mark of racism

Our family tailgated in front of the Lyceum in 2008.I was 10 years old. The air in the grove hung around me as thick as cotton. My eyes must have been the size of cotton bolls. They read the sign painted on a white sheet and hefted by a rotund man dressed in a suit and tie. It read: “hell, John, I’ll tote that flag.” 

I had been to Ole Miss campus before surely, but this was the first trip my memory would register. I tagged along with my good friend Rachel Paris. Her family would later have the chapel on campus named for them. 

On that weekend, I visited the Chi Omega house where Rachel’s big sister lived. I remember the smell of hot rollers and shampoo as the beautiful girls prepped for the big game. Seven years later, I would spend my junior and senior years living there in one of those rooms.

We tailgated in front of the Lyceum circa 1846. This icon of Ole Miss was the first building to constitute the university. In 1861the entire student body joined the confederate army. Later the Lyceum served as a hospital for both Union and Confederate soldiers. The bodies of 250 soldiers lay buried a few feet away from where we picnicked. 

The confederate soldier greets visitors. The Lyceum is behind it but hard to see because of the trees.

And as my feet stood firm on this ground - this battleground - I took in the history as it played out in front of me. My mind tried to process the words and the red-faced adults fueled by anger and bourbon. 

My heart had already pledged allegiance to the flag of Ole Miss, to the concept of this institution, to the nostalgia that transcends words. The adults with me, one of whom had a jewish heritage, explained to me that an African American cheerleader had refused to carry the confederate flag. 

Yesterday I went to the movies with my two younger sons and my husband. As our Honda traveled through Franklin, Tennessee (yet another historic battlefield); we explained racism to them. Then we watched it on the big screen as “42” chronicled the legend of Jackie Robinson. For most of the movie a lump lodged in my throat. Finally tears slid down my face as Jackie lost it after yet another barrage of insults accompanied his turn at bat. 

In one scene a 10 year old boy watches the game with his father. His big eyes reflect the bewilderment of the rage around him. This poignantly portrays the birth of racism in a soul. The boy begins to copy the adults and scream out to Jackie. Then he watches as his hero, Pee Wee Reese, walks over to first base and puts his arm around Jackie. Which adult will the boy emulate as he matures? 

Racism leaves its marks on lives. The mark is as deadly as the bloodstains on the floor of the Lyceum. As I write these words, I feel scared. Putting my thoughts and my experiences of racism on paper feels like handling explosives. Shame still laces through me. What could a 46-year-old white woman have to say about racism?

A few weeks ago I read the thoughts of an African American pastor on his blog. He wrote about the recent uproar at Ole Miss. The Colonel Rebel retired and the Black Bear took his place on the sideline. My own reaction to this event belies the work still to be done in my heart. When I read about the shift, I hung my head low. A black bear. Really? 

Pastor Loritts called me out. He wrote:

Down the street from Memphis sits Ole Miss. Recently, a bit of a ruckus took place there over the issue of their mascot, and the Rebel Flag. In the middle of the “storm” I happened to be playing golf with an alumnus of the school, who’s a raving fan who also happens to be white. Dumbfounded he exhaled, “I don’t see what the big deal is, it’s just a name, a flag.” It’s no surprise that he doesn’t have any meaningful relationships with the other either. He just sees things from his side of the tracks, and has never bothered to get into the skin of the Other. If he did, he would see the big deal, because to the descendants of slaves that flag incites anger and hurt.

The mark of racism on my life looks like loneliness. I don’t have friends who are African American. My church is mostly vanilla. The elementary and middle schools my children attend are not diverse. And my life is less because of this. I want more.

I would like to get into the skin of the other. Ole Miss still holds my allegiance. My hope is that we can grow and become people willing to get into the skin of the other. 

ordinary days

What if our days are strung together by memories hanging side by side to make a life?

This past weekend we traveled to Knoxville for a soccer tournament for Joshua. His good buddy F traveled with us. This could have been just another weekend of soccer away from home. 

Matthew lives there and attends University of Tennessee. He is finishing up his junior year. My garage is full of coffee tables and dishes he will need soon enough. This average weekend brightened considerably by his presence with us.

On Sunday after both Joshua’s and F’s teams lost, we veered off our path to show F Neyland Stadium in the heart of UT’s campus. In the south football is a religion. Neyland is the third largest stadium in the country. Now F is a die-hard Tarheels fan. We secretly committed to changing his loyalty. Who could resist this kind of devotion to football?

As we neared the stadium, we realized the gates were not locked. Quickly we ducked in. The sun shone brightly from a bluebird sky and warmed us as we sat in awe. Tennessee weather could not decide if spring or winter ruled the day. We reminisced football games of the past and how the McMurrays have already left a mark on Neyland Stadium.

At the top, we peered over the orange (what other color is there?) bars to see the ground far below. Joshua commented how easy it would be to climb those orange bars and take out on the larger steel beams. If I was Catholic, I would have crossed myself at the thought. 

