I went to Moral Monday this week. There were lots of television cameras, and the reporters kept asking the participants why they were there. I studiously avoided them all because the idea of me breaking into tears while trying to explain that I want a better world for my son was beyond embarrassing. But I do want a better world for my son. That is why I was there. And if I am crying about it right now at least none of you can see me.
It was a powerful rally that included a symbolic shared meal that echoed Jesus’ feeding of the 5000: when we share what we have, there is enough to go around. When we break bread together, we are more able to listen to one another and recognize our common humanity.
The words of Dr. Barber on acknowledging our common humanity were on my mind last week I read Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove’s new book, Strangers at My Door, which I got for Christmas (but didn’t want to read because I didn’t want it to be over). He has been a powerful teacher to me in the past few years as I have begun thinking more deeply about poverty and race. His humble example has guided me through some difficult days and conversations. And the fact that he is a North Carolinian is an added bonus for me. Strangers at My Door is about welcoming the people around us who are in need and seeing their humanity rather than their statistics or their list of misdeeds. It’s about seeing that they too are created in the image of God. Wilson-Hartgrove lives these principles out by living with his family and other families in what is called an “intentional community” in one of Durham’s poorest neighborhoods. Not only do they share their house beyond their family unit, but also by opening their house to the people around them. In the book, he tells stories both good and bad about what he has seen and experienced. I loved it for his gentle, thoughtful style, but I loved it even more for the fact that he doesn’t say (or believe) that this is what God is asking of all of us. What he does challenge us all to do is to see the stranger before us in our own lives and consider how to welcome him or her like Christ. I thought about these words from the closing paragraphs on Monday as I sang and prayed and protested a little bit, hoping for a different sort of world for my son.
This strength to build a new world is itself a gift. It comes to us from beyond, from the spring that is the source of every living thing. And it comes to us through people who know down in their bones that the world is not as it was made to be.
Somehow the fire that stirs in them sets you and me aflame, and we are, together, like the bush that Moses saw in the wilderness–burning, but not consumed.
We are becoming an eternal flame. -Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, Strangers at My Door
At the end of Moral Monday, we all danced. Well, not me, because I can’t really dance. But there were people around me who had moves and those who were pretty goofy, but they all welcomed me anyway. I stood and swayed awkwardly, accepting my limitations, but feeling accepted as part of the beloved community just the same. Building a new world together.