Spirit Pages
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.
Spirit Pages are linked below:
April 2021 - Fun and Foolishness
March 2021 - Learning How to Fly
February 2021 - Start Working on Your Answer!
December 2020 - Finding Ways through the Darkness
November 2020
Spirit Pages—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 don’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,
LD
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
“It was Thursday night. I was watching CNN, watching the protests in Minneapolis. It was breaking my heart. This song started coming to me and so, I just paid attention to it and wrote it down. I didn’t let my pen stop. I had Rachel over on my right shoulder, looking over me. So, I thought I’d do it. I’m not really in good form these days. I’m towards the end of my chemo. So, it’s hard for me to sing properly or play [guitar] or do anything properly. I just want to get this down before I forgot it. It’s called $20 Bill. It’s for George Floyd.” — Tom Prasada-Rao
$20 Bill (for George Floyd)
By Tom Prasada-Rao — 5/28/20, Silver Spring MD
Some people die for honor, some people die for love
Some people die while singing to the heavens above
Some people die believing in the cross on Calvary’s hill
And some people die in the blink of an eye for a $20 bill
Some people go out in glory with the wind at their back
Some get to tell their own story, write their own epitaph
Sometimes you see it coming and sometimes you don’t know until
You run out of breath with a knee on your neck for a $20 bill
Brother, I never knew you and now I never will
But I make this promise to you I’ll remember you still
Take, eat. Let this be our communion, it’s time to break the bread
Do this in remembrance just like the good book said
Sometimes the wine is a sacrament, sometimes the blood is just spilled
Sometimes the law is the devils’ last straw and the future unfulfilled
Like the dream they killed for a $20 bill
Rest in peace
“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!