Tag Archives: courage

Hope, courage, love

Luke and Merdine TI have posted several times about my friend and mentor Merdine T. Morris. At her memorial service on April 12, I saw a photo of Merdine T. with her husband, Lucas. Luke. During the memorial service, Merdine T.’s friends and colleagues and pastors witnessed to her deep commitment to justice and peace and the countless ways she lived out those commitments. 

Listening, I recalled the photo and remembered how Luke made Merdine T.’s witness possible. He stood with her, prayed for her, provided transportation for her. Luke was the good, good man who stood beside this good, good woman.

It seems only right to post a reflection about Luke. I wrote this for his memorial service.

Lucas Morris revealed hope.  In a world so horribly obsessed with race, any crossing of the racial divide is an act of grace.  As he lived, Luke endured the shifting and unchanging reality of being black in America where privilege is given to those who are white.  He was wounded.  But he was never broken.  He was not embittered.  He played a key role in helping to create the special relationship between St. Mark’s Presbyterian Church and Noble Road Presbyterian Church.  And when the time came, he was willing – he and Merdine T. chose – to have white pastors.  Amazing grace.  What a gift of hope.  If we refuse to give up, if we refuse to give in, if we keep on loving, maybe we can heal prejudices and remake systems and come together to live as God intends.

Lucas Morris revealed courage.  Frustration filled his recent years.  Illness touched him and it never let go.  Every time he made even the smallest step toward recovery, something went wrong and he took two or three or ten steps back.  Again and again and again my heart broke for him.  My heart broke for Merdine T.  But none of it neither the pain nor the procedures – neither the losses nor the limitations – none of it broke his spirit.  His contagious smile – his ready laugh – his concern for others – it all remained and shone through on even his worse days.  Our character is revealed not in times of ease but in moments of distress.  Luke was strong and true.

Lucas Morris revealed love.  He had deep, abiding love for Merdine T. and for his family.  He had deep, abiding love for his friends.  He had concern for all of God’s children.  When visited, Luke would ask about Merdine T., about his friends, about my family, about others in the church in need.  You may say it was a ritual.  You may say it was a way of shifting the focus from his own situation.  I know it was expressed his depth of feeling and caring.

Lucas Morris and I laughed together.  We cried together.  We prayed together.  We agonized over the fortunes of Cleveland’s baseball team.  That one year when Cleveland had no football team, we even followed the Pittsburgh Steelers together.  With Merdine T. and Sean and Eric we shared the body and blood of Christ as well as ice cream and brownies.  And one special morning when Merdine T. was in the hospital, Luke and I delighted in a high-class breakfast of Egg McMuffins.

I thank God for the gift of Lucas Morris.  I thank God for the honor and privilege of being Luke’s friend.  I thank God that for Luke all pain is past and he is received into the warmth and wonder of God’s love.  I thank God that within that mysterious reality of the Communion of Saints Luke goes with me, goes with us, now and always.  Amen.

See you along the Trail.

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Life

In a world tattered and torn,
a world battered and worn;

In a world of sorrow and pain,
a world of horror and shame;

In a world where I weep for the evil we do,
a world where I grieve for what sisters and brothers endure;

In such a world,
I give thanks.

In this world,
I give thanks
for hope and faith
for love and grace.

In my world,
I give thanks
for tender mercies and boundless joy,
courage unexpected and strength unforeseen.

In our world,
I give thanks
for a baby’s first cry
and a parent’s first smile.

I give thanks
for life.

23 January 2014
New York, New York

For
Joann, Mike, and Austin
Roja, Joel, and their newborn daughter whose name I will list as soon as they tell me
And all new parents and babies

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Farewell, Mr. Mandela

Farewell, Mr. Mandela,

We never met. I never laid eyes on you in person.

But I saw and heard you on television. I read words about you. And I read your words.

Your
courage
passion
grace
vision

Your
steadfast pursuit of justice
enduring commitment to the people – all the people – of South Africa
understanding of the possibilities opened by forgiveness
willingness to look beyond what is to what could be

touched and awed and inspired me
and countless others.

