In our muddy pits, we will continue to walk heavy through the slush of hatred, racism, sexism, homophobia, classism and all that causes harm to the Other.
In our muddy pits, we will continue to keep our eyes and minds open with creative spirits that will build a better place where all are well and free.
In our muddy pits, we will continue to share stories of our woes and victories so that someone who has lost their way, their being, their purpose, will be healed by the stories they hear.
In our muddy pits, slimy and slippery as it may be, we will keep our hands connected to each other, so that any falls we experience might be gentle.
In our muddy pits, we will call out every injustice in the land, speaking in different tongues, but with unified voices, from every nation, as those described unity in the Book of Acts.
In our muddy pits, dirty, tired, weary, but strong with a God who is with us in these muddy pits, we will drudge on. And when we rise from these muddy pits, we shall remember the dirt that stuck to our hands, the clumps of clay that hardened our thighs, the debris that fell into our mouths and flowed through our bodies, we shall then know that we are bonded together and only together we will rise from these muddy pits.
In the Name of Our Creator, In the Name of Jesus, In the Name of All Tribes Gathered!
May it be so! Amen!
Be Well My Friends!
Another friend has died. I saw the Facebook post with unbelief, saying how could this be? He just posted a funny story a few days ago. This has to be a lie. But it wasn’t. And I became angry. My anger was and I think still is directed to God. This is so hard because feeling anger towards God is wrong, right? I mean, the one that I uplift, the one that I sing praises to, the one I depend upon, the one that I preach about, the one that I follow and ask others to follow. Another friend has died, doing the work of caring for others, following what God asked of him. I am livid! So God, hear my angry prayer.
God, I know you are here but it does not feel like you are. There is sorrow and anguish that we are facing and yes, it feels like we are alone. Hearing of hundreds of thousands dying and friends, family crying and trying to do the best they can. Hear this prayer, O God. We have seen you in our troubles before. We have heard how you cried when your people were taken and we have heard how you rejoiced when your people were found. We read stories of how you have healed the sick and even raised the dead. Hear this prayer, O God! See our anger, see our tears. Remember how much you love us, even when we do not love others. Hear us as we scream out to you. Our voices may rattle, our tone sincere, our use of words may not all be appropriate. But you already know, because we are your creation, you already know we are tired. Comfort, O God your people. Remember us. Remember the songs we sang, when all was well. Remember our dancing as we rejoiced, when all was well. Remember our attention to you, when all was well. We know you are here. We know you see our anger. We know you see us. We are not going anywhere; we are patiently waiting on you.
It’s cold and rainy in Philadelphia. Close to the end of the year! My sweet husband has made dinner reservations for New Year’s Eve in Center City. I’m looking forward to walking shoulder to shoulder with people who are just as crazy as we are to go out of the house on New Year’s Eve. Who would miss the opportunity to hear frustrated drivers who can’t find parking or the women who are slaying that outfit, but can’t walk so well in those nice heels! Or the homeless guy who just wants to be your friend for five minutes, just to feel like he belongs (because he does) or the folks who are still trying to get home because their bosses wouldn’t allow them to leave early. Excitement will fill the air!
In July of 2020, it will be three years since we’ve moved to Philadelphia. I came kicking and screaming. I had never visited Philadelphia before living here. It was not a place that was, should I say, inviting. At least that’s what I got from family and friends who once visited or lived here. I accept that I would just figure out how to adapt and somehow life would just go on, in spite of living in Philadelphia. I didn’t expect what happened next.
I fell in love. I love Philadelphia. Seriously, I don’t know when it happened but, yes, I love Philadelphia. I love the parks, the bike and walking trails, the color of flowers that bloom in spring. I love the museums, Kimmel Center and the local theaters. I love the history. I love the people. Philadelphians, not sure if that is the proper name or not….but I gotta say, they have heart here. I have found myself being part of community that serves it’s brothers and sisters with love. And unfortunately, there are parts of community where violent crimes have caused over 300 deaths this year. This hurts! Philadelphia, you are better than this. Because what I have witnessed so far is that Philadelphia really has good folks who want the best for their city. I have seen neighbors working together to end gun violence, I’ve marched with women who seek that all children have a right to fair funding for education. I’ve sat in a temple and heard stories from immigrants who felt safe enough to share their stories. And I’ve received blueberry dumplings from a woman who heard me say how much I missed this southern dish.
Yes, I love Philadelphia. It is a great city with great people and of course, we can’t forget about those Eagles, right? Well? Ok, I’m still trying to understand the football fans, but hey, they’re passionate about their team, so respect!
My prayer for this great city is to recognize your greatness! My prayer for this amazing city is to appreciate the people here who have struggled with you when others have denounce your existence. My prayer for this historic city is that you hold on to the different ethnicities which makes this city vibrant and alive. My prayer is that this city will hold on to her children and fight for them no matter their zip codes. My prayer is that brotherly and sisterly love be the trueness of who you are because people like me love to call you “home”.