OHF Weekly: Redeeming the Soul of Our Nation
Volume 2 Number 26
It bears repeating: I am not fond of funerals. I rarely attend them because the accompanying emotions sweep me out to a sea of grief to be tossed about on monstrous, stormy waves one moment, only to be caught in an undertow of overwhelming loss in the next. So I avoid funerals and memorial services at all costs. The ones I have attended I can count on my hands — with fingers to spare. A select number of friends and I have had The Talk.
If you go before me, I will not be attending your funeral. Please don’t take my planned absence to mean that I don’t love you. What it means is that I love so that I don’t think I could survive the collective outpouring of public grief of your send-off.
We end the conversation with a fond embrace. I secretly choke back a few tears, and extend an unexpected, warm, and comic invitation for them to attend my funeral, should I precede them in death, where all public displays of grief will be more than appreciated. I encourage them to do so.
Today America said good-bye to one of the architects of the Civil Rights movement, U.S. Representative John Lewis (D-Georgia). The funeral took place at the historic Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta, the home church of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
Black funerals are very different from white funerals. We view them as homegoings, a celebration, congratulations on completing your Earthly mission here on Earth. Think, a send-off to eternal joy and final rewards. When you take into consideration the history of my people in the U.S., it’s easy to understand why exiting this world for our heavenly rewards is a welcome relief to the hell my ancestors endured as enslaved people. I will save that for another day. As I was saying, in Black funerals, we the bereaved are more in touch with our emotions. The invitation is implied and accepted by all to reveal the full spectrum of emotions that one might feel. Communal grief is easier to manage, I suppose.
Funerals in the Episcopal Church are a different animal altogether. They are, how shall I put it, rather buttoned-up in form. During the liturgy, we keep emotions under lock and key. That’s not to say that we Episcopalians don’t feel. We do. We just feel deeply. Beneath layers of stoic resolve.
At the last funeral I attended, that of a dear friend, I successfully belted out the first verse of the anthem “For All the Saints Who From Their Labors Rest.” Afterward, it took all I could do to mouth the remaining five verses. No one could tell from watching me that I was a blubbering mess on the inside, or so I like to tell myself. We keep a tight rein on those pesky emotions. Given my aversion to funerals, you can understand why the Episcopalian brand of mourning holds such appeal to me.
The broadcast of Representative Lewis’ three-and-a-half-hour long service held me in rapt attention. Of all the eulogies, my two favorites were those of Barack Obama and Jamila Thompson, Lewis’s Deputy Chief of Staff. Ms. Thompson was kind, gracious, vulnerable, composed, and wholly vulnerable. She revealed the private side of John Lewis that only someone who worked at his side would know. Her’s is the composure and authenticity I hope to have should I have to deliver a eulogy.
Thankfully the service didn’t have the same gut-wrenching effect on me in my living room that it would have had I been there in person. The grief, the sense of profound loss of an America were far-removed.
Until now.
Before starting this message for the newsletter, I read Lewis’s final message, an op-ed published today at his request in The New York Times. And it broke me open. It’s a love letter to all, a summation of his guiding principles, and a call to action. We should all hope to live a life so focused, so impactful, so full of grace and compassion. And love.
Only one question that remains: What will you do to usher in the Beloved Community, a nation and world society at peace with itself?
New This Week
“When Today’s Words Heal Yesterday’s Wounds”
by Savita Iyer
A microaggression. That’s what it was, the remark made by the professor whose exam I failed on a warm July afternoon in 1988 at the University of Geneva in Switzerland. Over the years, I’ve often thought about that exam and about his remark — uttered in a manner I’d best describe as incredulous disdain — and the discomfort it caused me: “Mademoiselle,” he said with a wave of his manicured hand, “you are a disgrace to your race.”
I was taken aback and at a loss for words. What did my race — I am Indian — have to do with my performance on the exam? Failing an exam had everything to do with how much one had prepared and nothing to do with one’s ethnicity. And, as it were, failing the exam wasn’t due to a lack of study. Back then at my alma mater, we were given oral exams — I happened to pick a topic from the pile of face-down index cards on the professor’s desk that he had covered for all of twenty seconds in class. There was no way I could have spoken on said topic for the requisite fifteen minutes. (Continued at Medium.com)
“Why We Need More Black Male Teachers”
by BFoundAPen
It’s a rare sighting to walk in on the first day of school and see a Black man in front of the board with his name written in proud, wide letters. However, their presence is critically needed in the classroom. As of 2017, Black students made up 15% of the classroom. That percentage is projected to stay the same up to 2029.
The Washington Post conducted a survey all over the United States. The results show that it’s less likely for People of Color to want to teach and be in the education field. The requirements are sky-high while the pay is horrendously low. All of these aspects make finding and keeping Black, Hispanic, Latino, and Asian teachers harder. (Continued at Medium.com)
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Stay safe, take a deep breath, and try to extend a little grace — a little wiggle room — to others. We’re all living in extraordinarily trying times.
Love one another.
Clay Rivers
Our Human Family Founder and Editorial Director
