Dr. King's Dream for Us All

"Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now.  Because I've been to the mountain top...and He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people will get to the Promised Land."
--(The last words from the last address Dr. King gave in Memphis on the night before his death.)

This Sunday Washington will be crowded with millions who come to dedicate the national monument to Martin Luther King. Of all the monuments along the Tidal Basin this will be the only monument honoring a private citizen. This honor is a long time coming.

I was a student at an all-white college in Alabama when Stride Toward Freedom came out. This book told the agonizing struggle of the Montgomery Bus Boycott and the man at the center of it all. From those tiny beginnings of a lone black woman on a segregated bus we have come a long way and it would never happened without Martin Luther King.

I only met him once. He spoke at my Seminary and as he spoke I was moved by his words and his vision. He pointed toward the far horizon and told that mostly white preacher-audience we had some serious work to do as minister of the gospel. After his address I went forward and shook his hand and told him how much I had been touched by those words of Amos: “Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

At the center of his life was this incredible faith that God really was in this thing called history. He reached back to Moses and the Exodus from Egypt and the prophets and the nonviolent words of Jesus. Taylor Branch tells in one of his books on the civil rights struggle about the incredible courage that Dr. King exhibited time after time in moments of terrible anger. A reporter asked him one day if he was not afraid of all the hatred and venom he found everywhere he went. He said, “Of course I’ve been afraid many times.” And then he told the story of those early beginning days of the bus boycott in Montgomery. His house was bombed but he and his family miraculously escaped unharmed. He said, “When I get afraid I remember the words of an old gospel song that came to me that night when our house was bombed. It was the song, “No, Never Alone.” And he said when I have grown afraid the words of that song have come back to me again and again.” These are the words he remembered:


“I’ve seen the lightning flashing, I’ve heard the thunder roll,
I’ve felt sin’s breakers dashing, which almost conquered my soul.
I’ve heard the voice of my Savior, bidding me still to fight on.
He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone!”


No never alone, no never alone,
He promised never to leave me,
He’ll claim me for His own;’
No, never alone, no never alone.
He promised never to leave me,
Never to leave me alone.”

He died much to soon at the hands of an assassin. And we wonder what would have happened to history had he been able to live and work longer. But in a time when racism still runs wild in this country toward our first black President and toward all those un-white Hispanics that many despise—it is time to ponder Dr. King’s words and his dream for us all.


As I wrote this piece I remembered some words from Frederick Buechner who was at the March on Washington. They are fitting to read on this weekend.

“A few summers ago I went on that famous March on Washington, and the clearest memory that I have of it is standing near the Lincoln Memorial hearing the song “We Shall Overcome” sung by the quarter of a million or so people who were there. And while I listened, my eye fell on one very old Negro man, with a face like shoe leather and a sleazy suit and an expression more befuddled than anything else; and I wondered to myself if, quite apart from the whole civil-rights question, that poor old bird could ever conceivably overcome anything. He was there to become a human being. Well, and so were the rest of us. And so are we all, no less befuddled than he when you come right down to it. Poor old bird, poor young birds, every one of us. And deep in my heart I do believe we shall overcome some day, as he will, by God’s grace, by helping the seed of the kingdom grow in ourselves and in each other until finally in all of us it becomes a tree where the birds of the air can come and make their nests in our branches. That is all that matters really.” (from Frederick Buechner’s, The Magnificent Defeat, New York: The Seabury Press, pp. 122-123

(You may want to read Cornell West's article in the NYTimes in response to the Dedication. Article entitled, "Dr. King Weeps From His Grave." Though I do not agree with Cornell West about his views of the President--he raises some good points. We have much work to do.)

Labor Day, Retirement and Unemployment

"And what do you do?"  he asked. Hmm. I wondered what I should say. I am seventy-five years old. What am I supposed to be doing?

