No way to describe...

There is no way to describe what the election of our first black president means to me. I have been awash with emotion.

Last August, I had the great joy of returning to the first church I served in the ministry -- the congregation of Rasberry Chapel United Methodist Church in Indianola, Mississippi. The impact of that congregation has stayed in my heart and ministry every day of my life.

Indianola is in the heart of the Mississippi Delta. It is the home of segregationist Senator James Eastland and the home of freedom fighter Fannie Lou Hamer. Indianola has exhibited the most horrible and vivid examples of segregation. For decades, sociologists came to Indianola to study segregation in its most primitive, tragic forms. Before I went to Indianola, I had read thousands of pages of sociological studies: Caste and Class in a Southern Town by John Dollard; After Freedom by Hortense Powdermaker. Reading the historical context of Indianola made the acceptance and welcome of these people all the more precious.

This is me with Mrs. Annie Clay--the only living member of the Pastor Parish Committee at Rasberry in 1982 who asked for me to come be the pastor at Rasberry. The request of a black congregation for a white female pastor was (to their credit) a stunning event of its own.

Today, as Barak Obama is inaugurated as the first black president of our nation, my heart is full of the courageous, faithful people who made this day possible. In my pastorate at Rasberry, I had the great privilege of knowing some of the greatest of these heros. Charles McLaurin (pictured here) is one of the true heroes of our country. Now, "Mac"'s name is written all through the history books of the civil rights movement. He was one of the original SNCC workers who came to the Mississippi Delta to work for voting rights for blacks.


Mac experienced the brutality of white resistance in ways that take my breath away. He was arrested more times than he could count. He was beaten. He was jailed. And yet, he and his wife had the grace to take me on a personal tour of civil rights sites in the Delta. Here is Mac at one of the jails where he was held (in Drew, Mississippi).

Mac was Fannie Lou Hamer's right hand man.

He saw history up close.

And, in this church, I had the opportunity to know the first black member of the Indianola School Board, one of the first organizers of the NAACP in Indianola, principals of all the public schools, the first black policeman in the state of Mississippi -- along with a host of unsung faithful who kept the faith, registered to vote, worked for a better tomorrow and gave personal examples of integrity to the young people coming along. I will never forget their faith in such adverse circumstances. This inauguration day is directly linked to their courage to believe in their dignity as God's children.

Now, it is our turn to pick up this difficult world, work for what is right and let our lives shine with faith, courage and hope. As I walked again the world of Sunflower County, I can tell you that if Fannie Lou Hamer and Charles McLaurin could keep the faith in the brutality of the civil rights movement, we should be able to unswervingly keep the light shining.

(sign at Fannie Lou Hamer's grave; Ruleville, Mississippi)

Remembering those who didn't live to see this day

I wish Dana had lived to see the day when a black man was inaugurated President of the United States.
Dana Mattison was my debate partner in high school. We were picking up a mantle left to us by brilliant debaters and state award winners at Frankfort High School. Dana and I made a full day of speech competitions. We debated, we entered the Dramatic Interpretation and Spontaneous categories in speech contests all over the state. Dana did a magnificent rendition of James Weldon Johnson's "The Creation". I did a heart-rending adaptation of Dale Evans Rogers' "Angel Unaware". In Spontaneous competition, we would get a topic, have 5 minutes to organize our thoughts and 5 minutes to speak. He was my best male friend. He was black.
Between the two of us, the color difference was never a problem. Dana knew I was a passionate advocate of equality for everyone. Racial equality was often the topic of debates and spontaneous speech challenges. The tumultous years of 1964 - 1968 provided a fascinating backdrop to our friendship...and, eventually those events would end the friendship we had enjoyed. In his understandable despair and anger over the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in April of 1968, Dana said he could no longer be close friends with a white person. I was devastated about Dr. King's assassination, too. Even though I understood that Dana had to process the tragedy in his own way, losing the friendship was a real blow to me...just a month before our graduation.
We each went to different colleges. As time went by, his gifts led him to become a very successful businessman in corporate America. My call led me to become a pastor of a black church in Mississippi Delta. I was learning about the lives of black people in a new way and I thought about Dana often. Since neither Dana nor I lived in our hometown (or even our home state) we kept in touch through occasional contacts my attorney brother had with each of us. Those exchanges let each of us know that we were proud of each other in the interesting ways life had unfolded.
And, literally, the next thing I knew, Dana had died. He was only in his 40's. Pancreatic cancer. (Which was very much on my own mind when I was diagnosed with a pancreatic tumor in May of 2007). I didn't get to say goodbye.
Dana and I spent hours studying, debating and speaking up for a future like the one that is actually unfolding in our world today. This is a day we couldn't have dreamed of when we were teenagers. This is an event that we didn't believe could happen no matter how articulate and persuasive our arguments. I am sorry Dana didn't live to see this day. But the memory of his vibrant passion for justice lives in my heart as I watch this historic inauguration. His life helped me understand how much this means. I will celebrate this momentous event with his memory in my heart.

By all means, keep praying!

We United Methodists believe that people in all vocations have a sacred calling and a holy responsibility. But, I can't imagine a higher privilege than serving as a pastor. There are plenty of headaches and discouragements that go along with ministry. But the joys are sweet beyond description.
Let me tell you about one of my most recent precious moments:

In this new connectional place of service, I really miss the constant contact with children. Making memories with children has a special place in my heart. This week, a child made a memory for me. The memory came via his mother's report of her kindergartener who has been praying for me even though I am no longer his pastor.
This fall, as I was going through my diagnosis/surgery time, little Aidan was praying "God bless Pastor Mary John and help her through her surgery." When I had to have followup treatments, Aidan was praying, "God bless Pastor Mary John and help her heal." Just that report would have been touching enough! A kindergartener who was thoughtful enough to pray for me every night even after I moved!
Now that the crisis-with-cancer time is over, evidently Aidan is still praying for me. See if you don't agree that this is the sweetest prayer I could hope for: "God bless Pastor Mary John even though she is healed."
With the wisdom of a child, Aidan knows what many adults forget: prayer is not just for crises and emergencies. Yes, Aidan, please keep praying! Yes, friends, pastors and churches, please keep praying! My need for prayers doesn't end with the conclusion of the cancer treatments. The need for prayer is a constant, ongoing, always-relevant gift.
Can we take this snapshot and, in addition to a warm heart, take up a challenge to prayer? We are all, truly, standing in the need of prayer.

Covered by God's love

This picture is a treasure to me.

As I was having a few quiet minutes to read on a retreat, Ann Starrette took this picture. Amazing.

There's a lot that the photo doesn't show, too.

The photo doesn't show that this was taken just one week after my surgery for thyroid cancer. A close-up picture would show where my throat had been cut, literally from one side to another. The photo doesn't show the tiredness that I felt as my body recuperated from a complicated, 5 hour surgery.

The photo doesn't show how the thyroid cancer turned my schedule and energy upside down -- on top of a year full of major transitions.

But the photo shows what is most important: the ways that the light of God's love covers us in beautiful ways even in our low points.

I don't post the picture because it is me.

While I freely admit that I broke out in tears when I saw the picture and this particular picture was a great gift to me in a very hard time, I share the picture because I am sure that God's love is beautifully breaking through for all. God doesn't love me one smidgeon more than anyone else. Everyone doesn't have the great gift of someone with a camera to capture the moment like this. May it be a reminder of God's extraordinary love for us all...