Part of the Solution

We sing a couple of different songs in our early service at St. Andrews Parish UMC that contain the line, "Break my heart for what breaks yours", referring to what breaks God's heart. I was up late in bed last night thinking about those words because of all the pain and suffering. Earlier I had watched the limited news coverage, but more the online coverage of my Twitter feed of what was going on in Ferguson, Missouri. I thought about the rest of the world that is in pain and hurting because of violence and persecution. I thought about more than a few in our congregation here at St. Andrews that are hurting for a variety of reasons. I thought about the family over at Cokesbury who will celebrate the life of member tomorrow. So yeah, if the prayer is "break my heart for what breaks yours", I'm pretty brokenhearted because I think God is pretty brokenhearted. 

So my natural tendency is to ask the question, "What am I going to do about it?" I preach about the fact that we cannot choose our situations and circumstance in life at times because of the decisions and choices of others, but we can choose how we will respond. So I challenge myself in my mind about how I am going to respond to this. It is not easy. It kept me up last night. There is a lot of pain. There is a lot of hurt.

So here's what I have come up with. First and foremost, I am no longer going to sit passively by and let someone spew hatred. If you put that junk out there in conversation or on your feed on Facebook or out there on Twitter, I will respond appropriately and take actions to where I no longer have to see or hear it. And I'm not giving free passes out anymore because 'that's the way it has always been'. You demean another human being because of race, gender, sexual orientation, political belief, culture, where they are from, or whatever it may be, consider yourself warned. That junk don't fly anymore. I'll call you on it. I promise.

The next thing I am going to do is pick up the phone and I'm going to call a local school in the area that I know needs mentors and I'm going to volunteer. Somewhere there is another little guy or gal who needs another positive influence on his or her life. I've got a little time and sometimes that's all I've got. I'm going to challenge my congregation to do the same. Here's the deal, if it can happen in Ferguson, it can happen in West Ashley. And I am not here to say who is right and who is wrong in that situation. Crimes against humanity have been committed. And I am not going to be a part of the problem. I want to be a part of the solution.

I'm going to send my kid to school for the first time, a public school, a big school. And I'm going to be fearful that an armed guard has to be at the school at all times. So I'm going to pray for that school. I'm going to pray for our community. I'm going to pray for Charleston and the surrounding areas. I'm going to pray to God that the stuff that is happening in other parts of the world doesn't happen here. But if it should, and it will, because evil is all around us, I'm going to call it out. No longer am I going to hide in the shadows because of the darkness that is around. I'm going to speak light into that darkness. I'm going to teach my children that they matter and they are of sacred worth no matter what the world would tell them. And that they are to treat other human beings as such, that they too are of value and of worth. And that they are no better or no worse than anyone else. And I'm going to ensure that every chance I get to tell them how much I love them, to affirm them, to build them up, I will because, as of right now, the world will beat them down. And so when I coach the soccer team next Tuesday for the first time ever coaching my own child's team, I am going to make sure those 6 little boys feel that same encouragement. That they begin to work as a team even though they don't know each other. That they are bound by the blood that runs in their veins. We are going to be a part of the solution, not a part of the problem.

Lastly, when we get the chance, we are going to have dance parties at my house. Like the Delta Rae song says, "I want to dance in the graveyards." It feels like there is a lot of dead-ness around us. We are called to be people of hope, joy, love, peace, and light. Below is a link to the spontaneous dance party that broke out last night in my kitchen. Make sure you turn the volume up to hear the song. Hopefully it'll bring a little light and a little smile to you. I've only watched it about 100 times because I need a little light and I need to smile.

Kitchen Dance Party 

On Robin Williams

A few years ago a mentor of mine was asked how he perfected his art as a preacher. He surprised us with his answer that he watched and listened to comedians. Ever since then I have tried to watch and listen to different comedians, still a novice in good comedy for sure, but a follower nonetheless. I love the way they set up jokes or points, follow through with it, and then drop the hook. I also love the art of the callback, referring to an earlier point or joke that was made. Nearly all the ones I listen to, when talking about their trade, allude to the greats, Carlin, Cosby, and Robin Williams.

I didn't know Robin Williams, but I watched enough of his movies and paid attention to his standup to get a feel for him as a comedian. Sheer brilliance. And so there was shock to learn of his passing, especially the way it went down. You just never really know what someone is going through. That fact was reinforced this morning as I drove my kids to school. As chaos ensued because of toys and blankets and music, none of the drivers around me were aware of what was going on in our van. You just never really know. It probably does us well to think about that and to treat others with a certain amount of grace and compassion when it comes to this life we are living together.

Robin Williams' movies were amazing in a lot of ways, but there seemed to be a common theme, especially in his comedic roles. His character always attempted to bring levity, humility, humor, and some would say grace in difficult situations. In Patch Adams, he played a medical professional dealing with the loss of life, staring that reality in the face day in and day out, he attempted to bring humor and humanity where there was none. In The Bird Cage, a family dealing with another family whose lifestyle is different from there own, he protrayed the father character with love and compassion for those who did not see life like he did. In Dead Poet's Society, he played a teacher facing persecution from an administration, trying to challenge young men to open up their minds and their hearts to the world around them, combatting the stiff rigidity of institutional academia. As the genie in Alladinn his humorous character helped a young man attempt to improve his lot in life. In Good Morning Vietnam, his radio disc jockey character brought humor in a time of violence and war, a dark day in our nation's history. And who could ever forget Mrs. Doubtfire, playing a the title character brilliantly in a story about a family breaking apart because of decisions and circumstances. These are the ones he is most known for to my generation. For me, his most endearing role was not found in a comedy, but rather in Good Will Hunting, playing a counselor, who though broken himself, attempts to walk with a young man battling his own demons. Still a bit of humor and grace came from this role as well. And in all these stories, these movies, though times were dark and bleak, his role was always one to bring light into those places through laughter and smiles.

And so there is a certain irony that exists. As we look upon our loss of such a bright and beautiful man who filled our homes and theaters with much laughter and joy, but was also a man who battled his own darkness. Many know of these things, depression and mental illness, and a variety of other things that ail us as humanity, others simply feel the effects as such. And so a man who spent his whole life making us smile and laugh in the end leaves us sad because he felt too alone to reach out for help from someone else. 

So here's the thing. Somehow, someway, we must never forget that we are never, ever, ever alone. No matter what. We might not always be able to laugh, hell, we may not even be able to smile. But we must know that we are in this thing called life together, and all of us hurt. All of us. We are not alone. 

May God rest Robin Williams' soul, and the soul of everyone who finds too much darkness in life to carry on, and may we, all of us, begin to be the people who offer hope, peace, love, and laughter to a hurting world.