Brother and Sister

This week we take to heart Mother Teresa’s reminder, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
Well, if we do belong to one other, then “they”—the “least of these” and those without voices—are indeed, our children.
Ours to care for.
Ours to listen to.
Ours to see.
Yes. And it begins here… the permission to see.
“You’re a minister? Well, what do you believe?” Some church people like to ask me. They can’t help themselves.
Okay, here you go.
God has a heart for those who are left out, forgotten, and excluded.
God’s grace is bigger than anything which distances and separates and wounds us.
You are God’s beloved child, and God’s love for you is unconditional.
When I see acts of exclusion or cruelty, or acts that disparage inclusion, I feel it, viscerally, and my beliefs matter.
You see, I was raised in a church scared silly about grace. The God I was taught to worship and obey and fear, was no different than an alcoholic father. You walked on pins and needles to avoid fury. And expected punishment (which was always called a form of love).
In your heart, you prayed for a smile.
And when your alcoholic parent smiles, you still cower, because in your heart you know it will not last. And you know when the smile thaws, it will be your fault. You see, shame leaves a stain on your spirit.
And with that kind of God, it is no surprise that we need people on the outside, so we can point and label and condemn, and make ourselves feel better.
Gratefully, here is what I witnessed this past week: People of all walks of life, from every color and religion, choosing to change the narrative. We do indeed belong to each other, and it reminds me of a story.

A grandmother takes her granddaughter to the park.
On the swing set, two children already happily swinging. A boy and a girl. The girl, gregarious, says to the grandmother, “Hi lady. What are we? Can you guess?”
The woman looked at the two children, and recognized from skin tone and features, they appeared Asian. So, she said, “Well, I don’t know. But I think you’re from Thailand? Are you Thai?” “No,” the little said shaking her head.
“Are you Vietnamese?” “No,” and another shake of the head. The woman tried two more countries, each receiving a No and shake of the head.
The little girl, now a little impatient, says, “No lady, what are we?”
“I guess I just don’t know. What are you?”
“We’re brother and sister,” the little girl said with a very big smile.
Yes.
An affirmation of Coretta Scott King’s reminder, “The greatness of a community is most accurately measured by the compassionate actions of its members, a heart of grace, and a soul generated by love.”
Do you know of Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s legacy of Ubuntu? It reminds us that a person is a person, through other persons. Yes. My humanity is bound up in yours. Ubuntu does not ask whether we are connected. It tells us that we already are. And allows us the invitation and freedom to give, or receive, or apologize, or forgive, or love, or set right, or grant mercy, or receive mercy.
And to know that my choice is empowered by the gentle sovereignty in that voice, “I see you. You matter.”

Here’s the deal: When our narrative begins with grace and sufficiency, it births compassion, inclusion and connectedness.
I can hear Mr. Rogers’ voice, “It’s not so much what we have in this life that matters. It’s what we do with what we have. The alphabet is fine, but it’s what we do with it that matters most. Making words like ‘friend’ and ‘love’. That’s what really matters.” (We could use more of Mr. Rogers in this world. Just sayin’.)
So, I wonder, how do we find the courage to choose what really matters?
Let us never forget: God’s grace is always bigger than (and never confined by) any dogma we use to comprehend it.

On Saturday, I enjoyed an evening with a group at a Church in Tacoma, WA. Our theme: “This little light of mine.” And I’m smiling big, because I’m grateful for Bruce, who often saves my emotional bacon. When I’m disheartened, I crank up Springsteen’s “This Little Light of Mine” (there’s a link below).
My friends, let us remember that the reservoir is already inside. Buried maybe. Dispirited, maybe. But still the light.
To remember that we don’t create the light. We just get to shine—spill, allow—it.
Sadly, when we spend our energy making rules about light shining, we mistrust, and hide behind labels every time.
The little girl on the swing is my Sankofa.  In previous Sabbath Moments, I’ve talked about Sankofa (from the Akan language of Ghana), associated with the proverb which translates “It is not wrong to go back for that which you have forgotten.”
I need to go back to what I know to be true.
Whenever I am tempted to label and dismiss. Or live from fear. Or dismiss of my own bravery or beauty. Or hide behind dogma, I need the reminder that we are, all of us in this world, broken. And the grace of God is the glue. We will go a long way toward healing if we see vulnerability as our common bond. We are, all of us, held and sustained by God’s grace.
What makes us not see? Or forget?
Put simply, we’re not in our right mind.
And this I know to be true: in my right mind, I know that sanctuary is a place of grace that sustains emotional and spiritual nourishment.
In my right mind, I make choices to nurture my better angels… tolerance, inclusion, generosity, restoration, open-mindedness and redemption.
In my right mind, I know that we are sisters and brothers, and “every kindness large or slight, shifts the balance toward the light” (Thank you Carrie Newcomer).
Beliefs are well and good, but they only matter face to face. Gratefully, there is no special skill required, only your heart.
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November is here, with Thanksgiving and Advent right ‘round the corner. Great opportunities to remember and affirm what really matters. Please use every opportunity to reach out and say “Thank you” to those in your life and world who remind you that Grace and Ubuntu make a difference. Which is my segue, to say thank you to every one of you, for being a part of Sabbath Moment. Onward my friends.

Quote for our week…
“Where there is no love, put love and you will find love.” St. John of the Cross

BULLETIN BOARD

Today’s Photo Credit: Whenever I write about Grace, I think of the garden. They go together, Gardens and Grace. And I love going through recent garden photos, and this one made me smile big, dahlias blooming in England… And thank you to all, I love your photos…

POEMS AND PRAYERS

Open me up to the magic and possibility
of living within what my dear friend calls
“the grace of the day”—
where every gift is savored
for as long as it lasts,
like being lost in a song,
swimming in its layers,
fully present, strangely free,
wanting nothing more from life
than dancing into the next tune.
All is a gift from you for me.
Thank you, Lord.
Stephen Copeland

Music for the Soul…
New–
Ubuntu Voices — Pure A Cappella African Choir
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