In each year of the two decades since I rebooted my faith by joining a Lutheran church – whose grace theology drew me to its twin flames of healthy doubt and authentic welcome – Ash Wednesday always sneaks up on me packing a big dose of worldly reality and dust-to-dust humility. It’s a call to go deeper inward, to consider my place in the wider firmament of humanity, to shed the ego and replace it with whatever I need to fill the hole in my soul, at least for now.
But this year, after stumbling six weeks into a new year with equal parts writer’s block, halting hope and serious 2020 hangover, I return to This Space feeling more humble than ever.
Make that humble, exasperated, and anxious.
Humble because I can be here at my standing desk, with a roof over my head, a full fridge in a recently remodeled kitchen, a loving spouse and family, and a relatively secure future, with tailwinds of privilege sweeping me forward – the same privilege that has allowed me, and many folks in my socioeconomic sector, to pretty much weather this pandemic at home.
Exasperated because, over the past several months, I’ve been part of a Zoom book group grappling with America’s gruesome and despicable history of racial injustice, economic inequality, and all kinds of fear-fueled evil. We started with Ibram X. Kendi’s How To Be An Anti-Racist and most recently read Caste, with several eye-opening and heart-rending tomes in between. Reading these books – and watching movies like Spike Lee’s brilliant “Da 5 Bloods” and, at long last, “Twelve Years A Slave” – have filled me with such anger and sadness that I’m literally breathless when I think about it, think about how little I, personally, have done about it, and consider the massive work ahead of us all if America is ever going to rid itself of the stench of slavery, racial hatred and the worst kind of capitalistic selfishness.
Anxious because I don’t see that happening anytime soon, even though I will continue to believe in the power of love, the triumph of light over darkness.
We’re in some serious wilderness, friends.
Even with the scientific miracles of several fast-tracked vaccines and promising drops in both cases and deaths, Covid-19 isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, especially with the new variants in our midst. We’ve gotta remember that. I’m happy things are opening back up, that I feel safe enough to see my grandkids again, and travel is now a possibility (or a necessity), but vigilance and forbearance, both Lenten buzzwords, are musts for the foreseeable future. Not that they aren’t most of the time, anyway.
Politics? Please. Still a sewer. Seemingly a hopeless case as we continue to hunker down in our tribes and subsist on bias-confirming news feeds. Yes, we have hints of the possibility of the chance of progress at the highest levels, but it’s still a partisan shitshow that calls for a nationwide reassessment of what citizenship and patriotism and liberty really mean – and that must start in our own neighborhoods, in our city councils and school boards. A weatherbeaten conviction, yes. But still true.
We can’t keep hating each other – and I say that as a guy who comes up short, particularly on social media, every day, including this very Ash Wednesday.
So, instead of “giving up” something for Lent, I’m going to pick up this narrative thread that you’ve all been kind enough to follow over the past several months, and challenge myself to post something every day, however short, or short-sighted, or inspired, or wobbly in premise and execution.
I just want to see where the journey takes me, and I’m inviting you along.
Anyone with half a heart, brain or soul should feel about the same, Vic. A good friend gave me a book several years ago “The Warmth of Other Suns”. It would be a good addition for your ongoing education. My friend is the founder of the McDonald’s Black Operator Association, and many years ago I was welcomed with open arms into their loving, inspiring fold. Another good friend of mine, now passed on, once said to one of my “Brothers from another Mother”, “The reason I love you is because you don’t think Im better than you”. This was a profound statement coming from a 5 foot tall Jew (Ed Ruby) to a 6’4 black man (Lindsay-you met at my retirement) with a little Pagan (me) sidekick. Ed may be gone but his memory and our adventures with Lindsay live on. Lindsay and I remain as close as siblings.
Do not be so hard on yourself. We are a combination of our society and small personal Worlds. We were very fortunate to have a father that would not tolerate discrimination on any level. You may not have seen as much evidence of this, having moved from S California to a small town, at an early age. But I have many memories of our Dad standing up to bigots on behalf of friends, and no doubt strangers.
Ps, I too have a deeper appreciation for life and all the joys it brings. After all, I beat the Covid Monster, have the most precious Great Grand Daughter and a house filed with family. Yes, Mike’s candle is flickering, and I do my best to dwell on the good moments and memories in our 40 plus years of marriage, while trying to cop with an unbelievable sadness and anger. As our Dad always said “We all have our cross to bear”.
A huge day for introspection. To dust we shall return, indeed, knowing we are made to have a short wick on earth, I look forward to reading how this Lenten journey will shape your heart as you bring Christ into 2021. I’m putting on my seatbelt.