Memorial Day

 My parents and I watched the National Memorial Day Concert last night. I cried no less than three times.

 

Hearing the stories of men and women who have gone to war and loved and lost was very powerful. The concert moved between dramatic monologues, music, and commentary, and it honored nine women who fought in WWII and five men who earned Medals of Honor for their bravery and sacrifice.

 

The dramatic monologues were what brought me to tears. A famous actor read the words of real-life veterans and then went to hug the veterans after bringing their stories to life. I cried at the poignant meetings every time.

 

In one monologue, a man from the Lakota tribe said something like, “War is for killing, but I wasn’t ready to die.” That phrase, “War is for killing,” keeps repeating itself in my head. Yes, there are larger issues at play for most wars, but when it comes down to it, isn’t killing what war is about? And yet, around the world, day after day, there are wars…and people die in them. And not only do they die, but they die brutal, painful deaths. This makes me sad.   

 

In another monologue, a husband and wife shared their story of how they lost not one but two sons to war. One was killed on the battlefield. One died from suicide—the quiet killer of war. The husband, a General who had himself seen war, and his wife both sought mental health services to deal with their grief. In time, they came to realize that their sons’ stories needed to be told—especially regarding mental health. An average of 20 veterans a day commit suicide because of all they’ve seen, heard, smelled, and experienced in war. No one should have to suffer alone—especially the men and women who have sacrificed their lives for our freedom.

 

And so today, on this Memorial Day, I pause to give thanks for people I will never know who never made it back from war, physically, mentally, or emotionally. I pause to send light, love, strength, courage, and stamina to the loved ones of those who have lost their people to war, and I pause to send the same to those who have returned from war but who daily struggle to go on.

 

Oh God, hear the prayers of your people today.

 

Amen. 

I Am Angry

 I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t angry.

I AM angry.

I’m angry at the political strongholds that divide this country.

I’m angry at us against them.

I’m angry at 18-year-olds being able to purchase semi-automatic rifles on their birthdays.

I’m angry that I have to think about escape routes and locked doors and what I would do if I heard or saw a school shooter—and, no, I would not feel safer if I were carrying a firearm because I know just how easy it would be for a student to overtake me and have free access to the weapon.

I’m angry at the injustices in the legal system, especially injustices seen by people of color.

I’m angry at the lack of respect for persons who work in helping professions…and for Veterans.

I’m angry at policymakers who make policies based on money rather than human lives.

I’m angry at the lack of concern for adequate mental health services in our country.

I’m angry at people trying to destroy the public schools.

And I’m angry at the County Commissioners for saying that teachers don’t deserve a supplement increase because we are only doing a “mediocre job.”

Try teaching through a pandemic!

Try teaching students who have lived through major trauma!

Try teaching academic subject matter when social and emotional needs are not being met!

Then tell me that we’re doing a mediocre job!

And I’m angry at the School Board chairman for not begrudging teachers who leave the county for a better paying job. She said, “It’s a geography thing. If I can drive 20 minutes up the road and have $8000 more in my pocket than I was getting at home…I totally understand why they do it.”

There doesn’t seem to be concern in that statement.

There doesn’t seem to be the fight to keep good teachers in the county.

There doesn’t seem to be a fight to keep good teachers at all.

So, yes. I am angry.

My brow is furrowed.

My jaw is clenched.

My heart is rate up.

My body is tense.

I feel defeated…

 

…And then the Pastor has us repeat after her,

And tears fill my eyes:

 

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me bring love.
Where there is offense, let me bring pardon.
Where there is discord, let me bring union.
Where there is error, let me bring truth.
Where there is doubt, let me bring faith.
Where there is despair, let me bring hope.
Where there is darkness, let me bring your light.
Where there is sadness, let me bring joy.
O Master, let me not seek as much
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love,
for it is in giving that one receives,
it is in self-forgetting that one finds,
it is in pardoning that one is pardoned,
it is in dying that one is raised to eternal life.

 

Oh God: Transform this anger into righteous action, and somehow, through it all, like You, let me be an instrument of peace. Amen. 

Annie's Trap Belly

 It’s warm, fluffy, and inviting,

But it’s a trap.

When Annie the Cat lays on her back with her belly exposed,

She doesn’t necessarily want to be rubbed.