Well, I worked in the yard. For hours and hours in the hot sun. I clipped some bushes in the front of my house. I watered a yard that is beginning to look like the Sahara. I read much of the paper. I dipped into a few pages of a novel. I tried to wade through my magazines that are piling up. I feel like I am fighting a losing battle. I talked to a friend and some family members far away. I, unfortunately, plowed through my email. I tinkered with my blog. We took a friend to lunch. I worried about my friends and family members who live in the path of the hurricane. I worked out at the Y for an hour and a half. I snoozed in a chair for about fifteen minutes.

The folk that asked this question about what am I doing are smart people. But, like most of us, they confuse being with doing. I’ve done the same thing much of my life. I’m sure I’ve walked up to people who were retired and said, “Uh, what are you doing now?” There are days when I feel funny without a business card. Shoot, I don’t even have a business! Does this make me less than a person? I hope not. We really are more than the sum total of what we do.

Take that checker in the grocery store. Is she only a checker? Nah. There are layers and layers of her life. Like most of us she is like an iceberg. You don't see most of what she is. She’s got a family. She’s worried about her boy. She found a lump in her breast and is terrified. She goes to church when she can and most Sundays the singing touches something deep down. Her varicose veins are giving her trouble as she stands  behind that counter eight hours a day. Yet she smiles and asks what kind of a day you are having and makes you feel better as you wheel your cart out to the car.

He works as an Air Conditioner repairman. He told me he worked all night last night. He didn’t complain—he just stated the fact. He was the second man to work on our unit this week but this man got it fixed. He never saw the inside of a college, he doesn’t read much. He watches TV and can tell you all the stats of Alabama and Auburn. He’s got a wife that doesn’t work outside the home. He says it with pride. He has two grown kids he worries a lot about. His Mama died last year of lung cancer. Smoked too many cigarettes too many years. He told me, “You know so many people don’t think I’m important. When I come to fix their air conditioner they tell me to come in the back door. They stare at me like I’m a nobody. Yet I fixed their air conditioner when it didn’t work.”

Labor Day was declared a national holiday in 1894. It was first called a “workingmen’s holiday.” It was to celebrate all “that vital force of labor" without which we could never have made this country great. With 25 million of us either without jobs or working without benefits—this holiday and our labor force is threatened. Somehow those who supposedly govern us must help get us out of this grotesque situation. I wonder how our politicians really sleep at night knowing that out there just beyond their gated houses there are families suffering simply because they cannot find a job.

Maybe we ought to celebrate Martin Luther's King's dedication with another March on Washington. We need to remind those whom we have elected that there is more to their jobs than keeping the well-heeled happy so they have enough money in their coffers to keep their own benefits coming. And so on this approaching Labor Day I think of that Grocery store checker and that good man who must walk through too many back doors to keep us cool. I think of all those others who would work if some door opened and someone invited them in, not only to fill out an application but to help them do what they would give anything to do once more. Labor Day is more than saying Rah-Rah to the working force—it should be a commitment from all of us to change this lop-sided way we have of doing our business.

What do you do? They asked. Well, maybe not much. But if enough of us raised our voices and really cared about those not as lucky as we have been maybe, just maybe,  we could change this sad picture.

If you did not read Nicholas Kristof's splendid article in the Sunday New York Times on unemployment--I recommend.

Rick Perry and Evolution

Altternet's Web site featured a great article today dealing with Rick Perry's disbelief in evolution. Richard Dawkins, Oxford Evolutionary Biologist (Retired) is irate at Governor and would-be President Rick Perry's anti-science stance. This scientist is furious at Perry's refusal to look at the facts dealing with evolution. Perry claims to be a Christian. Dawkins is an atheist and humanist and is especially known for his book, The God Delusion. Mr. Perry doesn't get the point that sometimes you are a poor witness for the faith when you refuse to deal with the theory of evolution. Most scientist agree that evolution is a hard fact. When we leave our brains at home when we go to church we always get into trouble. I remember reading that when LBJ (also of Texas fame) was interviewed for his first teaching job the Principal asked him his views on evolution.

