Follow The Drinking Gourd

 **Throwback Thursday, 2.25.16**

 

One of my most vivid memories is of an experience that I had on a women’s retreat in Charleston, SC. Late one night, as I walked through the large yard separating the house from the beach, I looked to the sky and located the big dipper. Almost immediately, I started singing “Follow The Drinking Gourd,” imagining myself as a slave running for freedom, walking under the cover of night, having little more to guide me than a constellation in the sky. I quickly determined that I would have been caught.

 

I have been teaching “Follow The Drinking Gourd” for many years. It’s one of the units that my students enjoy the most, and this year has been no different. Between an excellent Reading Rainbow video about the song, the real gourds that one of my coworkers gave me, the textbooks, and a super interactive game by National Geographic, I have been able to present information that has truly fascinated and resonated with many of my students.

 

Since taking some time away from the classroom and working heavily on educating about and fighting against human exploitation, I have found myself fighting back tears more than once when students have breathed a sigh of relief that slavery is no longer legal—or when they’ve asked if slavery still exists and I’ve had to lie to them—or at least highly edit the truth…

 

…Because the truth is that slavery is still very much alive in this world—this country not excluded.

 

The truth is that hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children are held against their will, used, beaten, demeaned, destroyed, bought, and sold every day.

 

The truth is that slaves are brought to America not just from Africa but from destinations around the world.

 

The truth is that slaves are held in or sent out of America from households just around the corner. 

 

The truth is that the clothes and shoes that we wear and the coffee and chocolate we eat and drink is likely produced by slaves.

 

The truth is that slaves are not just working in homes and fields but in restaurants, hotels, nail salons, and massage parlors in our own cities.

 

The truth is that some of my students are vulnerable to becoming slaves themselves—to being lured by the promise of money and a better life but landing instead in invisible chains nearly impossible to break.

 

The truth is that most of the sex workers that we often condemn and the persons seen in the pornography that many Christians secretly watch and that is creating addictions in children as young as 8-years-old are modern day slaves. 

Held against their will. 

Used. 

Beaten. 

Demeaned. 

Destroyed. 

Bought. 

Sold. 

Every day.

 

But I can’t tell my students that. My students are far too young to hear of these atrocities from their public school music teacher. So I tell them stories of the past and teach them songs of courage and hope and pray that they will grow to learn about and fight the slavery that indeed exists under the drinking gourd and beyond.

 

**A brief update: Time and circumstance have changed my teaching a bit, but I still introduce my older students to Wade in The Water, Harriet Tubman, and Follow The Drinking Gourd.**

Belovedness

I’ve heard it said that maybe Jesus’s perfection was not in his moral superiority, but in his being the only person ever to live into the fullness of who God created him to be.

 

If God whispers our identity into being before we are born,

And the world constantly tries to form us into itself,

Away from our identity in God,

Then a person who does not listen to the world, rather listens to God‘s voice,

Is a person not missing the mark, 

A person living into God’s design and perfection. 

 

When God created humanity,

God called us good.

Adam and Eve, 

In their original insecurity,

Forgot that they were created as God’s beloved

And decided to pursue knowledge for themselves, 

Thus realizing their nakedness and sin. 

 

When Jesus was baptized, 

God said this is my son, my beloved, in whom I am well pleased.

Jesus then went into the wilderness and was tempted for 40 days. 

Yet he remembered who he was—

God’s beloved—

And was able to resist temptation.

 

So maybe if we,

In our original insecurity,

Could do as Jesus did,

And remember our worth and value in God, 

Then we could stop seeking security and validation from the things in this world 

And actually enjoy life and work and rest. 

 

We are God’s beloved,

Created in the image of God,

Sustained by the spirit of God,

Redeemed by the life, death, and resurrection of Christ. 

 

We are fully loved. 

We are fully valued.

And we are able to withstand the temptations of this world by remembering who and whose we are.

 

May we surround one another with voices of belovedness today. 

Not moral reprimands. 

Not reminders of how messed up and sinful we are. 

Not slaps on the hand and knives to the heart. 

But belovedness: 

Possibility, goodness, grace, forgiveness, and love. 

 

Amen. 

