Maria and the Shape of God's Heart

Father Gregory Boyle is a Jesuit priest and the founder of Homeboy Industries in East Los Angeles, Calif. He lives and works in his economically poor and gang-riddled community building kinship and making connections with the people around him.

He affectionately calls his parishioners “homies” and they affectionately call him “G-Dog.” I highly recommend his book, “Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion,” if you, too, are interested in building kinship in the world.

In the book, Father Greg tells the story of taking two homies to the White House as a part of then-First Lady Laura Bush’s Helping America’s Youth campaign. On the flight home, one of the homies talks to a flight attendant and tells her about what his life had been to this point, about going to the White House, and about what his life was becoming.

His story made the flight attendant cry, he tells Father Greg in surprise. Father Greg says to him, “Well, mijo, whaddya ‘spect? She just caught a glimpse of ya. She saw that you are somebody. She recognized you as the shape of God’s heart. Sometimes people cry when they see that.”

As an elementary school teacher and a writer, I often recognize my students as the shape of God’s heart, and write about them through tears of wonder.

One of those students is Maria. She is seven years old and in the second grade. Her parents fled the aftereffects of a brutal civil war in El Salvador and found a new life on the farms and in the fields of South Carolina. She is like those farms and fields, with dark skin the color of the ground and a garden of a heart that produces love and joy. I have seen her hold the hand of a frightened kindergartner in the lunch line during early morning breakfast time and offer her shoulder to a crying friend who scraped her knee on the blacktop during recess. She is a beautiful child.

I can see her smile from all the way down at the end of the hall from the front office. Sometimes, I can hear her steps from there, too, because on special days she wears tiny high-heeled shoes with her flowery dresses and I can hear the click, click, click as she makes her way toward me over the tiled floor. This always makes me stop and smile.

One day I realized I forgot to send my money through the mail to the water company to pay my bill. I stopped by the office to make my payment in person after school. Apparently three-fourths of the residents of Greenville County forgot to send in their payments, too, because the place was full of people, standing in the doorway, meandering their way to the payment counter, people everywhere.

In the middle of all of that humanity I heard a click, click, click. I looked around and there, coming around a desk, was Maria. She was pushing a stroller with a tiny baby inside of it. I could barely see her over the handles of the stroller. She was leading her mother, who was holding a toddler in her arms.

She saw me. Her face lit up with her Maria smile. She let go of the stroller for just a moment, wrapped her arms around me and said, “Oh, Mr. Barton! Buenos tardes! I am always so glad to see you!”

She took hold of the stroller again and I lost her among the faces of the people around me. But I heard her sincere, serious voice rise above the noise.

“Excuse me,” she said, “But could you help us pay our bill?” And there was Maria, seven years old, translating for her mother, helping her family, sharing her life with our world.

Oscar Romero, former archbishop of El Salvador who was martyred by the bullet of a right-wing assassin in 1980, once entreated us in a sermon to try to organize life according to the heart of God. My little Maria does this every day, as do so many of my immigrant neighbors in my school, community, state and country.

Just as Maria’s family was a refugee from a war-torn land, many other refugees are trying to find a new life and a deeper hope in a place that will welcome them with an open heart and a helping hand. I hope you see their faces, listen to their stories and see them as the shape of God’s heart when you hear the words “refugee” and “immigrant” in the coming days. I hope you see Maria.

- See more at: http://greenvillejournal.com/opinions/5090-the-shape-of-god-s-heart.html#sthash.3zyXGU4m.dpuf

Climb Aboard the Bus

Every morning at 7:15 a.m., the doors of our school open wide to a line of bus riders ready to come inside. “Hello, Jaheem,” I say with a smile. “Hey, Imani. I hope you’re having a good day. I’m glad you’re here.”

I love our students – the sparkle in their early morning eyes, the beauty in the varied colors of their skin, the hope in the fact that they come to school each day. They walk past me to the cafeteria for breakfast. I stand at the doors for a moment and watch the big, yellow buses puff their diesel exhaust and chug their way to the garage until it’s time for their afternoon run.

Is there a more universal symbol for public schools than a big, yellow school bus?

There was a time in the 1940’s when school buses were not so universal. In fact, the Brown v. Board of Education lawsuit began with a school bus in South Carolina. I was getting my master’s degree before I took a civil rights course and learned of Levi Pearson and his determination to get his children and all the other African-American students seats on school buses. The first chapter of Richard Kluger’s monumental book “Simple Justice,” which is about the Brown decision, outlines the steps of the Pearson case.