Johnson is said to have replied, "I can teach it either way." Mr. Perry says that both theories: creationism and evolution are taught side by side in Texas schools. Does this equal time business bother you? You don't give equal weight to every issue. Or shouldn't.

Lloyd Douglas had a friend who was a violin teacher who was not very successful. But the old man had a good deal of wisdom. Douglas called on him one day and said, "Well, what's the good news today?" The old music teacher went over to a tuning fork suspended by a cord and struck it with a mallet. "There is the good news for today," he said. "That, my friend, is 'A'. It was 'A' all day yesterday. It will be 'A' all day tomorrow, next week, and for a thousand years. The soprano upstairs warbles off-key, the tenor next door flats his high ones, and the piano across the hall is out of tune. Noise all around me, noise; but that, my friend is 'A"."

There are some things that you just can't have both ways. When Christians get a handle on this--those on the outside looking in, might just come on in just long enough to see you really can have a brain and be a Christian at the same time.

The President's Vacation--Just Thinking

Are you surprised that a lot of people are howling about President Obama taking a vacation? The big howl is: Should Mr. Obama ditch his beach plans and focus on the economy. In a way it does seem in these dog days of sweltering heat and so many without jobs and the economy going crazy—that the President would be lounging at pricey Martha’s Vineyard. If he had stayed home many of the complainers would probably have said, “Why doesn’t he just take off and be with his family—are the Obama’s having trouble?” Or “He could go to some place like Panama City, Florida or maybe Branson, Missouri like reg’lar folks.” Or “Why do these uppity blacks have to rub it in?” Whatever this President does—some folk just will not be pleased. Setting the record straight someone has calculated how many days off the Presidents took at this time in their administration. The results are interesting.

Mr. Obama—61 vacation days
George Bush – 180 vacation days
Ronald Reagan – 112 vacation days
Bill Clinton – 28 days

I remember the tut-tut’s when every other President spent any time away from his desk. Isn’t it a mite unfair to think that anybody can work constantly without a break? A friend of mine, Ed Bratcher says that ministers in trouble work 25% longer with half the results.

Dr. Wayne Oates struck a chord years ago in his book, Confessions of a Workaholic. He stated that it was foolish and poor stewardship not to take time off from your job. The workaholic does not do his or her best work—not to speak of their inattentiveness to their families.

In every church I ever served someone would always say: “Our last Pastor didn’t take vacations—he worked 7 days a week—365 days a year. What’s with this day’s off business? I followed one guy whose claim to fame was that he spent one whole summer painting the church! Somehow I had trouble finding that in my job description. It took me a long time to learn that we all need pauses and breaks in our lives. Why even the Ten Commandments remind us that we all need a Sabbath. I was told by one of my Seminary Professors, “It would be a good thing to take your books with you on vacation and plan your preaching for the next year.” Huh? That is no vacation. Study leave maybe or Sabbatical—but not vacation.

I have jogged for years. It was the time in the day when I could forget everything and just run my frustrations off. Early on I would work out problems and plan sermons and figure out how to deal with that handful that always try to keep their Pastor humble. But I learned if I put my mind in neutral the subconscious would do the work for me. I also learned that some of my best thoughts came after a time off. Sometimes on a study leave or vacation I came back with new ideas and ready to tackle the challenges once more.

I think the pundits are wrong that say the President should stay at his job and take no vacation. Why knows, even in a pricey place like Martha’s Vineyard there may be times when the President can put his job and his commitments back in perspective. Who knows, maybe in his pauses and silence from his many demands job he might just dream some new dreams and come up with some ideas for this very troubled land?

I do hope Mr. Obama can get some rest. I do hope he plays a little golf, read something not related to work and spend some time with Michelle and the kids. And I pay that when he returns to his job that he will be ready to once again tackle the seemingly impossible problems his job and our country demands.

