To Hug Again One Day

One of the endearing qualities of the church where I grew up was that everybody hugged everybody. Being a little boy, I didn’t think to pay attention to how this activity might play out for people who don’t care to hug for whatever reason. What I remember and appreciate greatly was how this congregation – most of whom were “working class” folk presenting fairly traditional gender roles – was the only place I regularly saw people hug, cry, talk about their hurts, and put their humanity out there. Hugging was a big part of that and, as a little boy, knowing that men could hug men, women could hug women, and that even people presenting different genders could hug – without romantic or sexual connotations – was a huge life lesson.

Since that time I’ve also learned that hugging can be an avenue of harassment, inappropriate, or simply awkward on many occasions. I’ve figured out how to read body language from others, but also that I’m probably not as good at reading body language as I think I am, so I should err on the side of caution. The “Me too” movement was a long overdue sensitivity awakening for many of us, and now the rules of engagement during COVID-19 has accomplished what consciousness-raising could not. We are not hugging now, at least not folks outside of our sheltering circles. And while that might be a welcomed change in many respects, it’s a real loss in other respects. I had a conversation with a friend this week who reminded me of the chemical reactions that hugs produce, releasing endorphins that heal, as well as dopamine and serotonin, which soothe and help relieve tension.

Tara Parker-Pope has recently written an essay entitled, “How to Hug During a Pandemic.” You can read it here. It makes the case for how many of us miss hugging and includes some marvelous illustrations of how to and how not to hug safely. It even has a drawing of a grandparent kissing the top of a child’s head from behind - always one of my favorite gestures of receiving affection. Even so, while the essay argues that a quick hug, done well, carries very low risk of transmitting a virus, it ends with the caution that people should choose their hugs wisely, preferring meaningful hugs over casual hugs.

I’m not promoting a hugfest. Heck, I’m not in favor of an anything-fest. Not yet. I only want to show that the pandemic offers us a chance to re-evaluate our practices and to re-discover what is genuinely meaningful versus what we’ve simply come to accept as “normal.”

One of the best ways that we can embrace our collective experience of COVID-19, as well as the “Me too” movement, as well as the “Black Lives Matter” movement, is to welcome the opportunity to re-evaluate the things we have accepted as “normal.” To do so is to live into the challenge from the Apostle Paul in Roman 12, “No longer be conformed to this world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” When many of our “normal” ways of doing things are being revealed today as unjust, earth-damaging, racist, and impoverishing; when many of our casual arguments are being exposed as solipsistic rationalizations of selfishness; and when we’ve shown the capacity to politicize even science and safety – we need transformation. Transformation into the “mind of Christ” is a radical change, predicated on giving highest priority to the least favored among us. It was a prescription for ridicule and rejection for the early church, so we can expect no greater reception today. But it is the path we are on when we follow the crucified Christ. Perhaps it all begins with learning how to hug again – safely, respectfully, mutually, and meaningfully.

Mark of St. Mark

There's Got to Be a Morning After

One of my life features – a source of endless entertainment for my family – is that I really don’t know much about popular music. That’s the little pie piece of Trivial Pursuit that I can never get. When I listen to the radio in the car, it has always been Sports Talk, NPR, or maybe KJazz – talk or instrumental music more than lyrical music. I think it goes back to my hearing, because for the life of me I have never heard lyrics correctly. 

This week is a good example. I’ve been thinking a lot about the song, “The Morning After.” First, I could not have told you the actual title of the song. I only know it because I googled the one line I know from the song: “There’s got to be a morning after.” Second, I guessed that it was sung by Crystal Gale, but it turns out that it was Maureen McGovern and frankly I can’t tell one from the other. And finally, since the first line of the song contains the only words that I actually remember, I was way off about what the song actually addresses. The lyrics are about holding on through the stormy night in hopes of a better tomorrow when the sun shines again. It’s metaphorical, of course, and to that extent it is a lovely song that echoes the message that we often turn to in the 30^th Psalm: “Weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.” It’s a beautiful message, both in the psalm and in the song. 

So, it turns out that I have been thinking a lot about the song, “The Morning After” this week, but for all the wrong reasons. I had it in my head that the song was about how, after a breakup, there is a morning after, when we begin to pick up the threads and start to rebuild life again. I had in mind, not a place “safe and warm” (as google tells me are actual lyrics in the song), but someone picking through the rubble, salvaging and discarding, hoping to rebuild after things had fallen apart. And particularly, I’ve been thinking this week about how I (and perhaps you) will wake up after the protests have been protested, the marches have been marched, and the speeches have been spoken. What will we do next? Where do we go from here? What will be the effects, or rather the after-effects of being “woke”? 

My line of thinking is less like the 30^th Psalm and more like the stirring poem of Howard Thurman that says, 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 all, To make music in the heart. 

That’s what has been in my mind this week. I’m delighted that so many people are lifting their voices, waving their signs, gathering their bodies, and expressing their conviction that Black Lives Matter. I grieve that such a sentiment even needs to be expressed, but the litany of innocent black lives that have perished, black persons who have died while already subdued, or the repeated hung juries, verdicts of “not guilty” or pleas to lesser charges that all but exonerate the accused – they demand people of faith and good will to push past blanket statements like “All lives matter” and to pinpoint the systemic racism that has been this nation’s legacy since 1619. 

So, yes, the protests and rallies and Facebook posts and t-shirts are all part of being responsive to our moment and accountable to the call to justice. But, my mind is on the morning after. When the notoriously short public attention span has moved on, who is doing the long, difficult, introspective and prophetic work of changing the system? Will we be that church? We will be about doing the work that the prophet Thurman describes, “To find the lost, To heal the broken, To feed the hungry, To release the prisoner, To rebuild the nations, To bring peace among all, To make music in the heart”?

Next Tuesday, June 9, at 7:00pm, we are invited to join with our friends at New Hope Presbyterian Church in a Virtual Vigil, the purpose of which is to talk and pray about racial injustice and reconciliation. If you want the zoom link, send a request to info@stmarkpresbyterian.org and if you have any questions please feel free to contact me at mark@stmarkpresbyterian.org.  

Mark of St. Mark