I am reminded that all of us are born through some one else’s pain, and raised through sacrifice. From the very beginning, love and suffering go hand in hand. And it remains that way. I give thanks for the love, and give thanks for all who sacrifice every day.
Martin was born 11 years after Mandela, and has been dead for 45 years. We lose some of the beautiful ones far too early, and get to have others around for a while. Truly, it’s not the longevity of our life, it’s the quality of our living.
I am also concerned that we are doing the same thing to Madiba that we have done to Malcolm X, and to a lesser extent, to Martin Luther King: whitewashing their radical prophetic legacy into nonthreatening champions of “reconciliation.”
This craving, this desire to fill ourselves with “things” is often a mask, a recognition that we are hollow on the inside, that there is something in us that is calling out to be fulfilled. That craving, however, is often not about things, but an opening in the heart that can only be filled by the love of another that makes us whole.
The history of Thanksgiving may not be real, but the love we share is real. The joy that comes from contentment is real. Expanding the circle of love and compassion is real. And for all that, we give thanks.
Listen to this talk (with stunning images) about the history of Iran and US-Iranian relations over the last century.
So what do people of faith have to say today, facing the catastrophic destruction in Philippines? Where do we stand? Do we have a contribution that is actually informed by our faith traditions? Here are five points to keep in mind and in our hearts as we link together direct and immediate compassionate action with spiritual reflection.
I watch in horror Christian preachers talk about how God wants you to be “blessed” with faith, wealth, health, and victory. And I wonder about the poor and the homeless, the immigrants and the marginalized ones, and where they fit into this false gospel of prosperity. Are they the un-blessed?