Yesterday I noticed my increasing haze. After hearing the personal stories of Dianne and Annie Pearl, women who participated in the marches 60 years ago, and visiting the Voting Rights Museum and National Historic Trail, I was yawning mightily.
We took a break for lunch on the banks of the Alabama River, under the shadow of the Edmund Pettus Bridge. The clouds were magnificent and I enjoyed the company of my fellow pilgrims. I thought maybe my increasing fatigue just signaled that I needed a good ol food-induced nap.
But I hung in through the worsening gruesomeness. What were they thinking? Could we humans really be so mean and cruel to each other? It’s no wonder I was sinking.
I leaned into the sun-soaked window on the bus, barreling down highway 80 en route to Montgomery with the others. I watched the markers roll by signifying the campgrounds of the foot soldiers when they marched those same 54 miles. And by God’s Grace, I started thinking about my first drive into Jerusalem. My feelings broke through.
What an odd comparison – Jerusalem and Montgomery. Truly though, not so unusual after all. I suspect today we must bare more pain. The lynchings are coming; I can feel ghosts hanging all around me here just as Jesus hung on that tree in another holy city.
My prayer is to stay present and breathe. I want to submit to the sadness and let these tears fall.
Lament and release.
Always Bridging 