It seems we are on the edge of something huge and unforeseen. With the combination of various events merging the political, social, and personal into a movement that is becoming part of our normal life, a movement that is taking us toward the great unknown. As we take a breath, which is always recommended, and assess our landscape both inner and outer, it is unmistakable that all of our lives regardless of class, race, gender, or sexuality has reached a particular, poignant intensity. The desire to be with our families who live far away, the desire to abolish systems that hurt and seek to enslave our fellow citizens as second class, the near constant dread of how long we may need to live in this alternate reality that seems to have no clear finish line, the anxiety around things that we might have taken for granted like schooling, what our jobs will look like, will we have a job? All of this inevitably can lead down a path for some, where the great religious questions pose themselves, and even if there is no clear, straightforward answer, beg to be reckoned with. Questions like: What is the meaning of this moment? Where is my life taking me, and what say if any do I have in that?
I find my sleep has become more erratic these days. It is not because I’m in a bad way. I’m fortunate to be gainfully employed doing something that gives me great meaning and satisfaction. I have my health, and numerous other things that in this time seem like luxuries, not givens. Even with this being the case, I feel the collective yearning in this moment for something else. I feel the collective yearning for some kind of alternative where our children may have a world that is more just, more considerate of our workforce and the health of our citizens, a world where living doesn’t need to be done in trepidation, fear, or near constant grief. In this moment of great simultaneous losses, the losses of individuals who we loved, individuals who are impacted by the choices we make or don’t make, and the choices that were made and unquestioned before us. It is the weight of this potential choice that I think is weighing down on us at this moment, and even if there isn’t a straightforward answer, needs to be reckoned with. The choice of how we might live as an individual in a nation that has yet to fully conceive of itself as a true people.
Outside a pub in England, there was a tongue in cheek sign that said: “All Americans must be accompanied by an adult.” It’s funny, and also painfully not. Part of the process of growing up is recognizing our relation to others outside of ourselves. Part of the process of maturing is coming to terms with the events and choices that have led to our life as we know it and seeking to live that life fully in the service of others for mutual benefit. It is an optional process. I don’t mean this in a condescending way. I don’t think there is an end to growth. I don’t think we should be self-satisfied that we’ve reached a certain place of growth, even if others around us have not. I think that growth is a never-ending process and becoming a true grown up is what our life is about. I’m still on my way to growing up. I hope to always be growing and learning, and having my world always expand, even if it contradicts what I’ve held to be true. I’d rather be mistaken and grow, rather than stagnant with the belief that my worldview is inherently correct. It is inherently correct that I’m never 100% correct. There is always more to learn and understand, more to digest and to make part of our everyday life.
This moment is a gigantic learning curve. We may have thought we were all on our way to becoming amateur epidemiologists, learning about the ins and outs, findings about transmission of a novel virus. We were becoming historians of science looking back at other worldwide plague events. We have become amateur economists understanding how our capitalist system works, and how stimulus checks may be needed, more than one to stimulate even modest growth. We’ve become amateur philosophers, looking at the best ways to spend our time with the clear, unavoidable backdrop of life and death and the tenuous, vulnerable nature of being alive. We’ve become amateur political scientists, memorizing the words of commentators and pundits from different political factions, and understanding how divisive and fraught this moment is for various segments of the population. We’ve become amateur techies, learning the ins and outs of global communication, education, even worship, through the clicking of buttons on a screen from our home. On top of all this we’ve been given a clear and harsh reminder about the original sin of this country: racism. Racism that led to slavery over 400 years ago and exists today. This awareness has broadened to open our eyes to the current plight of our indigenous sisters and brothers and other people of color who are invisible women and men in our straining but still standing dominant culture of whiteness.
What I’ve just described would be an incredible and rich lifetime for any one of us. But all of this for many was not the journey of a lifetime. It was the journey of 4 months. Four months out of 70 years for some, four months out of 50 years, out of 35 years. For those who are quite young, four months that will come to shape the scope and vision of what they believe life to be, what they believe it means to be human. A moment can never be isolated. A moment can never be isolated from other moments, as if it does not impact not only what comes next, but the way we perceive what has come before. It is why this is movement, not a moment. This year so far is beginning to shape perhaps not just what tomorrow may be, but what our lives may be and more accurately feel like 20, 30, 50 years from now. This moment will have a lifespan that most probably will outlive us and come to carve out the innate possibilities and struggles that will define the human family.
