Yesterday was a difficult, emotional day. On Monday, the day before yesterday, I had an excision close to my right eye and today it seems (for me, at least) the best symbolic explanation of the experience of the past two days. Let me try to explain the strength of the mixed feelings in this way.
An excision is defined as: the act or procedure of removing by or as if by cutting out, especially by surgical removal or resection. I had a squamous cell carcinoma, a skin cancer more serious than a basal cell, but not serious if not left to grow in the body. My only concern was the closeness of the growth to my eye, but my dermatologist assured me that there was enough soft tissue around the cancer to successfully excise it without danger. My sight, in other words, would not be compromised. The procedure went as planned and today I can see just fine, but I am aware of a bit of swelling discomfort to my eye.
Yesterday I also found myself weeping at several moments around the announcement of the triple conviction of Derek Chauvin in the killing of George Floyd. There was a fair amount of tension as the time for the announcement of the jury decision loomed. I knew that if the decision was “Not guilty” on any of the counts it would be dangerous to the peace in the country. My relief when the verdict of guilty on all three counts was announced was total. As painful as it was to admit that I was grateful for a verdict that would mean severe punishment for any individual, I knew it was just, merited even, and that vindication was the best answer in this case. I cried with joy for the Floyd family, for all the people of color in our country, for all people who’ve been wrongly accused and punished, and for those who refuse to respect the rights of others to exist and thrive. I cried for myself as well and any shred of racism that remains in my heart.
I think yesterday was the first time I was so conflicted, not about the decision—because of the clarity of its correctness—but because of my actual feeling of joy in light of the decision. It is difficult to parse the feelings sitting in me. Perhaps I needn’t do so but only leave them and recognize that they exist. The question for me will be only whether or not I can forgive Derek Chauvin for his crimes. Perhaps if I come to see more clearly my own subtle racism, that clarity may shed light on how I am to proceed in my dealings with all people who are different from myself. And if love is a result of this recognition, my right eye will be healed.
As is often the case, I woke up today with song lyrics in my head. This time it was a familiar text from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, chosen by countless people for a wedding reading. You know it too, I’ll wager. Love is patient, love is kind, love is ready to forgive, sings Jeannie Cotter with David Haas ready to jump in as the lyrics veer off a bit from Paul. The last line of the chorus summarizes the message beautifully, however, when both sing that in love we choose to live. 
Sometimes it seems too difficult to tell “the whole truth and nothing but the truth” when such speaking will reveal a fault or failing about ourselves. It seems much easier to obfuscate – a great word that means to obscure, blur or overcomplicate things so we don’t look so bad in the eyes of other people. The difficulty with this practice is that it doesn’t make us feel better because we have hidden our true self; rather we feel worse. The irony is that many times the failure we’re trying to cover up is so minor that we are the only ones who would judge it harshly if it were known. Everyone else would easily forgive the imperfection.
The gospel in today’s lectionary is probably the most commonly known prayer in Christianity: The Lord’s Prayer, also known as The Our Father. The text is found in two of the four canonical gospels, Matthew (6:9-13) and Luke (11:2-4). Most of us know it as it comes from Matthew’s version, appearing in the middle of the Sermon on the Mount. Reading Luke this morning made me think that his version might have been easier to learn for children who had trouble memorizing prayers; it’s very succinct and yet seems to cover all the requisite items for our living. It comes in Luke’s gospel as the response of Jesus when he himself was praying and one of his disciples asked him to teach them to pray. Luke reports him telling them: “When you pray, say: Father, hallowed (holy) be your name, your kingdom come. Give us each day our daily bread and forgive our sins for we ourselves forgive everyone in debt to us, and do not subject us to the final test.” Period – the end.
The Sophia Center for Spirituality 