I’m frightened by all that’s happening. I remember reaching for my mother when I was scared. It was her lullabies that comforted me. Now I want to fight: give me someone to blame. But that’s not the way. It’s like drinking poison and hoping that the other person gets sick. With a dis-membering fear, a fire burns that could warm and protect — or burn a house down. Nervous systems are hijacked by the cacophony of false prophets telling us to fear. To make new enemies, and then hate them. My ears are boxed with all of this discordant noise. I can’t hear for the ringing.
The young rabbi tells his listeners of impending peril, calling them to follow, trust, and hope during an apocalyptic time.* Within this great revealing of all that is not well, of the mad carousel of despair, he says, “Do not be afraid…I will give you the words you need.” I hope he sings them.
Great Spirit, please help us hear your song. Sing us the song of John Lewis, and we will make good trouble. Sing us the song of the freedom riders and of the courage it took to break the law to speak for those who are not seen. Sing to us the spirit of Dorothy Day and we will lovingly confront this dirty rotten system. Sing us the song of Harriet Tubman, who walked boldly into the dark night with a lantern and a shovel, searching for the treasure that lies within every soul in the ground of freedom.
May these voices from on high resound within us like a call to prayer. May the medicine of metanoia help turn us toward the suffering of our world. May we choose love in these hateful times and may we listen for your voice singing to us as a Mother’s lullaby.