I was provoked by Robin D.G. Kelley, who wrote in his book Freedom Dreams: The Black Radical Imagination, that we often look at movements and assess whether they succeeded or failed. And we must inevitably come to the conclusion that if the goal of these various movements is to fundamentally change the power structure of the time and place in which we live, then we would have to say according to this criteria that all movements have failed. Failed in the sense that their success was partial if at all, and even then, attacked and diminished in the ensuing years by the power structure the movement sought to alter. When I talk with many people about this time, black, white, young, old, working or middle class, there is a shared agreement that the current movements we are witnessing are some of the largest in terms of participation the world has ever seen. But I almost always sense something underneath this evaluation: a question if it will be successful or not. A question about whether this is a red-hot moment that in time will cool and become a staunch conservatism, or if this moment will really change the way we know life to feel like from the inside out.
Robin D.G. Kelly assesses this question as a scholar, and though I’m uncertain if he has any religious affiliation whatsoever, his answer I think is profound and points to a bit of the mystery of what it means to live knowing we’ll die. The power of a moment like this, the power that a moment of great solidarity and compassion and sacrifice unlike the world has ever seen must be measured against another metric rather than the dualistic success or failure.
It is the question of vision and outlook, a metric that measures the depth of our living, and breadth of our imagination, a metric that is concerned with how we live with success or failure as much if not more than whether we achieve success or failure. It is concerned with the vision that we feed and keep alive in our lifetime so that others might find a space they might truly live in, even if that space is marginal, perceived as radical, or without significant power or merit in the way we commonly measure those things. It is concerned with leaving the world with an alternative, pure and simple. An alternative way to see, feel, and live into your life. An alternative way to understand your place as a member of a community. An alternative vision that understands love and sacrifice not just as romantic ideals but shared experiences of living, shared experiences that give life it’s meaning, even when it’s painful sometimes.
We are still in a moment culturally when we want to live a life where there isn’t as much at stake. A life that is mostly concerned with ourselves as individuals, a life that seeks pleasure and as little discomfort as possible.
It is a moment of grief to see that this life no longer makes sense, not if we want to live a real life in relationship with others and in relationship with the time and place we actually live in. This doesn’t mean there isn’t room for lightness or humor, or pleasure. Those are all very special aspects of our lives and we should never give these up. I think there is simply a growing understanding that we are growing in capacity as global species to live a whole life: a life that doesn’t shirk or hide from discomfort or moments of sacrifice, a life that includes pleasure, humor, and lightness along with the sense of compassion and solidarity with our fellow sisters and brothers across the globe who are undergoing hardship. Instead of seeing their hardship as an addition to our own hardship, we are beginning to see the truth: hardship shared, fully shared is no longer hardship – it is the joy and meaning of life, a life that is much wider than we knew: a life of laughter, humor, and simple pleasure. A life in communion with those who have suffered invisibly, a life that is truly our own life in different form.
Like many, I am really curious about where this movement will lead us, and I’m optimistic. I’m not optimistic because I’m certain that success is at hand. I’m optimistic because we are already succeeding in the way that truly lasts and matters. We are succeeding in changing the way we and those who come after will see and feel in their life. We are succeeding in feeling in our cells, in our bodies, as well as our minds that we belong to a community, even if we never really knew that before or paid attention, especially to those made invisible. We are making the invisible visible. We are making entire groups of people visible. And it’s no surprise that each of our own lives is becoming increasingly visible, known and felt by us in ways perhaps we have never felt them before.
So, I invite you to take heart, and to join me in celebrating this success. This success does not negate or supersede failure, especially recognizing how much we collectively need to grow up to save ourselves and future generations. But it encourages me. It gives me courage that I’m not the only one who is being asked to live more courageously. I’m not the only one who is coming to terms with the invisible that is now blatantly visible and demands our reckoning.
I’m encouraged by those who are becoming heroes before my eyes, heroes who just by living their everyday life open up new vistas of vision and new valleys of feeling and experience. I’m heartened by the young people who are discovering what their life is truly about in friendship and alliance, and all the people young, middle aged, elderly, black, white, Asian, indigenous, and Hispanic who are discovering the depth of their life in this moment. We are truly in an awesome moment that carries with it a momentum that we have no choice but to reckon with. We must reckon with the reality of success, a success of vision and living in unprecedented times.