In 1947, about 74 percent of Clarendon County’s 8,906 public school students were black. There were 30 school buses in the county. All of them were used for white students. When the African-American community asked the superintendent to provide bus transportation for their children, he explained that black citizens didn’t pay much in taxes and it wasn’t fair for white citizens to pay for buses for black children.

So on July 28, 1947, Levi Pearson, a farmer, legally petitioned the superintendent, asking for school buses for African-American children. His three children had to walk to school each day while their white counterparts in school buses passed them by in clouds of dust. The petition was met with months of silence.

On March 16, 1948, attorneys Harold Boulware and Thurgood Marshall filed a brief in U.S. District Court in Florence County, asking the court to prohibit the Clarendon County School District from “making a distinction on account of race and color.” Pearson v. County Board of Education would eventually evolve into Briggs v. Elliott and then into Brown v. Board of Education.

Not only did Mr. Pearson get buses for all of the children in Clarendon County, but also the United States got a little closer to living out it’s most endearing creed: “With liberty and justice for all.”

In 2004, he was posthumously awarded the Congressional Gold Medal of Honor after U.S. Rep. James E. Clyburn (D-SC) and then-Sen. Fritz Hollings (D-SC) introduced legislation to award the highest congressional honor to the Clarendon County heroes who fought for desegregation. Pearson’s family set up a scholarship fund in his honor to continue to help educate young people in Clarendon County.

To learn more about him and all of those involved in the struggle for civil and human rights in Clarendon County, you can read “Dawn of Desegregation: J.A. De Laine and Briggs v. Elliott” by Ophelia De Laine Gona, and “Uncommon Courage: The Story of Briggs v. Elliott, South Carolina’s Unsung Civil Rights Battle” by James Clyburn and Jennifer Revels.

Around 80 years before Levi Pearson’s petition, the 14th Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America was ratified by Congress. Placed in the Constitution to protect former slaves after the Civil War, this amendment continues to remind us that the Constitution is a living document that helps us build a freer, more human world for all people, ALL people – no matter their skin color (see Brown v. Board of Education, May 17, 1954 ), no matter their sexual orientation (see Obergefell v. Hodges, June 26, 2015 ), no matter anything constructed by the prejudices of people and history – and helps us extend the equal protection of the law to everyone.

I offer humble thanks to Levi Pearson and to all the courageous and committed people who work hard to build a world where all people have a seat on the bus of liberty. I offer humble thanks for the 14th Amendment that makes justice possible. I climb aboard that bus with them.

Liberty

Abraham Lincoln, in a speech he delivered in Baltimore, Maryland in April 1864, said, "The world has never had a good definition of the word liberty...the American people, just now, are much in want of one. We all declare for liberty; but in using the same word we do not all mean the same thing. With some the word liberty may mean for each man to do as he pleases with himself, and the product of his labor; while with others the same word may mean for some men to do as they please with other men, and the product of other men's labor. Here are two, not only different, but incompatible things, called by the same name - liberty. 

The shepherd drives the wolf from the sheep's throat, for which the sheep thanks the shepherd as a liberator, while the wolf denounces him for the same act as the destroyer of liberty, especially as the sheep was a black one. Plainly the sheep and the wolf are not agreed upon a definition of the word liberty; and precisely the same difference prevails today among us human creatures, even in the North, and all professing to love liberty. Hence we behold the processes by which thousands are daily passing from under the yoke of bondage, hailed by some as the advance of liberty, and bewailed by others as a destruction of all liberty."

I have been thinking about Lincoln's words over the past days as the Supreme Court made it's decision to guarantee equal civil and human rights to gay and lesbian people and as the South Carolina legislature agreed to write and pass a law to take down the Confederate flag from the Statehouse grounds in Columbia. Some people hail the Supreme Court's decision as an advance of liberty, while others bewail it as the destruction of all liberty. Some people hail the South Carolina legislature's decision as an advance of liberty, while others bewail it as a destruction of all liberty. Indeed, like the issue of slavery in Lincoln's day, the sides of the gay marriage issue and the sides of the Confederate flag issue are incompatible. One cannot be for equal protection of LGBTQ people under the law and against it. One cannot be for the removal of the Confederate flag from the Statehouse grounds and against it. When we talk about these issues - equal protection under the law, religious freedom, racism, heritage, liberty - we do not all mean the same thing.

Which leads me to clarify my own thinking and language regarding these issues. 