Sermon for 10th Sunday after Pentecost--Finding the Church

One of my favorite stories was told by Carlyle Marney one of the great preachers of the 20th century. He served a church in Austin, Texas and after many years he was called to the Myers Park Church In Charlotte, N.C. After he moved, people would come up to him and ask him how he liked living in Charlotte and how he liked his new church. And he would say, “Well, I like it just fine, but I’m having just a little trouble.” They’d perk up their ears, “Trouble?” “Yes, I having trouble finding the church. It’s just really hard to find. You know, I just keep looking and looking. I know it’s here somewhere, but I’m having a little trouble finding the church. I know it’s here somewhere—but I haven’t found it yet.”

So one of the things I have done as Interim Pastor is trying to find the church. One of the great passages of scripture is in Matthew 16. It is one of the hinge-turning moments in the ministry of Jesus. It’s the watershed that makes all the difference in the story. Scholars call it the Confession at Caesarea Philippi.

Jesus asked his disciples, “Who do men say that I am?” And they began to give the appropriate answers, right out of the book: “John the Baptists, Elijah, Jeremiah, one of the prophets. But Jesus zeroes in and says, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon, who always had an answer said, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” And Jesus said, “Upon this rock I will build my church.” Then, interestingly, in Matthew 16.21 we read how serious this is: “From that time, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things from the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.”

What we have here is one of the most controversial passages in the whole of the New Testament. A great many books have been written on these verses. Churches have debated their meaning. Upon what rock do we build a church? Whole denominations have started on the interpretation of what the foundation of the church really is. Is the Church built on Simon Peter, the first pope? What is the foundation of the church? What is this rock? Is it on Jesus? The testimony of Simon? Or do we build the church on anybody and everybody that bows a knee and says deep in their hearts: “We do believe Jesus is Lord.” If I had to pick and choose I think I would pick the last theory: Jesus built his church on the testimony of all those who respond to him and love him and follow him.

After I retired and before I started working as Interim, my wife and I began to visit churches—looking for a new church home. I could tell you some horror stories of what we found. Terrible music. No mystery in many of the churches. Lousy preaching. Some as cold as a refrigerator. Why, you would have thought we were invisible. One woman turned around to Gayle (my wife) during the Passing of the Peace, asked her name and welcomed her. After the service she said to Gayle: “Margie we are glad to have you here…won’t you stay for Sunday School, Margie.” I have been calling her Margie ever since. But let me tell you what I was looking for in a church. Three words, really. Rooted in the heart of the New Testament. Without these three words there is no church.

Kerygma

The first thing I’m looking for when I come to church is the word, kerygma. Mark was the one who wrote the first Gospel, and his book would blaze a trail for all those that would follow. He began his remarkable work by saying, “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” “The beginning of the good news…” This is what gospel means. It was a proclamation. It was a good, good news of great joy. It was good tidings that the angels sang about that first Christmas. Without this good news there would have been no church.

So scholars have researched this word, kerygma and they came across several points that were made in all those early Christian sermons. This was the dawn of the Messianic age. The prophecies of the Messiah were now being filled in Jesus. Always there was a brief account of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. The resurrection—the Easter story—was at the heart of that message. The coming of the Holy Spirit, of course, was there. They were reminded that Jesus would one day come again. Then they always ended their message saying everybody could repent regardless of what they had done and everybody could find forgiveness; everybody could be changed inside and out.

Old cripples lying by muddy pools for years, and little children who had little to live for, and prostitutes that all the good people hated, and tax collectors that were despised by their own kind and even the “beggars in velvet” discovered that they could find a place and they could find a power in their own empty lives. It was an inclusive message that took all in and changed all who came.

So the first word I look for is kerygma—good news. And this is one of the essences of church. In every church I have ever served, there have been people there who are having a hard, hard time with church. For, you see, all their lives they have heard bad news, not good news. They have had something crammed down their throats and somehow they still have indigestion from it. They were forced to sit on those hard benches for years and years. And they got scared of hell and the devil and punishment and feeling that God would never, ever accept them. They heard only half the message. They understood, like most us, the guilt. Most of them never heard the grace.