She might just be stretching.

Or she might want to play.

It’s hard to know,

Unless you put your hand in the trap

And see if it snags you.

 

If she’s sleep, then she might not attack.

But if she’s awake, more often than not,

Then she will reach up with her paws,

Grab your hand, and

Scratch you playfully.

But it still hurts!

And my hand is still marked with scratches!

 

I don’t know why I let her belly tempt me.

I even say, every time she’s on her back,

“Annie’s trap belly is open.”

But then I knowingly risk my hand to pet that super soft, pretty fur.

 

I think that sometimes life is like this, too.

We don’t always know why we do the things we do,

And yet we do them anyway,

Understanding that risk is involved,

But hoping against hope that we will receive

Reward over trapping.

 

What is a temptation you cannot resist?

 

What is something you struggle to turn away from?

 

What is your warm, fluffy cat belly?

 

Be encouraged, friend:

You’re not alone today. 

Fear

 I was brushing my teeth last night when I heard a rustling coming from the bathroom fan.

Unsure of what I was hearing, I looked up and into the fan.

And there I saw it:

A bat.

Or at least I think it was a bat.

I was so freaked out that I immediately left the bathroom,

Toothbrush still in mouth.

I.

Am.

Scared.

Of.

Bats.

All I could think was that the bat was going to slip through one of the slits in the bathroom fan,

Escape the bathroom and get into the house,

And then randomly fly at my head

When I least expected it--

Like happened a few years ago.

 

It’s the element of surprise that I’m afraid of.

 

It’s not knowing when a bat is going to fly at my head.

It’s not knowing when someone is going to cross the yellow line.

It’s not knowing when someone is going to die.

It’s not knowing when a gunman is going to appear in a crowd,

Or at a school,

Or a church,

Or a corner convenience store,

And senselessly murder innocent victims,

Including children.

 

I fell asleep crying last night,

The bathroom door closed,

Light and glasses on,

Annie lying beside me,

Full of irrational fear of bats,

Full of rational fear of guns,

Praying “We don’t know how to pray here,

Stay here,

All we can hope is that You’re here…”

Even in the midst of anger and fear.

Amen.

Image of the Kingdom of God

 Last week during one of my Kindergarten classes, I saw a picture of the Kingdom of God.

 

Students were given the task of doing two things: 1) Use small, quiet movements when the music is soft, and 2) Use big, bold movements when the music is loud. We were working on dynamics.

 

While all my classes happily accomplished the task, only one of my classes turned it into a group activity.

 

Moving away from their seats and onto the dance floor, a few of the girls decided to make a dance circle. They happily moved the circle to the music, somehow changing their movements when the music switched from loud to soft and back again.

 

As I watched the dance circle move, I marveled as different children inserted themselves into the circle. With excitement and grins on their faces, they’d run up to the circle, un-hold some hands, insert themselves into the mix, and then reconnect the circle with joined hands.

 

It didn’t matter if they were male or female.

It didn’t matter if they were black or white or brown.

It didn’t matter if they were quiet or loud.

It didn’t matter if they were rich or poor.

 

All were welcomed into the circle. And some were even welcomed into the center of the circle.

 

Smiling in happiness

While working together in

Inclusivity,

Having a wonderful time

Being together.

 

This is the Kingdom of God.

 

May we learn from the Kindergarteners today. Amen.  

Safe Place

 I recently read the story of a teacher who came under scrutiny because she had a rainbow flag hanging outside her classroom door.

 

A school board member in her district said, “There are no flags like the Confederate or Nazi flags allowed so a rainbow flag shouldn’t be allowed either.”

 

I felt sick when I read that statement.

 

The Confederate flag has come to be a symbol of hate and bigotry. The Nazi flag has always been a symbol of the same.

 

The rainbow flag is the symbol of inclusion. And more importantly in schools, it’s a symbol of a safe place—of a teacher whose classroom is safe for a student who may be questioning or struggling—not just with sexuality but with life.

 

Did you know that LGBTQ+ youth are at greater risk for depression, suicide, and substance abuse than non-LGBTQ+ youth?

 

And did you know that creating safe spaces for LGBTQ+ youth (along with anti-bullying and anti-harassment programs) has been shown to reduce this risk?

