Dear Friends,

I returned last night from the long weekend in Black Hills National Forest, as the Dakota people say—“the heart of everything that is.” We camped in a tent and cooked over an open flame. Social distancing was pretty easy, and we wore our masks. We sanitized regularly the single-occupant outhouse and espoused bucket showers at our spacious campsite. The nights were sometimes colder than comfortable, and the hikes took a toll on aging joints. And I sat at night under bright and boundless stars, surrounded by pines and stones older than our reckoning of time. It was beautiful. The trip was not without personal worry. Our 26-year-old nephew, a husband and father of two girls, was lost for 20 hours while hiking in Japan. He was found uninjured and safe, but it was a tense time for our family.

And then we arrived back in Minnesota and the news out of Minneapolis that yet another Black man died in police custody. That protesters against police violence, mainly Black and Brown, were terrorized with tear gas and rubber bullets. That birdwatching in Central Park has been added to the list of risks while living as a Black person in this country. That public health officials were shocked and horrified at the lack of social distancing and mask-wearing at newly re-opened parks, beaches, and restaurants. That the president is finally being called to task about his Twitter lies concerning the safety of mail-in ballots, and he is outraged at any attempt to force him to accountability. That over 100,000 Americans have died from COVID-19, over 350,000 people worldwide.

All our lives are filled with joy and woe. All our lives. That, too, is the heart of everything that is. We never escape our connectedness. And we can embrace our interdependence, by staying at home for the safety of the most vulnerable. By writing to our state and federal representatives that we want police accountability, that we want justice for all those systemically oppressed. By reaching out to your friends and neighbors of color who may feel especially sad, overwhelmed, vulnerable, and enraged as oppression and disease collide. May you remember that beauty and compassion, fear and  cruelty are woven fine, our complex and painful reality, as you remember too, today and every day, that you are loved, you are worthy, you are welcome, and you are needed. May you feel it so, and may it be so.

 

Blessings, Rev. Rita