But Simon preached what Mark knew, that kerygma is a good news. “Behold I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall come to all peoples.” The church lost one of its finest writers when Elizabeth O’Connor died. In one of her books she said: “Go ye into all the world has two meanings, It is a missionary word—to do evangelism. The church is to take the good news to those who do not know. But Ms. O’Connor said that this go ye is also an inner word. That “Go ye” means that this gospel word is to penetrate every part of our beings also. For she says there are places that yet have to be addressed in our lives by this good, good news. That deep down within every one of us there are parts that need to be converted still. There are lost territories in all our many selves. So this good news says we can face the old sins and old habits of self-destructiveness that have haunted us all our lives.

Now I don’t know what your broken places or lost territories are. Those parts of you that have never heard the gospel. It might be unresolved grief or guilt or not being able to let something go and forgive someone. It could be sex or an obsession with money or things or bitterness or rage or guilt or the black dog, depression. Everybody in this room has some lost territory—most of us more than one. But we need to remember this morning that the good tidings and the good news is for all of us. That’s the first word I’m looking for in church—kerygma—good news.

Diakonia

The second thing is that when you find the church you will always find this second word, diakonia. Simon made the great confession and said, “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.” He learned it’s meaning later in that Upper Room when Jesus knelt with a basin and towel and began to wash their feet. And Simon protested, “Get up Lord. Get up. That’s servant’s business. You will never ever wash my feet.” But that night Jesus just took Simon’s sandals off and with a basin of water and towel taught him about the essence of the gospel. The word, Diakonate (Deacon) comes from this serving word.

Diakonia is where the word deacon comes from. Servant in another meaning. The word shepherd flows out from this word. For, you see, church is the place where you wash somebody else’s feet. And church is the place where you have your feet washed as well. And, like Simon, we don’t like that.

Several years ago a book called, The Search for Excellence, became a best seller. Do you remember what it was about? It told the stories of some of the most successful corporations in America and how they got that way. We need to read that book again today. Somewhere this word, service got lost. Greed has corrupted business after business. Service is not some CEO who makes 400 times more than his or her workers. Sometimes I wonder if one of the reasons that companies are having such a difficult time is that they have forgotten they are supposed to be in business to serve their customers.

There is no real church without this word, diakonia. We really are foot-washing people. We really do touch the wounds and heal the broken spots and we really do hug and lift one another up and bring casseroles and pray and pray and pray. And so, if I find the church there will always be a little group of foot washers with an apron and a basin and towel. Jesus said, “You save your life by losing it.” And I put that down beside, “I’m leaving because I am not being fed…” or “I’m leaving because my needs are not being met.” But Jesus said, “You save your life when you lose your life…” When you find the word, diakonia you will always find the church.

Koinonia

But there is another word: koinonia. Fellowship. Why has the church sung, “Blest Be the Tie that binds our hearts in Christian love” since it found its way into an English hymnbook in 1782? Why do we keep singing it decade after decade? Because without fellowship there is no church.

I love the way someone expressed it:

We meet awkwardly at first…eyeing each other…then we begin to talk about the weather…safe subjects…then family sizes: How many brothers and sisters do you have. Are you the eldest? We talk about what we have in common. As we spend more time we begin to learn how each of us has come to where we are. We are amazed at our capacity to understand one another’s pasts…fascinated by each other’s stories…human stories…of crying and growing and laughing and sighing. A strange thing happens. It is no longer us and them…but we the way God meant it to be.

So we find the church when we find this word, koinonia, fellowship. It is a place that lets us be who we are and cares for us and gives us room and helps us grow. Sometimes, like in a family, we will be told we are off the beam when we are. Sometimes we get off track and the lines get tangled—but we have to untangle those lines because without this intangible thing called fellowship—love for one another—we don’t have church. We don’t have church at all. It keeps on enlarging the circle. Taking in. And forgiving one another—which may be the hardest part. And slowly, sometimes very slowly putting all the hurt behind you and moving on.

