Sabbath Devotional :: Being One

Contemplative Court at the African American History Museum in Washington, DC.

Lately I have felt overwhelmed by insignificance. When I witness the unrelenting onslaught of misrepresentations of the truth; egos out of proportion; locked political horns despite 800,000 people struggling without paychecks; families separated at borders or savaged by crime and greed and disloyalty, I feel powerless. What can my one voice do to bring peace to this broken world of ours?

I am reminded of Moses in the Pearl of Great Price where, after seeing a vision of the eternities and the vastness of the world and its people, he — “left unto himself” — admits, “I know that [humankind] is nothing, which thing I never had supposed.” Left “unto myself” I fear that none of my phone calls, letters, conversations with members of Congress or with like-minded friends will make a whit of difference.

But then I read our “call to action and prayer” pleading for us collectively to invoke our spiritual powers: “Please pray that a great wave of humility, compassion, and understanding will flood over this country and help us all become more loving toward one another and more capable of discerning truth.”

This isn’t our first call to action and prayer – and it won’t be our last – but it buoyed me. This call to open our eyes — lift them, really — to the reality that we are not “left to ourselves” is potent. We are in this together. As we focus on principles that will long outlast our planet and our own mortal lives, we tap into powers unimaginable, empowering and consoling.

And how I love the next line: “Then please go out and do something on Monday to make the world better in honor of Dr. King.”

Martin Luther King, Jr. was one man with one voice, too. Granted, his was resplendent, sonorous, and leaned into glory with every turn of phrase. I remember standing in the Contemplative Court at the African American History Museum in DC moved by the fountain of water encircling the room from the ceiling. Around the fountain is a portion of this powerful quote from King’s address to the Montgomery Improvement Association in Dec. 1955, It still gives me shivers:

If we are wrong, God Almighty is wrong. If we are wrong, Jesus of Nazareth was merely a utopian dreamer that never came down to Earth. If we are wrong, justice is a lie, love has no meaning. And we are determined . . . to work and fight until justice runs down like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream.

My doing something “on Monday” — or any day — to help “justice run down like water” in a small measure amplifies the voice and intentions of Dr. King.

Perhaps part of why I recently felt so puny and bereft was because of the news on Friday of the death of one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver. I wept when I heard the news and feel the pall of her loss still. Today I find solace and alliance in the words of her poem, “One.” When I hold my tiny not-so-shiny plastic cup, full of sacramental water, I will hold these words and wonders in my mind and heart. Here is a portion of her poem:

. . . How many, how many, how many

make up a world!

And then I think of that old idea: the singular

and the eternal.

One cup, in which everything is swirled

back to the color of the sea and sky.

Imagine it!

A shining cup, surely!

In the moment in which there is no wind

over your shoulder,

you stare down into it,

and there you are,

your own darling face, your own eyes.

And then the wind, not thinking of you, just passes by

touching the ant, the mosquito, the leaf,

and you know what else!

How blue is the sea, how blue is the sky,

how blue and tiny and redeemable everything is, even you,

even your eyes, even your imagination.

(Mary Oliver, “One”)