What's in Your Wallet? Heart? Mind?

Today I am in my office, a rare occasion as I prefer to work at home.  Upon entering the building I took note that a little more progress had been made on the building renovation, and there were two men touching up the walls on the first floor.  Taking an elevator up, I also noted its new interior, and could not help but think of the many times the elevator had been out of service – for months at a time – because of some needed repair, delayed for the lack of some vital part.   Many trying moments have been spent, waiting for that elevator and its “partner” elevator.   Many steps have been taken to the fifth floor when only one elevator was operational.  And now it looks like something out of an interior design magazine for office buildings.  

As is my tendency, I wondered about the inner workings of the elevator and the infrastructure of the building.   Have they, too, undergone a makeover?  Or was the building’s facade the only object of the owner’s attention – and most likely the intention to make the building more attractive to prospective tenants.

The elevator, and this building, remind me of us — we — the people.  All people of every kind and character — some of us more than others — are often more concerned about outward appearances.   Many think their hair (that which comes out of one’s scalp or out of a bag, taken from a hook on a merchandise rack in a store), clothes, makeup, or even fragrance, will be the “hook” that catches them God-only-knows-what.   Many establishments designate how one should dress (and not dress) to gain access to their businesses — to spend money on temporary pleasures that may end to long-term miseries.  Some years ago, one Harris County Judge (Harrison Gregg) did not allow women to wear pants in "his" courtroom.   Ha!  There are churches with rules against women wearing pants (or even boots), but no rule about women wearing dresses and skirts o tight or so short that nothing is left to the imagination.  

So, what is really important?  If Samuel L. Jackson asks the question, it would be “what’s in your wallet?”  For this illustration, the archaic definition of wallet, a bag for holding provisions or miscellaneous articles, is fitting, and analogous to heart and mind.  This writer’s question, then, is What’s in your heart?  Or, What’s in your mind?  

What motivates us to clean up our exterior – the facade that we present to others, and perhaps forego and good scrubbing and reordering of our interiors – our hearts and minds – the stuff that is the essence of our very being?  Are your heart and wallet filled with provisions for life’s journey, provisions that will equip you to do what is required of you?

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. – Micah 6:8, NIV

In Answer to the Question: Where in This "Hell" is the Black Church?

Caveat:  This is a broadly-stroked, big picture snippet.  If this doesn't apply to you or your congregation, there's no need to raise your hackles.

One of my Facebook friends, a respected journalist, asked this question in a recent article.   This is my off-the-cuff, knee-jerk response.  If only I had time to craft an in-depth answer, but this will have to do for now.

The "Black" Church is no longer church.  "Church," being a family of God, are people who go about the business of God and His Kingdom.   However, rather than focus on King Building, the BC exalts their pastors, their musicians.   And more offensive, is rather than teach the BC better, pastors and musicians allow this.   Jesus moved around with his disciples but He didn't have body guards and armor bearers.   There were no reserved pews or reserved parking spaces.  And musicians need to remember that the chief minister of music was kicked out of heaven in the first place.  They need to remain ever diligent about their commitment to building God's Kingdom rather than building up themselves.

And the people who are the BC themselves have image problems.   They do not value themselves as children of God, so they spend more than they should on their outward appearance and temporary fixes like clothes and hair and nails and cars they claim God blessed them with (until they cannot pay the note), trying to either impress others, or make themselves appear to be superior or more affluent than others, or both.

Decades ago the people of the BC lived lives of commitment and sacrifice.  That is why our situations are different today – because of their commitment and sacrifices.   We have squandered their sacrifices by not committing ourselves to higher education, community service, teaching our children, helping each other, and being aware of how we take care of our homes and environment -- and even our bodies, among other things.   See Grieving for the Lost.  

We are members of the church of right now, the church of excuses, the church of the easy way, not The Way, The Truth.  When the BC becomes more focused on living the Word, rather than spewing the Word, and trite sayings like "too blessed to be stressed," perhaps the BC can get back on track.

The sad commentary is that we are our own worst enemy.  I am not saying there is no discrimination, no unjust police killings, or any such nonsense.  But other people are not blind to what Black people, and people of the BC treasure; “we” are conspicuous consumers.  We may wear $2,000 on our backs but not have $2,000 in our bank accounts.    And folks slay me with that nonsense “we have to dress up for Jesus,” “we have to give God our very best.”   What the heck does that mean when our clothes are clean (and I don’t mean the colloquialism  “clean” – just the “fresh from the laundry/cleaners” clean) and our hearts are dirty?