“Please!” I begged, “y’all don’t ever do that.” 

They looked at me like I was crazy. I reminded them that just last summer one of them had gotten out on a roof and jumped from balcony to window. Raising boys is not for the faint of heart. 

Someone lamented that if we only had some paper we could fly paper airplanes off the top. Another spotted orange flyers from the Orange and White game of the day before. We grabbed up eight or so pages and went to folding. 

Matthew’s design - simple yet sophisticated - won the best air time. The jets dove straight down for the concrete sidewalk. One stealth design flew all the way over to the parallel roof. 

As I reflected on the weekend, this moment stood out for me. Releasing those paper flying machines off Neyland held hope and play. It was an unexpected adventure built by togetherness and creativity. 

I think it is a moment we will store in the scrapbook of our hearts. A moment strung next to the others making life.

EASTER

Y’all. I feel like I have left Jesus in the grave. Well, I couldn’t even ever do that. Nor would I want to. But on this blog, I have not covered RESURRECTION. 

To be completely honest Easter Sunday was anticlimactic for me. We arrived 30 seconds late for the service at our church, and a bouncer stood at the door blocking our entrance. Well, actually he was really a nice man preventing us from letting in light so that the ones who arrived on time could experience this amazing prelude to worship. I still don’t know exactly what happened, but  I know it involved light. And so for the light to be extra bright, they needed to prevent the light from coming in from the outside. 

Because light is brighter right next to darkness. 

On Easter Sunday we missed the crescendo of the service. For a long time, I have been waiting for the resurrection. Where would I see the resurrected Jesus?

And on this past Sunday, a week after Easter, I saw Him. Matt and I have had a sideline seat to see how Jesus can rock your world, leave you panting as he takes you to the edge of a cliff and then show up at what seems like the last minute. 

A couple we know stepped out in obedience. They had a big need - a need falling in the category of food, clothing or shelter. After a hard decision to obey, they waited. And they waited. Then they waited. And one provision slipped out of their hands. What would God do? They waited again. 

The way God provided - at the last minute, mind you - but they way God provided, well, it blew us all out of the water. 

This is the story of Easter. The disciples, the Mary’s, the followers: all thought hope had died with Jesus. He was simply weening them of hoping in anything but Him. When He appeared, He blew all their puny hopes away and showed them HOPE. 

The darkest day followed by the brightest day. It seems every day holds a little of both. May our eyes be sensitive to His light!

Happy Easter! Even if it is a bit late!

tomb: 40 words in 40 days

Holy Saturday is a day of quiet between the death of Jesus and His Resurrection. 

Friday the women waited outside the tomb. Joseph of Armithea had taken Jesus’ body from Pilate and laid Him in his own tomb. Saturday everyone went home to rest on the Sabbath “in obedience to the commandment.” Luke 23:56. For Jews then, the Sabbath was on Saturday.

Rest. Sit and wait. Obey without an indication of what comes next. These are the facets of Holy Saturday. These are the components of living in the now but not yet. 

Perhaps Holy Saturday is a paradigm of sorts to living in this age. Jesus is not in the grave. He is seated at the Father’s right hand. And yet we live in brokenness. Our bodies are racked by disease and and the long haul of aging. Our relationships do not bear the image of the glorified Christ. Our families often lie in ruins.

And yet Christ is at work in our bodies, in our lives, in our families, in our relationships. 

Holy Saturday is the day that Christ descended into hell. Hades and hell tremble on Holy Saturday. And today Christ is at work in the hell of our lives freeing captives, conquering death, opening blind eyes. 

It often seems like we are sitting at the tomb. We are assured of life and victory. Yet we look in and see darkness. We must believe that although we cannot see nor understand what is happening; we know the One who orchestrates our lives. 

To sit by the tomb on Holy Saturday is to wait on God to work and to believe that He will. In His time. In His way. We wait. We are present by the tomb.

darkness: 40 words in 40 days

Clouds roll in over Mt Vernon (home of George Washington). We toured there Tuesday.

Today is Good Friday - the day Jesus hung on a cross and died.

Recently, Lloyd Shadrach preached on this day. It has not left me since. God, he said, is present in our darkest moments.

As I reflected on this truth, it hit me that healing comes when we find resolution in this fact. He did not stop nor prevent my darkest moment. He orchestrated it. And He transcends it.

My first response to this truth has not always been comfort. I've experienced some anger and breathed hard questions. Like why? Exhale. And what now? Exhale.

My arrogance pales in the shadow of the cross when God poured His wrath out on His Own Son.

Lloyd said, there has never been a darker moment than the death of Jesus. Hope died. Perhaps loss is God's way of weening us of false hope.

I have no other hope than Jesus. He is not in the grave. He is alive.

Today I remember the darkest moment when the earth convulsed and the curtain was rent in two. Sin can no longer separate me from my God. The blood has won. Light has come.