Howard Thurman is totally my current theological crush!
Howard Thurman was a mystic and a theologian and an amazing writer. His small, incredibly readable Jesus and the Disinherited was one of Martin Luther King Jr.'s favorite books. He was the pastor of the first fully integrated church in the United States. He was also an amazing writer. His use of language and his ability to weave words is simply astounding. Poetry, prayers and theology, Thurman was able to imbue each word and each phrase with such soulful love.
When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among brothers,
To make music in the heart.
In his auto-biography With Head and Heart, Thurman writes about growing up in Daytona Beach Florida in the 1920s and 30s. He writes beautiful phrases about his oak tree in the back yard and his grandmother's taffeta dress. He writes, in a way that feels as natural as speech, about the night, the twilight, the ocean. He writes about traveling to India and meeting Gandhi. And he writes, I find most powerfully, about everyday encounters.
On one of our visits to Daytona Beach I was eager to show my daughters some of my early haunts. We sauntered down the long street from the church to the riverfront. This had been the path of the procession to the baptismal ceremony in the Halifax River, which I had often described to them. We stopped here and there as I noted the changes that had taken place since that far-off time. At length we passed the playground of one of the white public schools. As soon as Olive and Anne saw the swings, they jumped for joy. "Look, Daddy, let's go over and swing!" This was the inescapable moment of truth that every black parent in America must face soon or late. What do you say to your child at the critical moment of primary encounter?
"You can't swing on those swings."
"Why?"
"When we get home and have some cold lemonade I will tell you." When we were home again, and had had our lemonade, Anne pressed for the answer. "We are how now, Daddy. Tell us."
I said, "It is against the law for us to use those swings, even though it is a public school. At present, only white children can play there. But it takes the state legislature, the courts, the sheriffs and policemen, the white churches, the mayors, the banks and businesses, and the majority of white people in the state of Florida - it takes all these to keep two little black girls from swinging on those swings. That is how important you are! Never forget, the estimate of your own importance and self-worth can be judged by how many weapons and how much power people are willing to use to control you and keep you in the place they have assigned to you. You are two very important little girls. Your presence can threaten the entire state of Florida.
I cannot even begin to express how deeply and profoundly beautiful his words are. What an experience to have such a father.
When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among brothers,
To make music in the heart.
In his auto-biography With Head and Heart, Thurman writes about growing up in Daytona Beach Florida in the 1920s and 30s. He writes beautiful phrases about his oak tree in the back yard and his grandmother's taffeta dress. He writes, in a way that feels as natural as speech, about the night, the twilight, the ocean. He writes about traveling to India and meeting Gandhi. And he writes, I find most powerfully, about everyday encounters.
On one of our visits to Daytona Beach I was eager to show my daughters some of my early haunts. We sauntered down the long street from the church to the riverfront. This had been the path of the procession to the baptismal ceremony in the Halifax River, which I had often described to them. We stopped here and there as I noted the changes that had taken place since that far-off time. At length we passed the playground of one of the white public schools. As soon as Olive and Anne saw the swings, they jumped for joy. "Look, Daddy, let's go over and swing!" This was the inescapable moment of truth that every black parent in America must face soon or late. What do you say to your child at the critical moment of primary encounter?
"You can't swing on those swings."
"Why?"
"When we get home and have some cold lemonade I will tell you." When we were home again, and had had our lemonade, Anne pressed for the answer. "We are how now, Daddy. Tell us."
I said, "It is against the law for us to use those swings, even though it is a public school. At present, only white children can play there. But it takes the state legislature, the courts, the sheriffs and policemen, the white churches, the mayors, the banks and businesses, and the majority of white people in the state of Florida - it takes all these to keep two little black girls from swinging on those swings. That is how important you are! Never forget, the estimate of your own importance and self-worth can be judged by how many weapons and how much power people are willing to use to control you and keep you in the place they have assigned to you. You are two very important little girls. Your presence can threaten the entire state of Florida.
I cannot even begin to express how deeply and profoundly beautiful his words are. What an experience to have such a father.