As the poet Claudia Rankine describes in her , Black life is a condition of mourning. Our Black brothers and sister, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters don鈥檛 live with the thought or the hope that the latest act of racial violence will be the last. They know that the sin of racism in America is deep and long and face the reality of that daily in ways that I will never experience. As a White woman with unearned privilege, I have the 鈥渓uxury鈥� of being able to express my grief and anger without fear of reprisal or violence from those in power. I have the 鈥渃hoice鈥� to engage or not engage. As Roberts and Rizzo 聽¹ note in their recent article on racism in America, 鈥減ower enables passivism.鈥� White people鈥擨鈥攈ave been passive too long. This is where I must start鈥攁cknowledging my privilege and passivity, and grieving and repenting of that. And then I must take responsibility.

And my heart is still broken. Even as I write this, I am aware of so many Black, Indigenous, and Mothers of Color whose hearts have been broken at the deaths of their children under a system of racism and oppression, be that from violence or from neglect of our healthcare and social service systems. At a recent BLM protest, a White individual held a sign that read, 鈥淚 understand that I don鈥檛 understand, but I stand with you.鈥� So what does it mean as a White faculty member in a predominantly White institution to stand with? I start with my whiteness.

Individually and with others in my institution, I grieve and reckon with our place in this cultural moment. As a psychologist and an educator, I am called to lifelong learning. But that is just the starting place for me as White woman. A responsibility that comes with privilege is to speak out and act against the injustices that go back to our founding history in America. This is a process that will continue to unfold and take shape, both personally, in the classroom, and institutionally. Miguel De LaTorre states that 鈥淭here can be no faith, in fact no salvation, without ethical praxis. To participate in ethical praxis is to seek justice鈥� 聽². I will continue learning, and I must also acknowledge the harms of our current systems and actively seek justice(Micah 6:8). Healing will occur in our communities as we take action. As a teacher, this action will include my commitment to continued research and personal learning, inviting voices of color and diversity in my syllabi and reading assignments, and working to make my classes and our institution places of safety and welcome for all students and employees.

It will get messy. It is messy! These are hard conversations to navigate and hold in our body/mind, but they must happen. It is especially difficult that most of these conversations must happen virtually, rather than with others in the same space. We are experiencing layers of collective trauma. We are confronting the brutality of systemic racism in addition to the isolation brought on by COVID-19. Anger, grief, fear, despair, uncertainty鈥攖hese are all appropriate responses to pandemic and racial trauma.

Even though I may not fully understand, I grieve with the BIPOC communities. Our collective grief and action can lead to cultural shifts. We are not victims of our culture, we shape our culture. Text, soul, culture鈥攖his is a crucial part of our mission. I have much to learn, and I and students to stay in these conversations and to continue the work of grief, self-reflection, and action. May this lead to a more loving, just and equitable culture鈥攆or all of us.

鈥淭he role of the teacher is not just to listen, to extend care and compassion, but also to wait in the silence of grief and concern for the notes of humanization to emerge and to amplify those notes so that a student can be reminded that they are, even in times like these, a being becoming, emerging. Even in this moment, even in pandemic and tragedy and fear, we are all nonetheless鈥攁nd in some ways, more so than when comfort and peacefulness abide鈥攊n a process of becoming more human. As we are confronted by the aches and diseases of our culture, we can be reminded that culture is distinctly human, and so part of our common project.鈥� Sean Michael Morris 聽³

Links that I have found helpful in learning/praxis/taking action:

• Resmaa Menakem鈥檚
• Claudia Rankine,
• Layla Saad鈥檚 workbook,

References:

The post Moving from Passivity to Responsibility to Participate in Justice appeared first on 天美视频 of Theology & Psychology.

Along with many households, we too have spent much more time cooking and cleaning than in springs past. And these quotidian tasks have helped to bring a sense of rhythm and calm in the midst of crisis. I began this 鈥渟tay at home鈥� order with the hope or na茂ve expectation that we would be back to some sort of normal in a matter of weeks. After that initial period there has been a strange distortion of time, in one moment compressed, other times elongated. It is hard to tell one day from another, hard to remember if that conversation or event was yesterday or last week. We have been in a state of perpetual waiting.聽

The Oxford dictionary defines waiting as:聽

Noun: the action of staying where one is or delaying action until a particular time or until something else happens. Origin: Middle English: from Old Northern French waitier, of Germanic origin; related to wake. Early senses included 鈥榣ie in wait (for鈥�), 鈥榦bserve carefully鈥�, and 鈥榖e watchful鈥�.聽

Like the rest of the world, our work and social lives have been curtailed. We have delayed most of our usual actions, cancelled trips and refrained from our typical spring hiking, biking and paddling鈥攚aiting for the 鈥渟tay at home鈥� order to be lifted. But we have also observed, watched more carefully鈥攂oth the natural world unfurling in all its spring glory鈥攁nd one another. I have observed and inquired how it is for my son to be living at home again after six years away. I have seen him not as my boy, but as an independent young man in all his strength, kindness, wisdom and grace. We have been together every day. And I have loved that part of this otherwise unsettling pandemic.聽

Emotions too have been both expanded and condensed鈥攄ismay, anger, fear, joy, loss, uncertainty, grief and delight. They will come suddenly and at times in a confusing mix; tears followed by joy, anger replaced by grief, the monotony of bad news met with the delight of simple pleasures shared. Without the distractions of the world鈥檚 busyness, my family has known one another in a fuller, deeper way. I have received help and containment in the frustrations of online teaching and unreliable internet聽 connections. My son has taught me new computer skills and technology tricks. My husband has moved furniture and built me a standing desk for my makeshift classroom. I have been free to laugh and cry and worry with them. I have shared their burdens, and they have shouldered mine.聽

And I have baked pie. I enjoy cooking and baking, but experienced bakers will tell you鈥攑ies are a lot of work. The first night of my son鈥檚 homecoming, I had a pecan pie waiting for him. Then there was a key lime pie to celebrate the warm weather and completion of a huge yard project. Next came a deep-dish apple pie, because I had the apples in the fridge and it鈥檚 his favorite. And finally, on his last night home before starting his firefighting job鈥攕trawberry rhubarb鈥攂ecause the rhubarb in the garden was big enough and it seemed like the proper ending to a spring meal in the backyard. My son said, 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 know we had rhubarb.鈥� 鈥淵up, growing behind the kale.鈥� You see, I rarely make rhubarb pie鈥攏o wonder he wouldn鈥檛 know it grows in our garden. As we were talking, it occurred to me that through our pies, we had experienced a year鈥檚 worth of pie in our forty-something days together. In these weeks of quarantine鈥攊n this space of compressed and distorted time鈥攚e had covered all the seasons with our pies. Apple pie for fall, pecan for winter, strawberry rhubarb for spring, and key lime pie to represent summer.聽

In this season of waiting, observing and watching鈥攚e have tasted goodness. We have eaten from the natural world and partaken in its rhythms in a more mindful way. We have felt God鈥檚 presence as we wait for relief, redemption, and restoration of something we have lost. And we have been more mindful of each other. We have been there for one another, held each other in the uncertainty as we watch and wait for what is next. What鈥檚 next? For me, that will be a blackberry pie in July. I hope to share it with many, many people I love.

The post Love and Pie in the Time of Quarantine appeared first on 天美视频 of Theology & Psychology.