The Peace Hour.org

The Peace Hour.org

9/11 Mysteries (Full Length, High Quality)

All voices must be heard. Whether we agree or disagree, without full disclosure, without listening to all sides, we will never know the truth. This documentary of the 9/11 historical even brings to light QUESTIONS. This domain 9/11 Truth documentary portends that there is more to come. An excellent document. Pass it on.

International Day of Peace--A Day of Prayer

PRAYER CHANGES THINGS


"When children pray, God listens. Are we listening?"

On this International Day of Peace I am reminded that we live in one world. Today, many of our world’s citizens are celebrating this one day with the hope of peace eternal. Peace is a concept for the mind, body and spirit. I’m especially grateful that these next few weeks are also symbolic of peace. We celebrate the Jewish New Year and Ramadan. This is a poignant reminder that we CAN walk side by side.

Someone asked that we celebrate this day with prayers, poems and songs. My prayer:

Wake in me, O Lord, the need for another
Prepare in me, O Lord, the way to acceptance
Instill in me, O Lord, true love and compassion

Help me, O Lord, to accept your gifts
And then, O Lord, let me live in thanksgiving for the harmony of this world.

Amen

My Poem:

I look on the faces of my sisters and brothers
To see the desires and dreams in their eyes
I look at the hands of my sisters and brothers
To clasp in fervent prayer for one another

I see beyond the different hues,
The cultural resonance of voices of different lands,
The shapes of eyes, mouths and noses,
And I see the Wisdom that God demands

I listen to the prayers of all
In languages too numerous to count
Chants, songs and silent meditations
Become a symphony of hope for us all

I see each of you
I see God

And my song:

Let us break bread together on our knees
Let us break bread together on our knees
When I fall on my knees,
With my face to the rising sun,
O Lord, Have mercy on me

Let us clasp hands together on our knees
Let us clasp hands together on our knees
When I fall on my knees,
With my face to the rising sun,
O Lord, Have mercy on me

Let us sing songs together on our knees
Let us sing songs together on our knees
When I fall on my knees,
With my face to the rising sun,
O Lord, Have mercy on me

Let us praise God together on our knees
Let us praise God together on our knees
When I fall on my knees,
With my face to the rising sun,
O Lord, Have mercy on me

And my final prayer:
Lord, have mercy on all of us. On this International Day of Peace, let us remember that we are each in need of your mercy and love. That we are in need of your compassion and grace and that in giving it to us, we will return the favor by giving it to others.

A blessed and hopeful International Day of Peace. P.K.

Faith and Peace—The Only Way

I spent time with my grandson this week. As he knows I usually have something for him in my room, he went in to see and when he came out, he had my prayer beads looped around his neck. I told him about the beads and knew he understood as much as a two-year can, because the rest of the evening, he told everyone he had "Buddha Beads" around his neck.

I am a peacebuilder. I think I was born to be one. At age twelve I finally made six feet in height. My father took this opportunity to explain to me about the responsibilities of being tall. I would imagine he would have had to be the one. He was six feet five inches tall himself.

“P.K., do you know how tall you are now?”

“No, Daddy,” I responded. “I just know that I’m taller than most everybody in my class except a few of the boys in the 11th and 12th grades.”

I was in the eighth grade then, youngest of my classmates—taller than almost all of them and all of my teachers. My father’s mother had always emphasized standing tall and since that was ingrained I stood tall. That day I learned from my father that I would sometimes seem taller than people the rest of my life and probably would be. I’m 6 feet and 3 inches now. So, my father sat me to down to explain about size and the power size can have. He explained about periphery vision and how it played an active role in people’s perceptions about space. He told me how precious a person’s space can be. He also told me that I had a new responsibility now that I had grown so tall.

This is what he told me.