I heard this wonderful story about an older woman whose husband had died and she lived a long way off from her only daughter. The daughter was worried about her mother. Her house was getting old and needed a lot of repair. Her neighborhood was changing and not as safe as it used to be. So the daughter kept talking to her mother about moving to the town where she lived. The woman just shook her head. But one day she decided to move. And she did. When Sunday came she put on her finery and went to the church down the street. She called her daughter that afternoon and said, “Guess what I did this morning? I joined the church.” The daughter said, “You did what? Don’t you think it is too early? You don’t know those people. Mama, you should have waited.” And you know what her mother said? “Land sakes, honey when you join the church you never have to be lonesome again.” Do you think she found the church? I think she found the church.



The book, The Help Brings Back Memories

"You just can't get good help these days."
      complaint from a white dowager

The book, The Help has made quite a splash in the literary world. Even though the book was published in 2009 it is still first on the list of The New York Times Combined Print and E-Book Best Sellers. Obviously the book has struck a chord with many people or Hollywood would have never turned the book into a movie. Though I have not seen the film, Kathryn Stockett tells a fine story about black domestic servants working in white Southern households in the 1960’s. Though the author is white she wrote the book out of her own growing up in Mississippi in those turbulent sixties.


The Help is about the maids that worked for the white folk. Anybody who has lived particularly in the South would understand much of what the author tells. I was horrified by most of what I had forgotten about that time. In the book most of the maids had to use a special bathroom usually constructed behind the white folk’s house. They ate off one particular plate. They could not eat at the kitchen table and certainly not the dining room. Most of them had to come through the back door of the houses where they worked. If they were driven home by their employers they had to sit in the back seat. As maids they were to appear as invisible as possible. The suffering these women endured is spelled out in chapter after chapter. What is not told is the sexual harassment that many of these maids faced from their male employers. The presence of so many light colored children ought to give us pause. Many of these children were the result of rape and threats. To work they had to keep silent. There are so many layers to that time that was not that long ago.

The Help reminded me of my own growing up in a little cotton mill village in Columbus, Georgia. Though we have little of the world’s goods we had a maid, sometimes full-time and often part time. But our maid, Nancy came into our lives when my brother and I were little boys. Our Mother worked in the mill and Nancy kept us safe and clean. Through the years she slowly weaved her way into our lives. Sometimes even on her day off, she would appear on Saturday and announce: “This house needs a cleaning.” And so she would tear it apart and the dust would fly and by day’s end the house was clean. Even after I left home for college, Nancy kept up with me. She kept my brother’s children when they were little. She was there when I came home from college making sure the macaroni and cheese and banana pudding and the biscuits were in their place. When we brought our children home she proudly held and loved them. Years later when my mother died she sat in the family section at the funeral. After all she was a very real part of our family. As the years passed I would always call her on her birthday in late December and we would reminisce. “Roger we had us some good times, didn’t we?” “Oh Nancy, we did have some good times.”

She had eight children of her own. She would talk about each one and how proud she was of their accomplishments. I often wondered how in the world she lived with the paltry salary we paid her out of my mother’s own paltry salary. Her children stayed in Hurtsboro (AL) with family while Nancy moved to Georgia to get a job and send money back home. It must have been hard to be unable to see her own children except on holidays and weekends.

Several years ago her daughter called me late one evening. “Mama passed away last night, peaceful and without pain.” She told me the funeral would be in Hurtsboro in the little Methodist church she loved. They asked me to say a few words at her funeral service. I unfolded my notes and told those gathered that even though Nancy had only finished the third grade, she was one of the best teachers I ever had.

I told them she taught me about patience. I can remember sitting at our kitchen table many times pouring out my disappointments. She would turn and say sharply, “Roger, just you wait. Just you wait. Chile—you got to be patient.”