What I am saying is that the BC would be stronger, individually and collectively, had we not --

• fallen for easy credit, 
• perpetuated prosperity gospel,
• adopted the idea that if we just marry the prettiest (outwardly) woman or the preacher (or worse, just give the preacher our bodies), 
• indulged in self-promotion;
• made it practice to offer flimsy excuses for spiritually fallen leaders; or
• perpetuated a family dynasty in the pulpit, filling it with the progeny of leaders who may or may not be called to that duty.

If You Can, Please Help Me Help This Vet

I was having dinner with the Peas – Sweet and Grand – when a “neighbor” called.  During the summer I had observed Neighbor bobbing and weaving on unsteady feet, carrying many grocery bags in the heat of the day, as I entered the gate to our community.   He appeared to be near collapse.  It’s quite a walk from the gate to even the first building and it turned out that his is well beyond mine.  I stopped and suggested he put his many bags in the back seat and let me drive him as close to his door as possible.  He was really having a hard time.   

I remember that after arriving at his building, he sat in the car for a very long time.  The A/C was running high and I guessed it was more than he was accustomed to, so I just sat and waited him out.  He spoke of his recent stroke, and losing the ability to drive his taxi, his means of livelihood.  I gave him my card and told him if he ever needed a lift to call me, and if I was anywhere near, I would fetch him.   

This evening he called, for the first time, asking for a ride to the local WalMart to get water.  For that, he had definitely called an understanding person.   He picked up a case of 32 bottles.  I suggested he get more and told him I would take care of it.  

As we walked the aisles of the store, he caught me up.   Neighbor is losing his home because of unpaid maintenance fees.   A realtor is helping him with a short sale (his place needs some work and he cannot get market price).   Probing, I asked what the balance of his mortgage was.  When he told me I couldn’t believe it!   He thinks he’s going to get a few thousand from the sale, but I am doubtful, considering the condition of the place (as he described it) and the balance of the mortgage.   I am also concerned that a realtor would have a recovering stroke patient sign a contract.   From my interactions with him I am skeptical of his ability to understand clearly what he is doing.  Also, Neighbor lost his taxi because he has been unable to work.  He is confident that when he gets a medical release, the taxi company with which he contracted will allow him to drive and thereby earn an income.

I am concerned for Neighbor.   His siblings have refused to help him and it seems he has no other family.  He is a veteran.   Tomorrow I will try to contact the VA to see if there is anything they can do to help him – an advocate –- securing living quarters or something — I really don’t know what, but I hope something.

This is one of those times when it would be nice if either 1) I had won the lottery and built my dream “commune” for seniors and parentless children, or 2) I was just plain old wealthy with a generous heart intact.

If any who reads this as an idea to help Neighbor, please contact me.

The Groping Incident

Introduction

In recent years I have finally mentioned the rape I experienced more than 30 years ago.  Now, with  current news snippets tossing out the many instances of Mr. Trump’s abuse of women, The Groping Incident has found its way to the forefront of my thinking.  While there was more than one groping incident, the one of which I write here was for me the most foul.  It threw me totally off guard and left me speechless and feeling worthless, insignificant ... and filthy.  

The Groping Incident

There was a time, decades ago, that I regularly baked.  A lot.  And my favorite baked good was a chocolate chip cookie, made in an 8-inch pie pan.   The recipe was mine and to this day, still my favorite.   I baked these huge cookies and folks practically inhaled them.  It was not unusual for people to make cookie requests, and I responded by delivering a freshly baked 8-inch chocolate chip cookie.

When an associate minister of a more-than-century-old-church, a man old enough to be my father, asked me to bring him a cookie, I thought nothing of it.  The following week I presented him with a cookie – wrapped in foil, still warm from the oven, having been baked that morning.   As he reached for it with one hand, with his other hand he cupped my left breast.  And squeezed.   I was shocked speechless, and he walked away without a word.   I wanted to run away, and could not.  It was shortly before 11:00 a.m. and I was due to play for the 11:00 o’clock worship service.   I entered the sanctuary, sat at the piano, and felt as if every pair of eyes in the sanctuary were settled on me, accusingly, as if I had committed some atrocity.  Haunted by the unanswered question “what did I do to deserve that,” I have no memory of what hymns were sung, what special music the choir sang, or the text of the sermon delivered that day.   The one thing I do remember, however, is that the old guy was not there in his usual seat. 

