Weeping For A Whole New World

There are many things that can only be seen through eyes that have cried.
Oscar Romero (1917-1980)

Durham, North Carolina

Last Friday, Lindsay and I found ourselves in front of the White House. That White House. In D.C. Where the Obamas live with their hypoallergenic dog Bo. We were wearing orange jumpsuits with some of the residents and friends of the Dorothy Day Catholic Worker House. The crazy nuns from the Baltimore Jonah House told us we just had to connect with these Catholic resisters. On Friday. At noon. A bones throw from Bo.

And so we stood in solidarity with the "suspected terrorists" who have dwelt in Guantanamo Bay prison, some for more than a dozen years. One of us had a sign that read 170 Days. And counting. That was a reference to how long the hunger strike had been going on. 170 Days of refusing to eat. When you have no control over your Life and those who do refuse to give you dignity, then you do whatever it takes. You stop eating.

Art Laffin, a resident at the Dorothy Day House for almost two decades, asked me to read the horrific testimony of a Gitmo hunger striker. As I read, tourists gawked and photographed us white folks clad in bright orange. And Lindsay cried. Tears poured down her cheeks as she listened to this wretched existence. The violent forced tube feeding brought on by 5 prison guards. Just doing their job. Making us all safer.

This isn't the first time Lindsay cried for someone she doesn't even know on this journey of ours. She's cried for Trayvon. And Bradley too. This crying of hers is a spiritual practice. Sitting shiva is what the Jews call it. Just sitting (or standing) there feeling the pain of someone else. It's some serious Empathy. The opposite of apathy. Or entertainment.

I'm trying to learn from Lindsay. My partner and sojourner knows how to feel someone and let it all out for the Cause of Love. I've been trained by my culture how to be a man. How to keep it in and be strong. I was raised in a stable, loving family. My dad was a math teacher. I learned how to calculate and solve problems. As a person of Faith, this has translated to reading, praying, writing, speculating and analyzing.

I am a child of middle class suburbia, the land of achievement and acquisition. This bubble existence blocks out the pain and oppression of the world. It is a hiding place, filled with distraction and entitlement. It breeds addiction. Whatever it is, it doesn't want to know about the racism and torture and targeted killing and collateral damage, generated & justified by our corporations and Congress.

So I'm learning how to weep, in private and public. It's one of those practices that will bring the suffering world more dignity and hope. And all the while, it will be a vital aspect of my own suburban salvation too.

So here's to saving the world. One cry at a time.