She taught me a lot about faith. She would say from time to time, “You got to believe. How can anybody get through this world without believing.” She never talked a lot about faith—she just lived it.

I learned about the dignity of every human being from Nancy. I did not have to remind those black folk at the funeral about how hard it was in the nineteen forties. There was a hard line drawn between white folk and black folk. I told them that I did not know many black people back then. That was one of the awful things about segregation. I told them that I knew Nancy. I trusted her. I loved her. I knew she was as important as anybody else. I told those gathered that I learned a little later how wrong the world was to black folk. I told that group gathered in that little church that when I started preaching I talked a lot about the dignity of everybody. I learned that lesson from Nancy.

Nancy taught me about loyalty and commitment. Even though we could pay her so very little, she was committed to our family. She defended us fiercely. She was there at every juncture of our lives. Births, weddings, funerals—Nancy was there. This is her picture at the beginning of this piece. She proudly held my first born in her arms.

Nancy taught me about gratitude. Born in 1909 I told her grievers that I could not imagine how hard her life must have been. Even though her life was hard she never stayed depressed very long. She was grateful. She was grateful for her children and her family. She was grateful that she had survived when so many others had not.

She had stood by my mother’s casket years before her own death. I remember clearly what she said over that casket, “Miz Ruth, you worked hard in your life. Hard. And you raised two good boys. Now it’s time for you to rest. Miz Ruth, you just rest.” And I told the mourners at her own funeral that I had come all the way from Birmingham to give her words back to her. “Nancy, you have worked hard, very hard all your life. You raised eight wonderful children. Now it’s time for you rest. Nancy, dear Nancy, you just rest.”

We buried her across the street from her church. And as I read The Help it all came back. And I wondered how many thousands and thousands of black folk whose names were never in the headlines have made an incredible difference in the lives of the white folk they worked for. So I thank the writer, Kathryn Stockett for telling the story that so many of us in the South really know by heart.

(You might  be interested in reading "Who I am because mother was a maid" appeared in The Birmingham News, August 8, 2011 Viewpoints section. It is moving and worth reading. )

Debt Crisis--How do We Respond?

Sometimes cliches are more than cliches. Take the old nostrum: "United we stand...divided we fall." Maybe we are in the mess we are in as a nation because we have been so busy fighting each other that we have failed to address our common problems. All children have to go to school, the able-bodied need jobs that pay enough to live on, immigrants want a slice of the American dream, old folks want to make sure they have enough to make it to the finish line. Those facing foreclosure want some help. Somebody needs to fill up the pot holes and attend to our rickety bridges. Even Wall Street and those making over $250,000 are beginning to realize that maybe just giving them their tax break might not be enough for the country. Tom Friedman, wise columnist for the New York Times wrote a piece today that  triggered this article. He entitles his words: "Win Together or Lose Together." He asks a basic question that concerns us all: Can we pull together to generate a national renewal? Some folks are saying our best days are over as a country. I don't believe that for a minute.  But I do believe that united we really do stand and divided we really do fall. Right now we are tottering. There is something more at stake here than who wins and who loses in 2012. I used to tell couples that came to me for counseling, "When you fight--winning is not the name of the game. You might be smart enough to win the argument--but you will lose in the long run. Winning is not the bottom line--it's the relationship that is healthy for both of you thaty matters. And if you don't have that everybody loses.

Reminds of the story I once heard Andrew Young tell. Remember he was a Civil Rights leader in the 60's and went on to become Secretary General of the United Nations. He said that once there was an old farmer that decided to make some extra money by getting into the cock fighting business. He bought two roosters, trained them patiently. On the day of the cock fight he put the two roosters in a cage in the back of his pick up and drove to the fight. When he got there he opened up the cage and there was nothing but feathers and blood. He said, "Shoot--they didn't realize they were on the same side." Reckon embedded in that story there is a lesson for us all?