I agree with the majority in the Supreme Court's decision in the Obergefell v. Hodges decision and am heartened by it. I agree with Justice Kennedy's words, "No union is more profound than marriage, for it embodies the highest ideals of love, fidelity, devotion, sacrifice, and family. In forming a marital union, two people become something greater than once they were. As some of the petitioners in these cases demonstrate, marriage embodies a love that may endure even past death. It would misunderstand these men and women to say they disrespect the idea of marriage. Their plea is that they do respect it, respect it so deeply that they seek to find its fulfillment for themselves. Their hope is not to be condemned to live in loneliness, excluded from one of civilization’s oldest institutions. They ask for equal dignity in the eyes of the law. The Constitution grants them that right." In this issue, liberty to me means all people, all people, deserve equal protection under the 14 Amendment to the Constitution of the United States. I am thankful this liberty is extended to my LGBTQ friends and neighbors.

I also agree with the majority of lawmakers in the South Carolina legislature in the decision to remove the Confederate flag from the Statehouse grounds. I agree with Governor Haley's words, "It is a new day in South Carolina, a day we can all be proud of, a day that truly brings us all together as we continue to heal, as one people and one state." In this issue, liberty to me means confessing that the symbols of our Southern past represent white supremacy and oppression, it means removing these symbols from prominent places so they will no longer insult and injure the people they intended to oppress and harm. I am thankful this liberty is extended to my African American friends and neighbors.

I know there are many people on the other side of these incompatible issues from me. As I eagerly await Harper Lee's new novel, "Go Set A Watchman," I can only say what Atticus said in "To Kill A Mockingbird" - They're certainly entitled to think that...but before I can live with other folks I've got to live with myself. The one thing that doesn’t abide by majority rule is a person’s conscience.

My conscience leads me to think about and talk about liberty in these ways. This is the way I can live with myself and with my neighbors around me.

Seeing

I asked a small group of second-graders what they would like to find inside their mailboxes. That was after we read a story about a goose who opened her mailbox and found a kite. I expected to hear answers of things: video games, toys or basketballs. But the first student who raised her hand looked at me with sincere, big brown eyes and said, "I'd like to find a letter from my dad."

Wow.

As we enter the holiday season, I think about the answer that student gave me. I think about what my other kids are saying about the holiday season.

For three years, I lived and worked in a large housing project in Louisville, Ky. I was a middle-class, white graduate student, and my background clouded how I saw the people around me. But I finally began to see clearly. It was the week before Christmas, and I was driving a rickety, old orange van around the neighborhood, dropping off children from my after-school program.

The last kid on the van was Shawn. He was a middle-schooler who was equally gifted proving a theorem in geometry as a mathematician or running our community basketball team as the point guard. I stopped in front of his building and looked through the rearview mirror, hoping to see his smile. He had a wonderful smile that usually cheered and brightened my days. That evening, though, he wasn't smiling. His chin was on his chest, and he was looking down at the floor mats of the van.

What's the matter?" I asked. “It's Christmas. Aren't you excited about the presents you're going to get?"

The week of Christmas had always been an exciting time for my friends, my brothers and me when we were children, We knew we would wake up on Christmas morning and find video games, toys, basketballs, clothes and all of the things that would bring smiles to our faces. It never occurred to us that there were children like Shawn, who would wake up that morning and find nothing.

He slouched over, slid the side door open and slipped out into the cold night without saying a word. His silence spoke to me. I think I saw, with momentary clarity, into his life and into my own. Our ears and our eyes have picked up the distorted sounds and sights of our popular culture that teach us that life and happiness grow from buying and consuming. The question I asked him about presents said, "Of course everything is all right because soon you'll be getting things." His silent answer to me was, "There's not enough money in my house to buy anything, so I must be nothing."

As a teacher, I am tempted to see students as little consumers whose purpose in life will be to buy things that will make them happy and that will cause the American economy to grow. I suspect it was easy for my teachers to see me that way in my suburban schools in South and North Carolina.

But how should we see economically poor children? There are more than 15.5 million children living in poverty in the United States. Many of them are like Cesar, who wrote a letter to Santa for himself and his baby sister. "This year my mom don't have much money to spend on Christmas gifts so I'm writing you,” he wrote. “It would make us very happy if you and your elves would bring us toys and clothes."

I think about Cesar and kids like him as I walk the halls of my school. I remember not to ask, "What are you getting for Christmas?" I remember  that our essence is found not in the things we consume but in the ways give.

The Loneliest Whale In The World

There is a whale named 52 Hertz. Scientists named him that because when he sings, the frequency of his whale song is around 52 Hertz. When other whales sing their songs, they sing at frequencies between 15 and 25 Hertz. His song cannot be heard by any other whale. He is known as the loneliest whale in the world.