 

So isn’t hanging a rainbow flag outside her classroom a reasonable thing for a teacher to do when the teacher actually cares for her students?

 

And shouldn’t a school-board member care for the district’s students enough to know this?

 

God. You don’t push yourself on people. You give us the ability to choose. So help us, as leaders, to stop trying to push our morality on others and instead give others the ability to be themselves. The bottom line is that you are Love. And in Love, there is safety and a desire for life—not depression, suicide, and substance abuse. You have given us the responsibility to love. So help us to do that. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when it’s difficult. Even when we don’t understand. You will help us understand if we are willing to have eyes to see. Help us to be willing. And help us to see the beautiful colors of all you have created. Amen. 

Not My President?

 Car Rider Duty, Friday Afternoon

 

Me: Well, hey! I haven’t seen you in awhile!

Grandmother who has a Bible sitting on her dashboard: Yeh. She’s been riding the bus.

Me: I thought she must be riding the bus.

Grandmother: She should have been riding the bus all along. With gas at $4 a gallon.

Me: Yeh. Gas IS expensive these days.

Grandmother: Yeh. Thanks to ya’ll’s President.

Me: (Momentarily confused)

Grandmother: He sure ain’t my President. I can tell you that.

Me: (Silent) *Then the student gets to the car and I wish her a happy weekend.*

 

…

 

That conversation shook me.

 

It upset me.

   

It disheartened me.                      

 

Regardless of whether we agree with a President’s political views and actions, we are still citizens of the United States, and many of us—especially those of us who are white, and she was white—live in privilege because of that fact every day.

 

True. I may wholeheartedly disagree with a President. I may think his (and I must use “his” here because we haven’t yet moved forward enough to be able to include a “her” option) views, actions, and policies very bad and very wrong, but he is still the President. And the President, for better or worse, is the visible leader of the nation that affords us our rights and freedoms.

 

We’re supposed to be “one nation, under God, indivisible” and yet all I see and hear is division. And evidently, there is a vast group of people who don’t even consider it one nation. Not if “he sure ain’t my President.”

 

We’ve lost all decency in argument. All tact in disagreement. All respect in respect. All common in courtesy. And we have landed on sharply opposite sides of belief.  It’s us against them. Men against women. Black against white. Rich against poor. Conservative Christian against all others. Nation against nation.

 

And it’s upsetting.

 

It’s disheartening.

 

And it leaves me feeling very sad.

 

God. Help. Please. We’re in a mess. People are hurting. And your name is being used to justify the hurt. My heart aches. My spirit aches. We are moving backwards. Hate and division are not of You. Ignorance and lies are not of You. And yet our reality is filled with hate, division, ignorance, and lies. Help us to rise above. Help us to find Your true, prophetic voice. Help us to stay the course, even when it’s hard, and even when we don’t agree with a President, or Congress, or Pastor, or Parents, or Past, or anyone and anything else. Help us to move forward, into a better tomorrow, where all are welcome at the table—even those we don’t like. Amen.  

All Created Equal?

 My dad was watching the news last night when the barrage of political ads began. A few minutes later, I found myself feeling very uneasy, with a furrowed brow.

 

While holding a shotgun, one candidate proudly touted that he was pro-life and supported 2^nd amendment rights. Those were his full qualifications.

 

I don’t know much about politics, but it seems to me that there is a whole lot more to it than that.

 

…

 

I’ve been working on a book called Making Blackout Poetry Activist Edition. All the pages are political documents, broken into sections by theme. For the past week, the theme has been America and Civil Rights.  

 

I’ve read excerpts from Frederick Douglass’s “The Meaning of July Fourth for the Negro,” “Dred Scott v. Sandford” Supreme Court Hearing from 1857, Andrew Jackson’s First Annual Message to Congress, Chief Joseph’s “An Indian’s View of Indian Affairs,” Abraham Lincoln’s “Gettysburg Address,” Ida B. Wells’ “Lynch Law In All Its Phases,” Brown vs. Board of Education Supreme Court Hearing from 1954, Lyndon B. Johnson’s “Special Message to Congress” from 1965, and Barack Obama’s “Remarks by the president on the fiftieth anniversary of the Selma to Montgomery marches.”  