 

**This is my sermon response to Pastor Ann’s sermon on 2.22.26.**

Who We Are

I think that we each just want to be

loved for who we are. Period. Not the idea
of who we could be. Or the roles in
which we function. Or the services, gifts, and talents

that we offer. But who we are. Good, bad,
ugly. I think we each need to know that
we are honored and adored not by virtue of
performance and perfection but by the triumph of waking
up each day, breathing, and giving life a try.
I think that we each need places of unconditional
acceptance: places to call home. We each need to
know that, to someone, we are not second best--
to someone, we are the cream of the crop,
the top notch, the best thing since sliced bread.
Ideally, I think, we each receive that love from
our families. Ideally, our hunger for acceptance is satisfied

by the seeds that gave us birth or the
partnership that promised to honor and cherish. Ideally, we
find comfort and peace in the place we lay
our heads. No pretense. No intimidation. No fear. Just
rest. And satisfaction. And joy. But when those things
are not there. When we are uncertain of our
value. When we question and doubt the inherent beauty
of existence. When we feel used, or reduced to
function and performance, or we fear failure and disappointment.
When we're forced into a mold that was not
ours to live, paralyzed by discomfort, lost. When our
spirits are not nurtured and allowed the freedom to
soar--to explore the world and discover the depths
of creation, the places where we fit, the points
at which we flourish--we slowly begin to die:
our bodies exhausted, our hearts wounded, our minds numb,
our spirits suffocated and…then what? I suppose we
pick up the pieces and begin to live again.
I suppose we apologize for reducing people to ideas
and roles and function, for identifying individuals by what
they do rather than who they are--what they
like, how they love, when they dream--for not
celebrating unique personality but honoring the status-quo. I suppose
we vow never to let anyone feel as if
she is not loved for who she is. Period.
I suppose we fill the gaping hole called needy
beast with the unfathomable love of God, manifest both
in God's still small, unexplainable voice and the loud
voice of tangible community, and let that love transform
the very core of our being. I suppose we
allow ourselves to feel again, to experience and release
emotion, however raw and difficult, however many tears it
brings, and give it permission to bridge the gap
between knowledge and understanding. We are
all loved for who we are. We are all
created to be who we are. But I think
we each just need to be reminded of that
fact through words and deeds and actions and gifts
and time—that we each need to know that
we are loved for who we are. Period. Over
and over and over and over and over again.

 

—Written in the middle of the night, 

March 3, 2007, 

While sitting at the old desktop computer in my office. 

Originally written in three word phrases, 

Like the Trinity.

This final version is 9 (3x3) words on each line. 

Superwoman

I started this semester taking two different courses: Foundations of Worship and Writing Your Spiritual Autobiography. 

 

The worship class ends tonight. It has planted fresh ideas of worship in my mind and heart and I am so very grateful for how it has influenced me. 

 

The autobiography class ends next week. It has reminded me of the importance of story and challenged me to improve my writing with more sensory detail. It has also forced me to look back on my life and consider what stories are worth sharing for the sake of common humanity. This journey of looking back has been very emotional and caused me to shed many tears. 

 

I’ve written five stories, but I’ve also bound five volumes of poems from five different years. 

 

Starting in seventh grade, long before computers were an American household norm, I would gather the random scraps of paper, napkins, or yellow legal pads that I’d scribbled poems or lyrics on and then copy their words into a blank book. 

 

I did this for over fifteen years until I started writing more on the computer than by hand. At that point, 2004 to be exact, I started printing the poems and lyrics and binding them into yearly books. 

 

This is what I’ve done since taking the autobiography class. I’ve printed and compiled a few years’ poems.  And in the process, I’ve read and remembered. It has been both a joy and a sorrow. 

 

I have laughed at myself and how dramatic I am. I have wondered at myself and what in the world I was trying to say. And I have wept with myself and wanted to go back and give my lost, hurting, broken self a great big hug. 

 

In reading poems from 2007, I found this piece appropriate to share. Our theme at school this year is a superhero theme. But sometimes, we all become weary super heroes. 

 

So I have this

Unrealistic expectation of myself:

Perfection; plain and simple.

(Except that it’s not so plain and simple.)

