How the light gets in

Daily Devotion - June 2

I will send a brief message each day (except Mondays)
while we are pausing gathering in person.
- Kara

Today I participated in a clergy march. Led by black pastors, bishops, rabbis and imams, we walked through the streets to where George Floyd was killed.  Five minutes after we started, the hands in the front went up and a great silence spread through the whole crowd. The only sound was our feet, punctuated by noises from beyond - car horns, onlookers, birds.  But amongst the moving crowd, a prayer, no words, just palpable, holy silence. It is hard to even explain what three blocks of masked people walking, completely silent, feels like. The silence was the loudest thing around - it touched those we passed, causing them to fall silent too.

Twice more a wave came through the crowd. Once when everyone fell to their knees as someone up front prayed.  And then before we rose, the Lord's Prayer came through, building in volume, so that by the time it reached us we joined in one great voice saying "...deliver us from evil. For Thine is the Kingdom, and the power and the glory forever, Amen."

This morning a few of us gathered for coffee and support.  The stress and tension are wearing. Nights are hard; mornings are welcome. We are tired and on edge, mostly tired of being on edge.  But also, among us were a new job, a new engagement, a new lease on life after a hospital release, a lost child found, a daycare resuming soon - glimpses of hope and life.

Here are more reports from among us:

Sue's little garden of hope:
This is my little garden of hope, valiantly growing in my parking lot: the only place with enough sun except, maybe, for the bus stop out front!
A quiet night. Scary troops in vehicles moseying by the house. I DO have a visceral reaction to the presence of the National Guard, based on my experience in the 1960's. But their work has been generally calm and measured. But it is still a scary sight.
They are protecting the sacred memorial space at 38th and Chicago, where George died. People gather there around the clock, grieving with one another. The pain and anger take some into the zone far beyond hope, into such deep mourning and frustration over this senseless death that they cannot see a way out.
I choose hope. I am realistic, though. The systemic problems are hundreds of years deep and human nature much deeper. It is hard to trust one another and even harder to trust our institutions. The targeted destruction of the neighborhood services: food, pharmacy, low income housing: has increased the distrust as peaceful protesters feel targeted by outrage over damage they did not do. Many cannot yet chose hope.
But people, from within and without of Minneapolis are donating food, money, time to the clean up. They chose hope.
Many neighborhoods are taking turns guarding the businesses that provide for their needs. They are choosing hope.
Solutions will come gradually. Most will not work, none will reach perfection. But we must still join together and work hopefully toward a more just society. Three steps forward and two steps back, is still one step forward.
Hope is such a fragile thing, like spring peas and tiny carrots. Tiny, unlikely shoots of green life. It must be looked for and nurtured.

And this message from Lisa's favorite pie shop, Pie and Mighty:
 

It might not look like it, but this is Pie & Mighty. Last week, in the wee hours of Saturday morning our front door got kicked in. You don't need us to tell you why.

We've have had an extrordinary start to our little space on Chicago Avenue. We sliced and served our first pies from our new location just 12 weeks ago, on March 14, Pi Day. Ours has been a long journey full of fits and starts and hiccups, but we wouldn't trade one moment away if it all meant we got to be here, now, in this place, at this time. We are so ridiculously grateful.
———————————
One week ago today, just two blocks from where we are, George Floyd was murdered. Ever since then grief has hung in the air like a hot, windless day. It permeates everything, even and especially us. But something magical happened late in the week when Beth Howard, author and pie maker, called us to ask how we were and if we would mind if she came up and gave away free pie? Ummmm, yes please.
As a team we had to dig really deep in ourselves to make the pies we had already committed to and infuse them with our hearts that felt so broken. You know that song by Leonard Cohen called Anthem? That one part that goes like this:

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything (there is a crack in everything)
That's how the light gets in

We just had to forget our perfect offerings and let pie do what pie will do. It worked.
On Sunday morning, we sliced and served pie along side of Beth and her team that people made from Donnellson, Iowa to Minneapolis. Over 80 pies and baked goods were made and shared, all in less than 24 hours. Remarkable doesn’t even come close.
It’s Monday. We took today for rest and reflection and discerned that this week we are going to just be together as a team, learning, cleaning, testing, and telling stories. We know this might not seem productive or even helpful to you right now. But thanks for understanding anyway. We’ll be back with our June menu next week.

Each of us is making our way through each day. That is a holy and blessed task. Some of us need rest, others, action. Some of us need to mourn, others to rage, others to let go.  As we watch for the light coming in through the cracks, may worry turn to trust, may tension turn to calm. May we know ourselves and everyone else to be held in the love of God this day, and tomorrow.

CONNECTING RITUAL:

 

Perhaps tonight before bed, whatever time that is in each of our homes, we and so join our souls with each other and the people of the whole earth:

Bless me this night, O God,
and those whom I know and love.
Bless me this night, O God,
and those with whom I am not at peace.
Bless me this night, O God,
and every human family.
Bless us with deep sleep.
Bless us with dreams that will heal our souls.
Bless us with the night's silent messages of eternity
that we may be set free by love.
Bless us in the night, O God,
that we may be set free to love.

Amen.

- J. Philip Newell, Sounds of the Eternal