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At least once a week, another friend tells me they’re swearing off social media. One can’t take all the negativity. Another says she is drowning. I daresay Jesus understands.
Until there is a vaccine, let’s find other ways to touch one another – with all the love and care of the God who reaches out to us in enfleshed presence.
Perhaps we whites are finally daring to take a bite of that forbidden fruit to awaken to a new consciousness. It’s bitter but it won’t kill us – the serpent was right about that.
This devotional really is from me. No, really, it is! Honestly, I can prove it. I’ll just go get my credit card and in the meantime, my social security number is…
I view churches like mustard seeds – looking to all the world like something too small to matter but with room enough for so many in their shade.
The wisdom of distance doesn’t erase people’s desire for nearness. And touch. And comfort. A small bit of flame to keep warm. A hand to hold.
In all our clashing, we must be mindful to know what we might forfeit with wanton hostility. Winning our claims at the cost of losing democracy is a loss for everyone.
Could a mustard seed actually grow into a tree? Of all Jesus’ parables, this one does not seem so hard. The tree has room for all the birds in the nest.
We whites can redesign our invisible backpacks: take out the passports for vacations away from justice, remove the opportunity hoarding and the guilt that holds us back from courage.
When will those of us who are white stop demanding tunes of acquiescence from those who experience exile and injustice?