 

I’ve gotten mad.

 

I’ve cried more than once.

 

I’ve wanted to read more.

 

And I’ve blacked out everything but:

 

“Each person is bound to all other persons.”

 

“It is difficult to realize that the negro was bought and sold and treated as an ordinary article of merchandise whenever a profit could be made.”

 

“Indian removal by the white man was savage.”

 

“Provide protection for any child under eighteen years of age.”

 

“There was room for all to live in peace

But the native peoples were forcibly removed from their ancestral lands.

It was harrowing and heartbreaking.”

 

“All are created equal.

We struggle to remember.”

 

“The race problem has never been settled because the right methods have not been employed in the solution.”

 

“Consider children.

To separate them from others solely because of their race generates a feeling of inferiority that may affect their hearts and minds and motivation to learn.”

 

“To ensure true freedom and equality,

All of us must overcome the crippling legacy of bigotry and injustice.

It cannot wait.

It is right in the eyes of God.”

 

“Admit reality.

Look at the problem.

Possess moral imagination.

Feel the fierce urgency of now.

Change depends on us.”

 

…

 

So yes. I think politicians have more to be concerned about than the limited view of life that has come to be associated with pro-life and 2^nd amendment rights.

 

…

 

God help us. For the rights of all people—black, white, brown, and all colors in between—women and men and all genders in between—gay, straight, bi, and all sexualities in between—Christian, non-Christian, non-Religious, and all religions in between—children, widows, Veterans, and all the vulnerable in between—rich, poor, middle class, and all socio-economic levels in between—let there be hope. Help there to be voices for us all, not just voices of limited understanding, fear, and bigotry. Oh God, we are a messed-up people who take your name in vain by planting our flags on issues far from your heart. Forgive us, God, and help us to wave our flags, instead, for the freedom found in Love.

 

“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”—Micah 6:8

 

Amen.

Psalm 23

 As I was preparing for yesterday’s sermon on Psalm 23, one of the commentary writers suggested that I read Psalm 23 in the negative. “The Lord is not my shepherd” was the example that the writer gave, and then he/she left the rest of the Psalm to imagination.

 

I did as the writer suggested but only made it through the first couple of lines before tears formed in my eyes. I felt so sad and empty. I realized, for the first time, just how comforting Psalm 23 was, and I found myself extremely grateful.

 

The next day, I was not able to get the exercise off my mind. After tearing up just talking about it, I decided to write it out:

 

The Lord is my distant manager; I am in want.

He allows me lie down on rocky land; He sees as I walk toward dangerous waters. 

He doesn’t care that I am exhausted; or how much I wander on winding paths under his watch.

I walk through the lowest and scariest points of my life in fear, for I am abandoned. You are not with me and do not protect or comfort me. 

You do not celebrate with me. My enemies surround and attack me. They rejoice in my misfortune. You leave my wounds to fester. I am in such need.

Certainly, hardship and judgment will chase me all my days; and I will be alone forever.

 

I don’t know about you, but I’m glad that this view of God is not the view that I cling to. I’m glad that Jesus refers to himself as the Good Shepherd, and I’m glad to know that I am one of his sheep.

 

True. Sheep aren’t the smartest animals in the world. They have no sense of direction. They’re relatively defenseless. They can’t get themselves up when knocked on their backs. They can’t care for themselves when wounded. They often don’t know what’s good for them. So being a sheep doesn’t sound like something to strive for!

 

And yet. Sheep trust their shepherd to take care of them. They don’t try to go at life alone. They trust in Someone Bigger than themselves. And they are led, protected, and cared for.

 

There’s a camp song that says, “I just wanna be a sheep, baaaa, baaaa. I just wanna be a sheep, baaaa, baaaa. Cause Jesus loves the sheep. I just wanna be a sheep, baaaaa, baaaa.”

 

May we sing that song today, knowing that:

 

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art

with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

 

Amen.   

Global Citizens

 I once heard someone say that elementary music teachers either teach music or they teach through music. I imagine that most elementary music teachers choose music, but I am not most. I teach life through music, and I try to create little people who grow up to be intelligent, respectful, and appreciative music makers and/or music consumers in this world.

