Rev. Lynn Ungar shares a story about offering the right kind of apology, one that asks real forgiveness.

Podcast: Download (1.6MB)

Subscribe: More

I always feel something when I read Lynn’s poems. “Building the structure of joy” seems like such a good aspiration to take into retirement. —LD

To each their own pleasure:
backpacking above the tree line
where the air starts to thin;
dancing ‘til dawn, even after the blisters rise;
movie marathons or the real thing,
mile upon mile upon mile.
You know the way the world lights up:
The pure pleasure of the perfect chord
or the perfect shot,
the bowling strike and the baseball no-hitter,
the hole in one and the standing O,
the rare moments of perfection
when everything aligns
and you are suddenly illuminated,
incandescent with joy.
Perhaps it matters to no one but you.
Certainly your neighbors can’t understand
why you would rise at dawn
to seek that elusive lightning.
But isn’t there something to be said
for building the structure of joy?
Aren’t we all somehow blessed by those
who choose the discipline
of their peculiar pleasures?
Doesn’t that light
somehow brighten us all?

Maybe we could just sit down and cry together first. In the presence of Black rage. In the presence of white shame. In the presence of grief and despair and the overwhelming knowledge that white men with guns just keep killing people. In the devastating remembrance that this is not the first time that a white man with a gun has chosen a place of worship as the most devastating possible place to exact horrific violence.

We need to say out loud that this was another act of violent white supremacy, not just a disturbed individual. It matters that we point out that, as with almost every instance of mass violence, it was a man who committed this atrocity, with a man’s sense of entitlement to assert his will at whatever cost to those around him. We need to say out loud that once again gun violence has cost innocent people their lives, that while a man bent on doing damage with a knife can certainly hurt people, guns kill people far more rapidly and efficiently than anything else.

And then we need to sit with the fact that this horrific act was committed in a church. That it wasn’t random that the killer chose the AME church that has been such a force for Black empowerment and leadership development. That it wasn’t random that violence was perpetrated in a temple of peace. That this man sat and prayed with his victims for an hour before he attacked, and God did nothing to stop him. That the only way that God will ever stop the violence—not just the brutality of mass shootings, but also the daily violence of racism in all its massive and tiny iterations—is if we are committed, individually and collectively, to being God’s voice, God’s hands, God’s pain and rage, God’s impulse toward love and justice.

There is so much to be done, so many rents in the fabric of our common life that we can only hope are possible to stitch or patch together. There is so much that each of us is called to do. But maybe first we could just sit down together for a little while and cry.

Podcast: Download (4.6MB)

Subscribe: More

What do you think of when you hear the word grace? Maybe a dancer who moves with elegance and ease, the picture of smooth and graceful motion. Read more →

Podcast: Download (5.4MB)

Subscribe: More

Contrary to popular belief, there is something to be said for failings and foibles. After all, mistakes are the basis of our whole diverse, ever-changing, interdependent web of life. Read more →