It was the last month of school and the end of my year of service was quickly approaching. The summer heat had hit, so most kids preferred to leave after school and escape the humid air of the building with no air conditioning. The library was bearable for those who wanted to stay and study, or in Sydney’s case, play the piano.
Sydney had become more comfortable playing in front of people, so as the number of students thinned and it appeared that no one was actually studying, I let Sydney play the piano. Surrounded by her groupies, Sydney played some popular songs that everyone could sing along to. Their voices filled the room with joy. I smiled at them and they smiled back through their laughter.
While Sydney played, I was wasting time, scrolling through things on my computer. I clicked the link to CNN expecting to catch up on the latest Trump gaffe or celebrity gossip. I immediately read “Breaking News” at the top of the page. Another attack, more casualties, more lives lost too soon. This one in Europe.
Reading about the news overseas, my world became small. My mind turned to my students gathered around the piano, blissfully ignorant of the breaking news. My heart broke and my eyes swelled with tears. Tears carried by a current of love. The love I had for these students became too much. Thinking about the impending end of my time at CRB, I wondered, envisioned, tried so hard to imagine what would become of these students and their world.
The news of recent terror attacks in addition to the work of the Trump administration have made me afraid of what the world will become – a world these students will have to fight their way through. These students are up against so much from the start. Why must society, why must we make it more difficult for them? In that moment, my tears were a mix of gratitude and sadness – gratitude for a year of learning and relationships, sadness for the uncertainty and fear of the future.
Over the course of my year at Cristo Rey, I tried to immerse myself fully in the community and the lives of my students. Witnessing the brokenness of their lived realities broke my heart in a way that allowed me to love more deeply. Broken hearts aren’t typically seen as something desirable; yet, when our hearts break, we are reminded of who we are and what we desire. We know it breaks for love. It breaks out of a desire to be loved and to love. When it breaks for someone else, we recognize our ability to suffer with others. This moment of compassion compels us and stirs us. Heartbreak signals the rest of the body to move. It’s what calls us to love, to act, to be human.
We may find that our broken pieces often fit into the broken pieces of others. In recognizing our broken humanity, we recognize our shared humanity with others. We are not alone. We often need others to make the picture of the world whole, to make the work for justice and peace meaningful and effective.
Advocating for nonviolent action, Martin Luther King Jr. made popular the notion of the “beloved community” – a world where all can share in God’s creation without threat to one’s humanity. His vision of the beloved community called for the eradication of racism, violence, and poverty, and while his work accomplished much, the beloved community is not complete. The work for peace and inclusion must replace bigotry and violence with empathy and dialogue.
We cannot deny the interconnectedness of our humanity. Love is the vehicle to connect us. The power of agape love, as MLK Jr. says, needs to cast out the violence and bitterness of this world.
“Love is creative and redemptive. Love builds up and unites; hate tears down and destroys. The aftermath of the ‘fight with fire’ method…is bitterness and chaos, the aftermath of the love method is reconciliation and creation of the beloved community…Yes, love – which means understanding, creative, redemptive goodwill, even for one’s enemies – is the solution”- MLK Jr.
Love requires understanding from both sides. It requires creativity to find compromise. It is redemptive, for love forgives and moves toward goodness. Building the beloved community doesn’t mean one side triumphs over the other, but it involves the hard work of reconciliation, communication, and right relationship. It’s a world of radical inclusion with no one standing on the margins.
It was five o’clock and I was closing the library for one of the last times at Cristo Rey. As the last of the students grabbed their belongings and exited the library, I thought about the end of the year and having to leave these students. The same fear of uncertainty entered me. How will I continue to be in community with them? How can I advocate for them? How might I leave this world a little better for them? I slowly realized that it was not the end; more appropriately, it is something not yet, just as all the world is not yet.
The beloved community, or if you will, the reign of God is constantly being made here, now, and not yet. It’s being planted and cultivated by field workers and caretakers. It’s being upended by movers and shakers. It’s being re-planted and cared for by dreamers and saints. It’s being left for the future not yet, for a future not one’s own.
How might that future be one of peace and harmony as the beloved community? It will require us to be the field workers and caretakers, movers and shakers, dreamers and saints. It is our task to embrace the difficult journey of never being satisfied with the world and take delight in what is being created. Today’s community ought to sing a song of humility, compassion, and encounter, a song that breaks and moves the heart to build the beloved community here, now, and not yet.
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