“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” ~ Franklin D. Roosevelt.

These past weeks have been an interesting walk down memory lane for me.  Last week I was dipping into documents written by some of my elders and reading of life in Jamaica in the 1830’s through to the 1960’s, along with snippets of my father’s sermons.  If you know my father (or were taught by him), you know that his handwriting was a particular type of challenging.  He was a child of the early 20^th century, left-handed by inclination, forced to be righthanded by the mores of the time.  As a result his font leaned backwards like a reverse italic, but it was also very loopy, so individual letters were subject to analysis and ambivalence. 

There was a further challenge in trying to read his notes.  For a start my parents were the original recyclers, therefore he wrote on the backs of used paper.  These letter sized papers would often be folded in half, and he might start writing from the inside out and back to front.  Thankfully he numbered his pages.  But what makes it most difficult to fully grasp his message is that he wrote notes for himself, unfinished thoughts that only he would know how they ended; dot dot dot would end some of his sentences; he would allude to Bible verses in a shorthand only he knew.  And always wrote Christ or Christianity as Xt (from his days as a student of Greek). 

His method would make it very difficult for ChatGPT to plagiarize him, that’s for sure! The best part of his sermons was in his head, perhaps fully formed in thought, but not committed to paper.  His notes were a guide, a suggestion, a hint of what he was building towards.  But in the middle of an address he gave at the funeral of a longstanding Deacon of the church, I read this line: “I’m not made for pushing people into saying things. I prefer the spontaneous declaration of my members.” 

One of the annoying things about seeing a therapist (yes, I had a few sessions in my past) is how they try to get you to analyze yourself, to come up with your own solutions. I have at times been fascinated by my dreams, but most professionals will tell you that what is important about the dream is what you think it means, not their interpretation.  My father as minister was also part counselor, untrained lawyer, advisor, mediator, teacher, storyteller, but above all he was a listener.  In that act of non-judgmental listening, he left the space open for those spontaneous declarations, for you to talk through the problem yourself.  For you to even identify your own role in whatever situation you were in, and turn from blaming others to accepting responsibility.

It is early in the new administration, but already we are seeing the ugliness of actions which seem designed to inspire fear, rather than increase efficiency or address systemic problems.  Democracy means accepting the will of the majority, which means that there are going to be periods of time when those in power may not reflect your own values or philosophy.  That we are used to.  But what we are currently experiencing is next level.  Violent criminals have been released; federal jobs eliminated over three little letters; departments designed to protect civil rights are being dismantled, and meanwhile the wealthiest of the wealthy are being further enriched, absolutely empowered, at the expense of those who can least afford it.

Even though it is easy to fall into despair, to feel hopeless and powerless, to even be scared of what the future may hold, we have reason to hope, to have faith in the strength of people, especially when they are united.  We are being played, being deliberately made to feel isolated and divided, cowed into silent acceptance, which is the most dangerous of all.  There is that poem written in the 1940s by Pastor Martin Niemoller ‘First they came for….and I said nothing, for I was not a…’.  It ends with them coming for him, and there was no one left to speak for him.  We must be prepared to speak out for those who cannot speak for themselves.

This week we saw and heard the gentle voice of a woman asking simply for mercy, merely asking that the new administration be merciful and just in its actions.  I was reminded of my father, of his words that, although gently said in a lilting Welsh accent, could make you squirm in your seat and reflect on your own shortcomings.  The term ‘bully pulpit’ must have originated in the church, from those fire and brimstone preachers who used the fear of coming retribution to scare their congregation into being less sinful.  But of course those bullies first had to describe those sins in glorious technicolor, painting pictures of Sodom and Gomorrah and other so-called ‘sinks of iniquity’.  For most of us our own sins are rather more boring, more mundane.  But we would all be bundled up in the same pile of sinners, barely worthy of the grace of a forgiving God. 

Yet I go back to the preaching of my father, and of the brave, small woman who dared to confront the lion with gentle words reminding him of the teachings of Jesus.  ‘Inasmuch as ye do it to the least of these, my brethren…’  How can we then be afraid of what may come?  What are we prepared to put on the line?  There was a punchline to an old joke that said ‘I’m alright, Jack, I’m in the dinghy’, which could have been a reference to the sinking of the Titanic.  So long as my family and I are not threatened, why should I worry?  But as the poet said, when we fail to speak out for others, we may be left with no one to speak for us.

There are things we can do.  We can look out for those we know who are vulnerable and offer support.  We can write to our congressmen and senators to protest egregious acts.  We can share stories to help to explain why certain governmental programs are crucial to our physical and social health.  We can check sources to make sure we are not spreading disinformation (another tactic to promote fear).  We can support organizations which are dedicated to using the legal system to fight for our rights.  But above all, we can stay focused and positive, determined to be united.  And, as my father would say in a quiet voice, ‘Let not your heart be troubled…’

This cool Friday morning, a time of year when windows are left open (until it gets too cold!) and a fresh breeze cleans the air, I lean on the strength of gentle giants, those whose voices are deceptively soft while they speak truth to power.  And when it all gets too much, find a tree and bond with it.  The trees withstand times of plenty and times of lean, hurricanes and forest fires, and continue soaking up our carbon dioxide and providing us with oxygen.  And reminding us, this too shall pass.

Have a wonderful weekend, Family!

One Love!

Namaste.