Reaching for the goal of being all things to all people is

Wearing me down.  Always showing up as asked, wanted, suggested, or needed--

On time, ready to perform well above standard and to

Make every effort to please every opinion in every word and

Action--is really quite complicated.  In fact, right

Now, I would just like to rest.

 

Friends: Whether you find yourself learning about something new or reminiscing about the past, may you honor your journey and find rest today. 

 

Amen. 

Weird Plastic

 

Today’s Throwback Thursday takes us to Johnsonville for A Glimpse Into Elementary Life, 2.11.16

 

Something weird happened during 1st grade music today: a student got a piece of plastic stuck between his teeth.

 

Instead of placing his coat on the back of his chair, one of my students evidently decided to put part of his coat in his mouth.

 

Maybe he had a little piece of food lingering from lunch? Maybe that little piece of food was bothering him so much that he needed to remove it? And maybe the little piece of plastic on his coat seemed like the perfect thing to remove that little piece of food?

 

I don’t know.

 

But for some reason, my student decided to stick a piece of plastic between his teeth. And it got stuck. It got really stuck.

 

When I first noticed that something was wrong, I thought that the kid was trying to pull out a tooth and that he had pulled a string from his coat to help him do this. Thinking this a bit odd, I started some dance music for the rest of the class and walked back to check on the tooth removal operation.

 

I quickly noticed, though, that he wasn’t trying to remove a tooth and that the thing dangling from his mouth wasn’t a thin string but a somewhat thick piece of plastic. Thankfully, when I looked at what was going on, I didn’t see blood gushing from his gums. I also didn’t see any reason that that little piece of plastic should be so wedged in his mouth.

 

Then it hit me: My 1st grader had the remainder of a price tag stuck in his mouth. Having put the “T” behind his teeth, close to the roof of his mouth, he had gotten it so tightly wedged that he couldn’t get it out. When he pulled the plastic forward and down, the “T” simply hit his teeth. The harder he pulled, the more futile his attempt to dislodge it. Unless, of course, he had been trying to pull out a few teeth!

 

As the class began to fall apart from a minute of unsupervised dancing, I began to feel a bit panicked. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with a 1st grader with a coat hanging from his mouth! I knew the weight of the coat was not good for his teeth but I also knew that I couldn’t get the plastic dislodged without gloving up and doing a lot of work that I wasn’t capable of doing in the middle of a falling-apart class.  

 

Then I thought: Cut the plastic! The tag might still be lodged in my student’s mouth but at least the coat wouldn’t be hanging from it as well.  So I cut the plastic.

 

Then I remembered: Thursday is nurse day at my school!

 

A little while after sending my 1st grader to the nurse, the nurse called to see if his class was still with me. They were leaving. My student was leaving, too. The class was going back into the building. My student was going home. With a piece of plastic hanging from his mouth, stuck between his teeth. The nurse couldn’t dislodge it either.

 

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said.

“Me either,” I responded.

Then we both laughed in disbelief,

I silently wished some dentist luck,

And I taught two more plastic-free classes.

Thankfully J.

The Frozen River

I recently finished a book called the Frozen River.

It is a fictional work inspired by the life of an 18th century midwife named Martha Ballard.

The author learned about Martha Ballard from a small devotional book that mentioned Ballard. 

From there, she did research into Martha’s life. 

Martha Ballard delivered over 1000 babies and never lost a mother during childbirth.

She had quite a few children of her own, but lost three to diphtheria.

Her husband taught her to read and write and encouraged Martha to keep a day book. 

She did.

As a result, over 250 years later, we still remember her.

She was not a war hero.

She was not a political figure who signed the Declaration of Independence.

No. She was just an ordinary woman with some extraordinary gifts

Who simply spent many days at home. 

 

On Saturday, we celebrated my niece’s 18th birthday. 

As she opened her gifts, I asked if I should be recording who gave her what. 

She said no, that she’d remember. 

I encouraged her to write it down anyway because in a few years she would forget. 

 

So much life happens so fast that 

Despite our best intentions, we tend to forget the every day events and moments. 

 

I suppose that sometimes we want to forget.