 

I focus a lot on the goal of “understand[ing] global, interdisciplinary, and 21^st century connections with music.” I try to connect music to concepts of reading, math, science, and social studies. I love it when a kid asks me why we’re doing math in music. “Oh, little one,” I want to say, “you have no idea how much of music IS math!”

 

For the past three weeks, my 2^nd and 3^rd graders have been focusing the geographical concepts of city, state, country, and continent. Even though they can’t fully grasp the difference between the four, they know now—hopefully—that we go to school in the city of Sanford, in the state of NC, in the country of the United States, on the continent of North America. They also now know—hopefully—the names of the standard seven continents and the fact that there are 195 countries and many, many more cities in the world!

 

We have looked at a diagram on the white board. We have explored Google Earth. We have listened to and performed many different songs, chants, and raps. And this week, we are doing centers where students get to do one of four things: read children’s continent books/atlases, study the globe, color continent maps, or do continent puzzles…

 

Each year, teachers are required to create a Professional Development Plan. One of my goals for this year was to use centers in my classroom at least once. I knew the concept. I knew that it worked. But due to logistical issues and a bit of the fear of the unknown, I had put off achieving the goal for years. Last week, I decided that this week would be the week that I stopped talking and started doing. I’m so glad that I did.

 

I can’t tell you how thrilled my students have been with centers. They have exclaimed how fun they are. They have worked together to complete puzzles. They have cheered when completing said puzzles. They have gathered in groups to study the globes. They have been actively learning, and I have watched in awe as some of our most challenging students have completely transformed into fully engaged learners…

 

Honestly, I don’t know what musical concepts my 2^nd and 3^rd graders have gleaned from their unit on the Continents. But maybe it doesn’t matter. Because, personally, I have achieved a goal that has been a long time in coming and I have become a better teacher in the process. And maybe becoming better—maybe overcoming the fear of the unknown—maybe connecting learning to real life—maybe creating global citizens who realize that they aren’t the center of the universe—is the most important thing that I can teach…

   

Thank you, teachers, for the work that you do. Teach on. And teach well. And know that you make a difference. Amen.

The Authority of Scripture

 Yesterday, I was listening to the day’s gospel reading and I laughed: Peter was in his boat, with his friends, fishing naked. When he saw Jesus, he evidently thought, “I need clothes,” so he put on clothes and jumped into the water rather than waiting a few minutes for the boat to get to shore. Yes, this story fits with Peter’s zealous spirit and impulsive nature and it leads us to think of when Peter stepped out of boat to walk on water. But why did John need to include the fact that Peter was fishing naked? (John 21:7)

 

I was recently listening to Jesus’s gospel teachings and I thought: Jesus’s teachings are hard. They often don’t make sense. Jesus rarely, if ever, answers a question directly. He speaks in parables and questions. And He tells us to do difficult things—like hate our families (Luke 14:26).

 

I was recently sent a quote that read: It’s odd being told to take scripture literally, but when you take Christ’s first sermon literally—“bring good news to the poor, health to the sick, set prisoners free, and liberate the oppressed”—you get told to stop being political and that social justice isn’t biblical (B. Cremer).

 

I was recently asked my view on the authority of scripture. I responded: Scripture as recorded in the Bible is the Word of God, inspired by God, written down and recorded by humans under the direction of God. The Old Testament, comprised of many different types of writing, written for many different purposes, records the story of God’s interaction with God’s people, primarily the Hebrew people as they move through cycles of knowing and being close to God, moving away from God, experiencing the consequences of this movement, and returning to God.  The New Testament is the story of God’s interaction with God’s people, all people, Jew and Gentile (Galatians 3:28), through Jesus Christ and Christ’s body, the church. The Story of God as recorded in the Bible is a story that remains alive and active through the work and interpretation of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit illuminates the truths of scripture and makes them applicable to current life and culture. It is because of the Spirit’s continued work through scripture that the Bible holds authority today. 

 

Dear God: Help us to stop arguing about a literal reading of scripture. Help us instead, through the Spirit, to read scripture as your living Word, ever-infused with new life and meaning. We are part of a larger Story that we cannot fully comprehend. Help us to move forward in that story, taking with us all that is You and leaving behind all that is not. Amen.