I give thanks for you,
for your life, and
for your work.

I give thanks that,
though half a world lay between us
we shared life on this
little brown, green, blue rock.

I pray for your family
for you friends and colleagues
for the people of South Africa
for weavers of dreams
and workers for justice
who grieve at your death.

May we know comfort as we mourn.

May we have strength to join you in the struggle for freedom, justice, and dignity for all God’s children.

May we experience your presence accompanying us in that struggle.

Farewell, Mr. Mandela, farewell.

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Filed under Antiracism, Current Events, Human Rights

Today, my friend

Today,
my friend,
I pray for you.

Peace,
my friend,
I pray for you.

Rest,
my friend,
I pray for you.

Strength,
my friend,
I pray for you.

Hope,
my friend,
I pray for you.

Courage,
my friend,
I pray for you.

Justice,
my friend,
I pray for you.

This day,
my friend,
I pray for you.

Always,
my friend,
I pray for you.

14 September 2013
Shire on the Hudson

Slightly different versions of this prayer-poem came out today for friends in different difficult situations.

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Come tomorrow

I knew Mary Mikhael before, but what we did together today – or more accurately what I witnessed her do – has forged a new level of friendship.

Mary is from the National Evangelical Synod of Syria and Lebanon.  Until 2011, she served as the president of the Near East School of Theology in Beirut. After her retirement,the church has named her their interpreter and communicator in this time of tragedy and crisis for the people of Syria.

Today Mary and I went from New York to DC to meet five legislators and a State Department Official. Catherine Gordon in the Presbyterian Office of Public Witness arranged the visits.

I am now standing, well actually I am sitting on a train back to NYC, in awe of Mary’s courage and grace and strength as she told the story of heartbreak and horror and hope six times. A story she has lived. A story she is living. A story that develops as she tells it. She is exhausted and sleeps beside me.

Come tomorrow, she will again tell the story of the people and church of Syria. This time she will tell the story for a video project and in the UN community.

Come tomorrow, she will recall and relieve the tragedy.

Come tomorrow, she will renew the hope.

Come tomorrow, she will again exhaust herself in witness to her faith and on behalf of her people and church and country.

Come tomorrow, I will again stand in awe.

Come tomorrow, I will weep and smile and pray for peace and justice.

Come tomorrow.

See you along the Trail.

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Filed under Current Events, Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)

A call to prayer for Nelson Mandela

Nelson Mandela, child of God, lies  ill in a South African hospital. The Council for a Parliament of the World’s Religions has issued a call to prayer for Nelson Mandela.

In the words of the Council, Nelson Mandela:

helped a generation of young people find a voice for justice. He believed in the humanity of the other to the extent of engaging his own captors in conversations. He transformed an armed movement into a peaceful victory. He successfully established a process of forgiveness and reconciliation instead of revenge.

In our own fashion, each of us may pray.

As for me: I give thanks for Nelson Mandela; for his life and courage and grace and vision and witness. I pray for his comfort and strength. I pray for his family and friends who gather with him at this time. I pray for those who care for him. I pray for people who supported Mandela during the struggle for justice in South Africa and for people who draw inspiration from him to sustain ongoing efforts for justice around the world. I pray for South Africa. Nkosi sikelel’ iAfrika. God bless Nelson Mandela.

See you along the Trail.

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Knight of the 21st century

Battered, but  unbroken,
he rises.

Beaten, but undefeated,
he rises.

Bruised, but undaunted,
he rises.

The shine long gone,
dents make his armor
appear infected
with a rusty pox.
Still he rises.

Creaks and squeaks,
from metal joints –
or human joints –
fill the air.
Yet still he rises.

There be no dragons,
no endless tasks,
no giants,
but simply living –
decent, loving,
just living,
day by day by
endless day.
And to that quest,
the highest quest,
again he rises,
still he rises.
always he rises.

He rises.
He rises.
He rises.

25 January 2013
Shire on the Hudson 

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Courage

In the morning,
when we gathered,
the early morning,
the cool, quiet morning,
we were not afraid.
And we sang and prayed;
we laughed and smiled;
we marched.

