The Breakthrough

It has been almost two weeks since the general elections and pundits are still buzzing about Barack Obama's victory. Like so many people, I spent the whole evening on November 4, watching the returns, then Senator McCain's gracious concession speech and, finally, well past my bedtime, the President-Elect.

Yes, it truly was an historic moment. I don't really qualify as a politics junkie - not even close - but I have stayed in touch with various news programs since then. Obviously, one of the regular themes has been what the election means for African Americans, but, more importantly, for the whole nation. A very long, very large burden is finally, mercifully lifting.

As I watched the party in Grant Park, Chicago, the TV cameras returned again and again to Jesse Jackson and Oprah Winfrey. The whole world could see both of them alternatively laughing and crying. Although Jackson appears to be beyond his prime in terms of prominence in the news, Oprah Winfrey most definitely is not. She is one of the wealthiest and most powerful people in the world, much less the United States. (Some of you may think I'm too prone to overstatement here, but think about it: her wealth, her reach via TV, her book club, for goodness' sake!) And there she was, shedding tears of joy.

Last Spring I attended the United Methodist General Conference. Worship is always incredibly well-done at this international two-week event. I may not have the details of this memory exactly right, but one moment stands out. A combined choir of two African American United Methodist churches sang at one of the evening worship services. They sang a number well-known among Black churches, with lyrics characteristic of black gospel: oppression, struggle, faith and perseverance. I noticed how our African American sisters and brothers sang - not merely with enthusiasm (because they like the music) - but with a level of feeling that is hard to describe. They felt that song deep in their collective soul.

Affluent, powerful, middle-class black people singing a song about oppression and deliverance; singing with a pathos and a poignance that caught my attention.

I did not grow up in the lap of affluence or privilege. My parents were Depression-era western Kansas, hard-scrabble cowfolk from pioneer stock. My Dad became a preacher and never made more than minimum salary. We pinched a lot of pennies when I was a kid and I often felt embarrassed about not having stuff other kids had, even the kids who lived out in the middle of nowhere.

But, watching Oprah crying on national TV; listening to the songs of Zion sung like only people who know the sting of racial hatred can sing, I'm telling you, I got it. As close as an over-educated white boy can get it, I got it. You can have a billion dollars in the bank. You can have fame beyond description. You can have a modicum of acceptance on the basis of education or wealth. And you can still feel the emptiness of that something, so basic to human community, that is still denied.

Far beyond Republicans and Democrats, far surpassing party power, beyond whether or not they'll get a filibuster-busting super-majority in the Senate, this election is The Breakthrough. That something-so-basic is no longer denied. Or deniable.

The Tongue is a Fire

On the way to work this morning, I was listening to a local rock station. It's not just classic rock, exactly. It's hard to characterize because they play such a wide range of sub-styles, which is one of the main reasons I like to listen (besides the fact that they're local).

This morning the two DJs were meandering through their stream-of-consciousness dialogue when they landed upon the topic of mothers protecting their kids from "dangerous" rock group marketing gimics (ones I'd never heard of, except for "Kiss"). What caught my attention was the disparaging tone they used about mothers who are "against everything," playing off the organization, Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD).

My first thought: "Don't these guys have mothers? I wonder how their moms reared them." My next thought: "It's so easy to demean and belittle people we don't know whose beliefs we don't like."

Which sent me on my own flight of fancy. I caught just a portion of the "Cafferty File" yesterday evening on CNN. If ever there was an acerbic TV journalist, it's Jack Cafferty. He always ends his segment on Wolf Blitzer's show with a few emails from viewers. The hot topic yesterday was Barack Obama's ability to say "Pah-ki-stahn" rather than the Americanized "Pakistan" (as in "Pacman"). "Finally!" one emailer opined, "A candidate who pronounces the word correctly," as if doing so proved Senator Obama's worthiness to be president. Another emailer noted, however, that we don't get upset when other words are Americanized in the same fashion, so what's the big deal?

That exchange made me think of popular opinion about President Bush. Right now, he's one of the most unpopular presidents ever, exceeded in that status, we should not forget, only by Congress. I've heard him referred to as "stupid," "embarrassing" and "a cowboy." So, maybe he says "Pakistan" (with short a's). He also says "nukular" for "nuclear," and people snort and moan about that, too. But he also speaks fluent Spanish. By the way, it might be a Texas thing. I recently heard the present Governor of Texas pronounce "nuclear" the same way. Come to think of it, I believe my dad pronounced it that way.

So, we feel liberty to belittle people whose intellectual deficiencies are demonstrated by their mispronouncing certain words. It's funny. They also just happen to be our ideological opponents. I wrote in my journal a couple of days ago, "The tongue is a fire" (or "fahr" for some of you). Yep, I'm guilty. I don't want to be. I use the word "idiot" far too much. I get riled up and spout off and feel (momentarily) justified because the stakes are high. There's a difference, however, between venting hostility and speaking prophetically. We Christians often don't recognize the distinction. But we should.