Normally whales are communal creatures. They live their lives in family groups. They migrate from warm waters to cooler waters to give birth and find food. They follow the same migration route from year to year. 52 Hertz is different. He lives alone. He does not follow a migration route. He wanders the ocean, a lonely, wandering whale.

We do not know what kind of whale 52 Hertz is. He could be a deformed blue or fin whale. He could be a cross breed of those two types of whales. Or he could be a kind of whale we have not discovered yet. He is an unknown whale.

Soon a team will set out on a seven week expedition in a part of the Pacific Ocean in search of 52 Hertz. Will they find him? Will he find them? Does he want to be found? I wonder.

So much of the life of a writer is like the life of 52 Hertz. We send out our words and hope that someone will hear them and sing back to us. We send our words over the water...and listen.

Whale

Song

Singing

Where Are You?

Wandering, Singing

Singing An Unheard Wan'dring Song

"Can You Hear Me? Are You There? Are You?

 I Am Alone"

List'ning, Longing For A Song Gently Sung

"I Hear You, Words On Water, I'm Here,

I'm Here"

We Sing At Diff'rent Frequencies

Migrate Along Diff'rent Routes

Wandering, Wondering

Unheard, Unknown,

Wandering The Sea

Words On Water

Singing An Unheard Wan'dring Song

Wandering, Singing

Who Are You?

Singing

Song

Whale

How The Book Thief Stole My Heart

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak is a wonderful book. A literary friend lent me a copy of it. “I usually buy books on my Kindle,” she told me, “But I love this book so much, I got a copy of it for my library.” She smiled and handed it to me. I usually read books on my electronic device, too…my iPad. This moment with my reading buddy, though, reminded me how much I love books, how much I love holding a book in my hands, how much I love sharing a book with a friend.

Whenever I ask, “What good are words?” as Liesel Meminger does near the end of the story, this book reminds me that the answer is, “Very good…words can be good in the world, words can do good in the world.”

“Lyrical and moving,” wrote the San Francisco Chronicle about The Book Thief. I agree. The story is a work of fiction but it reads like a poem. I believe we need more poetry in our world…not only stories that tell us how life is but also poems that show us how life can be.

“When he turned the light on in the small, callous washroom that night, Liesel observed the strangeness of her foster father’s eyes. They were made of kindness, and silver. Like soft silver, melting. Liesel, upon seeing those eyes, understood that Hans Hubermann was worth a lot,” says the narrator of the story.

I could tell in the first pages of the book that the story was made of kindness and was worth a lot.

Here are ten acts of kindness I learned from The Book Thief:

• Value kindness. Liesel valued the kindness in Hans Hubermann and discovered within that kindness a father, a teacher, and a friend.

• Pull for the underdog – enthusiastically and fantastically! Rudy Steiner pulled for Jesse Owens the night Owens won his fourth medal in the 1936 Olympics in Germany. Hitler called Owens subhuman and refused to shake his hand but Rudy said, “I am Jesse Owens!” and ran around the Hubert Oval at great risk to honor him.

• Write a story for someone else – even if it is a strange story and you think it should be scribbled out. Max Vandenburg wrote for Liesel and The Word Shaker became life to her.

• Give away your books to people who need them most. Ilsa Hermann, the mayor’s wife, creatively gave away books to Liesel and made her The Book Thief and helped her become a reader and a writer.

• Love the unlovable. Liesel and Hans loved Rosa Hubermann even though her way of showing love involved bashing them with a wooden spoon and caustic words! They nurtured the good in her and helped her become a person who would take in an orphaned little girl and a frightened Jew during the Holocaust.

• Read aloud often and in the most unusual places. Liesel read aloud in the Fiedlers basement during bombing raids and brought comfort to anxiety and order to chaos.

• Teach someone to read. Hans used paint and a wall to build Liesel’s vocabulary and Max used simple sketches and a simple story to create an easy reader for her. Use what you have and who you are to give the gift of literacy.

• Brag about one thing another person does well. Erik Vandenburg, Max’s father, spoke up when everyone else was silent on a day during World War I and told the Sergeant that Hans had the best penmanship. It saved Hans from the battle that day.  It saved Hans’ life.

• Be known for your uniqueness. Hans played the accordion! It became the symbol for his life. When he was far away Rosa held it near to remember him. It survived the bombing that took his life…was left for Liesel. What is your symbol?

• Open your life and your heart to someone seeking sanctuary. The Hubermanns and Liesel opened their home and their lives to Max. They saved his life and he enriched theirs.

The Book Thief stole my heart…and gave it back to me kinder and better than it was before.

 

 

 

Nerdy Book Club

www.nerdybookclub.wordpress.com