Thou Dost Not Become Weary

It is our faith and our confidence, our Father, that Thou dost not become weary, because always before Thee we present the same sorry spectacle. It is our trust that Thou dost not get tired of us but that always Thou dost remain constant, even as we do not; that Thou dost remain true even when we take refuge in falsehood and error; that Thou dost remain kind and gracious when our hearts are hard and callous; that Thy scrutiny and Thy judgment hold despite all of our whimpering, self-pity, and shame. It is so good to have this kind of assurance and to know, as we move into the days and the hours that are still left to us, that we are not alone but that we are comforted and strength straightened by Thy brooding presence.

We would ask forgiveness for our sins, but of so much that is sinful in us we have no awareness. We would seek to offer to Thee the salutation of our spirits and our minds were we able to tear ourselves away from preoccupation with our own concerns, our own anxieties, our own little lives. We would give to Thee the “nerve center” of our consent if for one swirling moment we could trust Thee to do with us what our lives can stand.

Oh God, our Father, take the chaos and confusion and disorder of our minds and spirits and hold them so completely in thy grasp that the impure thing will become pure, the crooked thing will become straight, and the crass and hard thing will be gentled by Thy spirit. Oh, that we may have the strength to see and the vision to comprehend what in us is needful for Thy peace.

(For the Inward Journey: the writings of Howard Thurman.
Selected by Anne Spencer Thurman. pages 296-297
Originally published in The Centering Moment)

Yesterday was a traveling day for me, with a very long stay at LaGuardia, a mostly pleasant flight and then the astonishing delights of the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport where people triple park outside the gates where happy friends pick up travelers, and all things are orderly, polite and without a single honking of a car horn. (I had just finished watching Part I of the film “Wicked” and wondered if there were a “Wonderful World” that I had been transported to.)

I was met by Oscar, whose installation as Senior Minister at Unity Church—Unitarian is the reason I came to the Twin Cities. We went to his apartment to have dinner with Stacie and their daughter and Oscar’s parents and grandfather. What a precious reunion! I hold Oscar and his kindred in my (such as they are, feeble and humanistic) prayers, and so celebrate their many accomplishments. I am deeply grateful to have been asked to accompany him in this public celebration of his relationship with Unity and their hope-filled future.

A challenging moment of the evening came when I retired to the hospitality room provided in their apartment building, I was speaking with Jim Oestereich, the old composer-in-residence of Little Flags Theatre, about getting to see Maxine Klein, the director of Little Flags and the mentor in theater who helped me become the public and political person I am. I had written them to celebrate Max’s 91st birthday on March 25. Jim had said in an earlier text message that things with Max were not great. For whatever reason, I had not yet told Jim that I was heading to Minneapolis, where they live. When Jim said that Max was in a bad state, and that he was finishing a film about her and wondered if we might have a Zoom interview, I let him know that I was heading to St. Paul. Last night, he said the words that filled me with anxiety. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of Lewy Body Dementia.” Of course I knew the term. That was how they described my mother’s dementia. Immediately, I felt kinship and understanding with Jim; immediately I began conflating my experience of my mother’s decline with Max’s, of which I know nothing. “Lord, give me strength!”

I am looking forward to seeing them later today, and will strive to be open to whatever I encounter. I want to find a way to thank Maxine for the many gifts she gave me, for the many ways she taught me about the art of theater and the art of living. I recognize the “negative” teachings that were so abundant; and the heart of the woman from Blue Earth, Minnesota who so loved her dad. I join Thurman in the hope—maybe confidence—that the divine spirit available to us all may “take the chaos and confusion and disorder of our minds and spirits and hold them so completely in thy grasp that the impure thing will become pure, the crooked thing will become straight, and the crass and hard thing will be gentled.” That’s my prayer for today. That’s how I confidently make my steps (and mis-steps). Every day.