We Are Still Marching

When I turned to the Montana section of the Missoulian today this is what I saw:

Isn't it beautiful?

It's the winning art piece from the annual Martin Luther King, Jr. contest.   I'm going to cut it out and put it on our fridge.

Here's the winning essay:

For Dr. King

There are no segregated
     buses, schools,
water fountains or
     bathrooms.
But there are
people sitting on the streets
who no one notices
and children who are
     hungry.
There is violence and hatred
     and war.
Until there is peace
     and justice
your dream
is held in the hands of many,
like women dressed in black
on the bridge
     holding signs for peace,
and those who
work in food banks
and health clinics
     helping people in need.
We are still marching
towards a better world.

Zoe Wilson, Grade 4


When I was in 4th grade, I was not this aware.  I am grateful that these children are.

In today's paper there were other stories.  There was the story of a Montana boy who lost both of his legs and four of his fingers in Afghanistan, and of his courage and spirit, which are still intact.

There was a story about 9 civilians--families, with children--who were killed by a bomb in Afghanistan.

There was a story about the upcoming bill in the House of Representatives which would do away with the new health care plan.  Congresspeople who support it know that even if it gets past the House it's not going to pass in the Senate, and Obama definitely will not sign it.  They know it's not going to work, but they're wasting precious time trying to do away with a health care plan that will help millions of people  instead of working to bring our soldiers home from Iraq and Afghanistan, or working on climate change legislation, or thinking about ways to create new jobs, or figuring out how to lessen the deficit (why aren't we raising taxes for the obscenely wealthy again?) . . . or, oh, any number of issues that are far more essential and useful, not to mention relevant.

We are still marching
towards a better world.

I find such irony in the juxtaposition of this children's art & essay contest and the story demonstrating the pettiness of our congresspeople.  These 10-year-old kids get it.  They write and paint about friendship and peace and love and justice.  Their creative expression is helping to make the world a better place.  Why do some people seem to lose that desire?  I simply cannot believe that so many of our elected officials, despite the fact that they should be working to make the best possible decisions for the people they represent, seem to be doing the opposite.  How will taking away this new health care bill help people?  How will lowering taxes help us, in the long run?  How does spending untold billions on an unnecessary war and its aftermath benefit anyone?

Whatever happened to loving our neighbors?  Whatever happened to helping others, to the idea that our government has all its people's (not corporations', not those in the highest income bracket, not the tobacco or oil industries') best interests in mind?

And, on this day when we remember Martin Luther King, Jr., and his incredible work for justice and equality for all people, I wonder:  why are we still so afraid of those who are different from us?  It's been almost half a century since the Civil Rights movement and we are still afraid.  Whites are still afraid of blacks.  We are afraid of Muslims and gays and homeless people on the streets. Whatever happened to acceptance and understanding?  Why do we have such a hard time remembering that there is so much beautiful strength in diversity--whether of race or gender or sexual orientation or religion?

How can those of us who are Christians say we believe in a God of love--a God who not only loves the whole world but who created it, with all its complexities and diversity and wildness and beauty--and at the same time show hatred (born out of fear) to people God has created?

There is simply so much that needs to be done.  There are so many hurting people in this country and in this world.  What makes sense to me is working to feed the hungry, care for the sick, shelter the homeless, grow and eat healthy food, keep the air and water and soil clean, provide wild places for wild animals, to use our resources carefully and sustainably.  What doesn't make sense is spending time passing (or trying to pass) laws that do none of these things.  What doesn't make sense is feeling irrational fear of Muslims or blacks.  What doesn't make sense is people trying to elevate themselves by belittling those who are different.

I am so deeply angry, sometimes.  I feel such hopeless despair, sometimes.  And yet, if I can make what small differences I can in my little corner of this Earth--teaching 10-year-old kids about the beautiful wildness of Montana, growing my own food, recycling, reusing, driving as little as possible, loving the people around me, knitting scarves for my friends--perhaps that despair, that anger, will rise up and dissipate like smoke.  It's all I can do.  And who knows when what seems to be such a small act may have powerful, beautiful consequences?  Who knows how many people felt a stirring in their hearts while looking at Anwen Tobalske's lovely vision of hope, while reading Zoe Wilson's insightful poem?

I leave you with the far-reaching words of two wise men.

First, from Wendell Berry, one of the most thoughtful visionaries of our time:

THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

And second, from Martin Luther King, Jr., one of the most thoughtful visionaries of half a century ago:

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."
With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:
Free at last! Free at last!
Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!


We are still marching.