Yesterday morning I looked
into the eyes of my brown immigrant brother
and saw my own reflection:
worry and fear mingled with strength and love.
An hour later I looked
into the eyes of my black immigrant sister
and saw myself again:
weariness and pain mingled with stardust and light.
In their eyes I saw something more
than the person looking out at me:
Standing face to face,
I saw through a mirror, dimly,
what John O’Donohue calls
“the strangeness of the eternal,”
“the infinity gazing out at [me]
[…] from an ancient time.”
Yesterday morning I listened
to my brown immigrant brother
and my black immigrant sister,
and in their stories
I heard my own story:
By day we carry the yoke of worry
for ourselves and for our neighbors,
and by night we lie awake under a blanket of fear
for our children and for their future
in a world ruled by greed and rocked by violence.
Yesterday morning I listened
to my brown immigrant brother
and to my black immigrant sister,
and in their stories
I heard God’s story:
“We must stick together,” said my brother.
“God is with us in our fear and pain,” said my sister.
“Yes,” I said to both of them.
“We must hold onto each other
and hold onto our faith,
trusting that God is with us,
to hold us and help us
through the hard times.”
Standing face to face,
listening to my sister and brother,
I saw that we are all
made of stardust and love:
the very essence and image of God.
I saw that we are all one:
one with each other,
one with all creatures and all creation,
one with the entire cosmos,
and one with God.
It is at once humbling and inspiring
to know that our lives
are pure grace and gift
and to realize that
each of us is a small, but vital part
of something much greater than ourselves:
We are part of God’s still-unfolding plan
for healing and reconciling
this broken, yet beautiful world
God loves so deeply.
Rose City Ramblin' 