I suppose that sometimes we want to move through the difficult parts of living and not look back.

But I would argue that it’s good to record even the hard times

Because they are part of common humanity. 

 

Common humanity hasn’t changed much over the years. 

They may take different technological forms,

But we still have the same basic hopes and dreams of people hundreds of years ago. 

And sometimes it’s good to be reminded that we’re not alone, 

Even if the person walking with us is walking with us only in story and memory. 

 

My mom has a ten year journal.

Jessy The Spanish Teacher does, too. 

They handwrite a little bit each day and then they are able to compare their writings to the same day from previous years. 

Martha Ballard had a day book that she filled in with feather quill and ink. 

I type notes and poems and little vignettes from life and school. 

I print and bind the poems. 

I also keep spreadsheets and lists, 

Lots of lists, 

That help me remember. 

 

It doesn’t matter how we record and remember. 

It just matters that we do…

So that future generations will not only remember us 

But also know that they are not alone in their

Common humanity. 

 

Your life is important, friend. 

Even the mundane. 

So write away. 

You never know when what you have to stay will 

Connect with and influence 

Someone’s life for the better. 

 

Amen. 

Loving The Hell Out of Them

Throwback Thursday 

Adapted from Loving The Hell Out Of Them…2.1.16

 

I have a friend who works with at-risk teenage girls. Last week, one of the girls pushed her and started to run away. Sadly, this isn’t abnormal behavior for girls who haven’t learned how to form healthy boundaries or how properly to communicate thoughts and feelings. The staff members who work with the girls know the risks involved with the work and are trained in proper restraints and mediation techniques. Even so, it’s hard to be pushed and it’s a helpless feeling to watch someone run away—literally. Yet as the organization’s main supervisor likes to say: The staff is loving the hell out of the girls. 

 

The hell.

The loneliness. Worthlessness. Betrayal. Rage.

The fears. Neglect. Abandonment. Doubts.

The abuse. Molestation. Bullying. Deep anger.

The learning difficulties. Helplessness. Aggravation. Anxiety.

The hell.

 

And so it goes with everyone in the helping professions, especially those who profess Christ. If we believe that God loves us all—Me. You. Family. Friends. At-risk teenage girls and elementary school boys. The people who bother us most, whether we know them personally or not—and we embrace common humanity, then we know that there is a battle between good and evil but that Christ has won the ultimate victory for us all. 

 

Oh, there there are obstacles in embracing this truth. 

There are those who doubt God. 

There are those who push God away. 

“Where is God?” They wonder. “God certainly doesn’t seem to be helping me,” they say. 

 

But if we, God’s people, show up.

If we try. 

If we demonstrate the love of Christ through 

Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control, 

Then we are doing our part to fight against evil. 

We are doing our part to show that Love wins. 

 

True, we may not win the war. 

The war is much bigger than us. 

But we can win individual battles, 

Day in and day out, 

Helping to free people from our individual hells of 

All that tries to damn us to shame. 

 

Through steady presence and resolve, 

Through the love of Christ alone, 

May we love the hell out of one another today. 

 

Amen. 

 

The Toilet Seat

We were in the middle of the toilet seat. 

There was snow all around us,

But we were part of the “dry spot,” the “snow hole,” or whatever you want to call it. 

We had nothing. 

It was very disappointing. 

 

Sometimes we are promised things that just don’t happen. 

A raise. 

A promotion. 

A miracle cure. 

A commitment.

A snow storm. 

 

We believe what we are told and 

Get our hopes up with excitement 

Only to be let down. 

 

And then we grieve. 

We let go of what might have been. 

 

And then we wait—

Hoping once again,

But this time for something we don’t know.

 

The waiting is long. 

But the waiting can be active. 

Noticing what good is still around us and 

Creating more goodness with God. 

 

“Something will happen,” I hear Joe the Counselor say. 

 

And eventually something did. 

Snow finally fell. 

A blanket of white covered the earth. 

And school was cancelled as so many had  wished. 

 

But even if a happy ending hadn’t happened.  

Even if the toilet seat had not moved, 

Something good would have eventually come, 

Because God is in the business of making all things—

Even the best intended, broken promises—

Good. 

 

Amen.