Not a Good Idea -- Suing the Saudi Government

Dear family and friends of those who perished on September 11, 2001:

That was a terrible, terrible day.  I grieved for the loss of lives, of a sense of security, of peace.    Along with everyone else in this country, and even around the world, my heart was broken.  

The problem is, I see the senseless loss of life every day.   It’s all over broadcast and print news, and in social media.  Even before social media, and well before 11 September 2001, that kind of grief was real to me.    Many times, those left to bury their loved ones, most times killed by the hands of their own countrymen, citizens of the United States of America, had no recourse.  You know the ways people get killed here without justification or provocation; that litany need not be set out here.   So, while there was a terrible, terrible morning of violence in our country and thousands were lost, and it is normal to seek to hold someone accountable, I cannot help but think that to seek redress from another country’s government is not good for our fellow countrymen who may be in other countries right now, nor for the rest of us.   Is it right and fitting to risk their possible freedom, or possibly even their lives?  Or our national security?  

And to Congress:  of all the issues on which to unite, could you not have focused on something that is more pressing and affects the entire country?  Or would you rather have it shut down again, and in the process cause more Americans distress – financial and otherwise? 

I grieve for the thousands who perished on September 11, 2001

I grieve for all who have been abused by police officers who were/are psychologically and/or emotionally unfit for duty.

I grieve for four young lives lost at 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama, and the lives of all others who were maimed, crippled and killed to secure rights they did not have, for themselves and for those who came after, like me.

I grieve because all lives should matter the same, regardless of how those lives ended.  The sad commentary is that they do not.

It's Not the Size (of the Hands) That Counts

For more than a year, this country has been inundated with political campaigns, many of which have been waged like grade school popularity contests.   The personal attacks have been rampant, and more has been said about candidates and their families in many aspects than about candidates and their  perspectives on policies and issues that affect the operation and the very existence of the country.   

Last evening, the lopsided debate of the candidates from the two largest political parties was no exception.   And, of course, this morning is yielding the reviews and analyses (such as can be done) of last night’s debacle – oops – debate.   For the truly anal, there is a transcript, complete with fact-checking on National Public Radio’s website:  http://www.npr.org/2016/09/26/495115346/fact-check-first-presidential-debate.  

My morning message, however, is a tad more succinct.  I had a fleeting thought of the “small hands” issue promulgated by Marco Rubio (http://abcnews.go.com/Politics/history-donald-trump-small-hands-insult/story?id=37395515), and the responding thought (yes, there is running dialog in my mind most of the time) was “forget the small hands – those aren’t important.”

Indeed, the size of either candidate’s hands (nor any other body part to which this reference is alluded) is irrelevant.  What is important, however, is the capacity and quality of their minds.

“Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people." 

- Eleanor Roosevelt 

What's in YOUR Closet?

He has a gun!   
Shots fired!   He’s dead.  
Oh, he had a license to carry.  Oh well.  
I feared for my life.

Every time police kill someone, the decedent’s present and past get plundered.   The things often found (sometimes after being planted) via the plundering are guns and drugs.   Folks then use these findings as to justify the killing.  Is there ever found a school book, comic book, technical manual, novel or a Bible?  What about a bottle of prescription drugs?   What about pictures of children or a spouse?   What about a protein bar — or even a candy bar?   What about a job application?  Or better, what about a police officer application?

ARE PEOPLE REALLY EXPECTED TO BELIEVE THAT THE ONLY THING FOUND AMONG A PERSON’S BELONGINGS AFTER BEING KILLED BY POLICE IS A GUN OR A STASH OF ILLEGAL DRUGS???

The sad, sad commentary is that the ignorant, the bigoted, the hate-filled, will delude themselves and use those findings as justification for the killing.   This begs the questions:  

What’s in YOUR closet?   
What’s in YOUR vehicle?   
What’s in YOUR past?  
What’s in YOUR heart?

When you are killed (highly probably if you are Black and stopped by police in the United States) – or when you die (by whatever means we will all do this), what will you leave behind?  How will you be remembered?