When we saw the hate,
fear spattered us.

When we saw the police,
fear arrested us.

When we saw the batons,
fear battered us.

When we saw the gas,
fear engulfed us.

When we saw the hoses,
fear washed over us.

When we saw the dogs,
fear snarled at us.

When we saw the guns,
fear tore at us.

In the morning,
when we gathered,
the early morning,
the cool, quiet morning,
we were afraid –
sore afraid –
sore, sore afraid.
But we sang and prayed;
we laughed and smiled;
and we marched.

Inspired, on the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.‘s birthday, by the Palestinians, Israelis and internationals who worked nonviolently to protect the village and olive trees of Budrus, and by all who use nonviolence to witness for justice, wholeness and peace.

15 January 2013
Shire on the Hudson

 

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Sometimes we sit in witness

The country matters. Context always matters. Each situation plays out in unique ways due to the specific circumstances in which the people find themselves and place helps shape those circumstances.

The country matters not.  What my sisters and brother told me could happen – happen exactly as they described it or happen as variations on a theme – in too many countries of the world.

We sat in our conference room and they told me of human rights abuses in their country of birth. Each of them had fled for various reasons. And while they each fled to different countries first, they all ended up in New York.

At first they told horrible, but generic stories. Stories of torture, disappearance, deprivation, separation, violation. Such stories prove hard for me to read; they prove harder still to hear – to hear from sisters and a brother who know the people, the children of God, who are ill-used and abused. But out of respect for God’s children, I refuse to turn away from such stories. I read and sit in witness. Out of respect for God’s children, I refused to turn away this afternoon. I sat in witness.

Then they told the stories of their family …

… of cousins tortured …

… of brothers killed …

… of a sister repeatedly raped and finally shot …

… one bullet to the brain.

“I have two sons,” F. said as tears dribbled down her cheeks. “I do not know where my sons are. Do you know what it is like for a mother not to know where her sons are? Not to know if they are safe? Not to know what might be happe … ?” She could not finish, did not need to finish. I do not know. I can never know. I can only imagine what it might be like for a father. I can never know her pain, her grief, her anguish. I can only sit in witness, honored that she would share it with me.

Tears flowed from eight eyes.

The stories continued until they had spent their need to talk. Pain and heartache filled the silence surrounding us.

Finally, B. spoke, “But we have hope.”

And my heart cracked again. Unconquerable love breaks our hearts as surely as does unspeakable evil.

“We have hope. And we will continue to work to change things in our country.”

More tears flowed into the silence that followed but, at least for me, hope and courage and grace now danced amid the moisture on my cheeks. I wiped away the snot that clogged my nose. And somehow I had the good sense to say nothing, but simply to sit in witness.

M. broke the silence by asking me to look for ways to support them and to pray for them, for those they love, and for their country.

I did. I will. They stood to leave. We shook hands. We hugged. They left. And I remember. I pray. I write in witness. And I wonder what more I will do. To be continued …

See you along the Trail.

As I was writing this entry, a friend posted a link on Facebook to a story that spoke to me in similar ways: ‘Comfort Woman’ Activist Still Going Strong at 89. Ms. Kim Bok-dong was forced to serve as a “comfort woman” during World War II. For years, she and other survivors lived silently with their scars. But in 1991, things changed when a Japanese government official blamed the system of “comfort women” on civilians, denying any government culpability, the women broke their silence and told their stories seeking an acknowledgement of the truth in an effort to “help other victims who go through the same atrocities.” In March 2012, Ms. Kim Bok-dong founded the Butterfly Fund to aid victims of sexual violence in Congo, Afghanistan and Uganda.

Unspeakable evil and unconquerable love break my heart once again. Thank you, Yena, for sharing this story at this time and for our brief virtual chat.

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What we need to know

Truth breaks in,
when friends say
what we already know,
what we do not want to know,
what we need to know.
In such moments,
may there be grace to hear,
wisdom to understand,
courage to change, and
strength to grow.

15 October 2011
Shire on the Hudson

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