Seeing it all

I’m not saying that I’ve seen everything there is to see in the town where I’ve lived for the past 40 years. Engaging in photography as a spiritual practice does tend to open my eyes to beauty and newness all around—which is, I believe, a glimpse of the holy.

But one of the pleasures of spending more time in the city is finding all kinds of things you’ve never seen before. Like this robot delivery we came across in Center City yesterday. Sure, why not.

Last thoughts

Some last photos from our whirlwind tour of Atlanta, Montgomery, and Selma. MLK and John Lewis were everywhere, in words and image, and rightly so. But I found myself moved especially on this visit by the witness of all those “ordinary” people who put themselves on the line for the cause of justice: the Freedom Riders and lunch counter protestors, the working people who walked during the Montgomery bus boycott, the men and women who crossed the bridge at Selma. 

These words of Robert C. Wright, the Episcopal bishop of Atlanta, resonated with me: In addition to those “champions who we knew by name … it boggles the mind to think about the multitude of people who through minuscule militant acts contended with evil and found God mighty to save.” 

In an essay I read on the plane home, Wright wrote that the American South is our Holy Land. It’s “the location where both the personal and the communal experience of God in past days occurred. The place where significance and guidance for present-day activities abound, in addition to the promise of continued relationship, identity, and even prosperity in the future with God. … The land is holy because labor and pain, joy and grief, birth and death, war and peace, prayer to and betrayal of God have happened on this land and therefore it is set apart.”

I also enjoyed much good conversation with my daughter, who is working hard in her professional life to foster a robustly inclusive workplace, and who Has been teaching me a lot.

It was a moving visit, as any visit to the Holy Land should be. And the ongoing question is, how am I changed by it?

*”The American South is Our Holy Land,” in “Living into God’s Dream,” edited by Catherine Meeks.

Civil Rights Memorial Center, sponsored by the Southern Poverty Law Center, Montgomery
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Guided by Justice

“Guided by Justice,” sculpture by Dana King honoring “the courage of black women who collectively walked thousands of miles to end racial segregation in public transportation” during the Montgomery bus boycott in 1955. At the National Memorial for Peace and Justice.

Another reminder that ordinary people working together can indeed change the world, but not without paying a price.


Last vacation dinner at the Capitol Oyster Bar in Montgomery, AL. The waitress asks our guy if he wants hushpuppies. What are hushpuppies, he says.

She says, where are you from. I can tell you’re not from around here if you don’t know what hushpuppies are.

And I’m thinking, y’all should have been able to tell he’s not from around here the moment he opened his mouth and started taking.

Heading back tomorrow to where the biscuits aren’t as good, they don’t have hushpuppies, and everybody else talks just like us.

Field trip

Off to Atlanta for a combination family vacation and mini civil rights pilgrimage, something of a continuation of my journey through Lent with Layla F. Saad’s “White Supremacy and Me” workbook. 

Seems appropriate, since Atlanta was the place where I first became aware of race in a way that I still vividly remember. There had been two black girls in my elementary school on Long Island; there were none in my school in Atlanta. I also observed the” white” and “colored” water fountains and restrooms in public places and thought them silly, but I couldn’t see the sinfulness in the segregation of a (faith-based, no less) school. 

Not too surprising, since I was only 8 at the time, but I’m still learning to see what what I didn’t notice until others helped me expand my vision.