continue to lead protests in Staten Island twice a week, lying down in the spot where her father collapsed and died.

Eric Garner did not collapse and die. It’s not like he had a heart attack at 46 years of age. He was tackled by a team of police officers and choked to death on the street. It matters that we continue tell the story correctly. It matters to his daughter—or it would have, at any rate. She died three and five months after her father did. She had a heart attack. He did not. She died at 27. She had lost something precious. She searched to find it for the rest of her life.

It is our nature to search for meaning. We rally for our redemption. We rise up for our release. We grieve the loss of countless and nameless and truly precious things. We cry out and we fight back with every strength that we can muster. We rend our garments. We cry to heaven. We break and fall down on our knees. We do what does and what does not work, trying to make sense of things. We search for meaning. We do the very best we can.

Cities have burned from the times of ancient Troy and biblical Jericho. So, when to present-day cities burn like they did in Los Angeles after Rodney King, like they did in Ferguson after Michael Brown and like they are Minneapolis, Chicago, Atlanta and elsewhere, we can pass judgment if we choose to do so. It is an understandable, fear-based response. We could do that but our gesture may not be very helpful. For it is not true that we are disconnected from one another. We are not special. We are not better. We are just removed. “There but for the grace of God go I.”

We are removed—by distance, by culture and by circumstance…but mostly, by empathetic witness. If we were seeing with our own eyes what they are seeing with theirs… If we were feeling in our own bodies what they are feeling in theirs… If we knew that “they” and “we” are one in the same. If we ALL knew in our souls all what is available for us to know, we may know better the meaning of compassion—compassion for George Floyd and his family, compassion for Eric Garner and his family, compassion for all those who we have lost to this violence, compassion for those who are marching on the streets today and, tenderly, compassion for ourselves.

In the context of a global pandemic, we have witnessed something that is further traumatizing. We are all trying to make some sense of this. Deepest compassion will be most helpful now. We have lost something that we have loved. We have lost someone precious and we are grieving. We will either allow our souls to grow from this or we won’t. And at this point, one question remains: “What will be our loving choice?”

May we stay wise and brave. May it be so. Blessed be and amen.

May 2020

Stir-crazy —Rev. Dr. Leon Dunkley

stir·crazy
(adjective): restless or frantic because of confinement, routine, etc.: I was stir·crazy after two months of keeping house.

Combing the internet for a little good news is a daily activity for me. I am often either disappointed or mildly entertained. It usually passes the time in a satisfying way, so I keep at it. Every so often, I find a gem…like the one with the sweet and kind looking music teacher at the elementary school who was interviewed on a local TV station. She was so proud at having responded to the COVID-19 crisis with positivity. She had her ukulele with her. She had written a song for those who were having a hard time because they were stuck inside. She was gonna sing it live on the TV news.

She introduced the song sincerely. She had written it for children. It was quaint. All major chords. Soft strumming. I was sure that I was in for a lot of sweetness. Probably too much.

As the musical introduction concluded and as the first verse was about to begin, she drew her breath in deeply and then let out a frightful scream! Her faces convulsed in rage and indignation. She was furious. This little, tiny, sweet-looking elementary school music teacher let out a scream that could curdle the milk of dragons!

I fell out laughing. I didn’t see it coming. I could never have predicted it. I am not surprised, though. This situation is driving us all collectively crazy. It’s a good thing that we are all in this thing together because if we weren’t, our individual craziness would be a lot more obvious.

Joni Mitchell has a song call People’s Party. I tend to think of this song when I think about how different we all are. Joni writes,

All the people at this party
They’ve got a lot of style
They’ve got stamps of many countries
They’ve got passport smiles
Some are friendly
Some are cutting
Some are watching it from the wings
Some are standing in the center
Giving to get something
Photo Beauty gets attention
Then her eye paint’s running down
She’s got a rose in her teeth
And a lampshade crown
One minute she’s so happy
Then she’s crying on someone’s knee
Saying, laughing and crying
You know it’s the same release
I told you when I met you
I was crazy

If we weren’t already, we are all becoming more and more like the writer of this song. Crazy. Crazy like Patsy Kline when she sings, “Crazy, crazy for feeling so lonely.” Crazy like Prince when he asks,

Are-we-gon-na let the elevator
Bring us down, oh, no let’s go
Let’s go crazy, let’s get nuts!!!

It’s probably ok to lose it a little. It’s gonna happen whether we want it to or not. I figure we might as well make a space for the crazy feelings and love life, whatever may come our way. Let’s go crazy, but like the song asks us to. Let’s not the let what is designed to lift us up do the opposite. Prince asks, “Are we gonna let the elevator break us down?” In other words, let’s go up, not down.

Michelle Obama advised us. She said, “When they go low, we go high.” In other words, let’s go up, not down. Let’s rise, not fall. Let’s climb up the ladders of life and when it’s time to come back down to earth, let’s do it gracefully. Let’s do it with a sense of humor and humility. I lose that sometimes.

I had a horrible day yesterday. I was realizing some pretty difficult things, to be sure. But I wasn’t processing my emotions very well. I got really sad. I reached out to some friends for comfort. And then, I didn’t want what they were offering.

I took some time for myself. I took a walk to move the energy in my body and I waited for the storm to pass. And slowly it did. Then, I checked in with my friends again and told them that I was feeling better. They were glad. A couple of them said that they had recently gone through difficult times, just like I had. I guess that happens to all of the people at this party. Joni Mitchell’s song ends in a lovely way. She sings,

I feel like I’m sleeping, can you wake me?
You seem to have a broader sensibility
I’m just living on nerves and feelings with a weak and a lazy mind
And coming to people’s parties, fumbling deaf dumb and blind
I wish I had more sense of humor, keeping the sadness at bay
Throwing the lightness on these things
Laughing it all away

For me, this is sage advice. As the urgency of our current emergency changes into an on-going experience, let’s wake up to the crazy goodness that is all around us. Let’s open our eyes and our minds as broadly as possible and throw the lightness over the difficult days.

And if that doesn’t work, we can always just grab the nearest ukulele, admit that we’re going a little stir·crazy and sweetly scream!

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