“People will see you before you see them,” he tells me. He explained that this could be a good thing. “But sometimes people will see you as a hindrance before you’ve opened your mouth.” And then he told me something I never thought about. “You will be perceived to take up a person’s personal space even when you don’t mean to.” My father then stood and demonstrated what he meant. He told me that people consider a certain amount of space their own. “If you tower over them,” he said to me as I looked up at him, “someone may consider that you are taking up their space.” My father’s height was imposing when we both stood. Now standing over me as I sat, I immediately understood his meaning.

“You can continue to tower over them, continue to make them feel uncomfortable or,” he smiled, “you can even the field of vision so that you are no longer threatening.” He demonstrated by sitting down again with me.

I told my father that I would never do anything to threaten another person. I was a gentle giant, after all. He told me that he believed that I would not. However, he gave me this last piece of advice. He then told me that there may be times in my life I need to make a point. His words to me were simple. “It is then that you stand.”

I’m also storyteller—naturalized, of course. My Aunt Ollie, my mother’s sister was the other family griot. I believe I inherited her gift. She was also the oldest of my mother’s siblings as I am. My mother told me when I was quite young that she and her siblings seldom could afford the nickel movies, so they would let Ollie go instead. She would return and tell them the story of Gene Autry’s pursuits and victories in movies such as “Back in the Saddle”—even singing the songs that made him so famous. I’m the oldest as well and I’ve been practicing my storytelling skills on my younger siblings for many years. I believe that my ability to tell a story has helped me to take the advice my father gave and use my skills as a storyteller to simply stand when there is a point to be made. These days the point is—there is no way to peace. Peace is the way.

So now I’ve become a student of peace through non-violence. I say student because I’m still learning. I believe that Jesus was also a teacher of non-violence. I’ve learned that non-violence cannot be simply a concept or even a tool. It must be a way of life. How else could Jesus at the moment they came to arrest him speak to his disciples so passionately for peace after Peter cut off the soldier’s ear. He said to them, “There will be no more of this!” How was he able to do this? Because he had prepared for it his entire life, at the moment of whether to use violence or non-violence, he had no choice. He chose peace. He even healed the person who came with a sword with the peace of healing. I’m sure that soldier was never the same. Perhaps at that moment, he lay down his sword. Even then the tenants of non-violence spoke that there is no way to peace—peace is the way.

Personally, I think God made me tall for a reason. He wanted me to be seen. But, God also had a plan. He never wanted me to use my size to bully or hurt another. He wanted to show that big doesn’t always mean power, but it can speak truth. As I learn the lessons that Jesus taught; that others such as Gandhi, Lawson and King also taught; I realize that I want no other life. I also know now what my father meant when he said that there would be times when I would have to stand. I stand to convey the stories of peace through my gift and hopefully show the way of peace in every facet of my life—in height and stories.

So, when the time is right, I'll tell my grandson this story. He's going to be tall. That's a fact. But, he will already know that his height is a gift (as it was to all of my children) and that I will hold to non-violence because of him and all the children of the world. He's my Little Buddha, after all.

---Peace

Answering to Who We Are ...

My Dear Children ---

I want to abolish the "N" word. And while we're at it, I want to abolish self-doubt, self-deprecation, self-hatred. That is what the word NIGGER means to mean. I don't care how you spell it, how you say it, it is a word forged and fueled by hate.

I love you. From the darkest ebony to the lightest olive of skin, I see your beauty. It is blinding as it tells both the joy and the sorrow, but also the perserverance of a people who have endured much. And when I see that someone would pay you to say the word over and over again in a rap song, I not only want to protect you from the word, but also from its meaning.

At www.abolishthenword.com, a song plays in the introduction called "Strange Fruit." I remember the first time I drove through the South, heading towards Atlanta. I'd never been much pass the Louisiana border, but as I drove into Alabama, just as the sun was clearing the horizon, I saw lush, green, Kudzu. It choked the trees as it rambled around the trunk of huge trees and wound its way through the branches. The leaves looked rich and strong and I couldn't help but cry savage tears. It broke my heart in two and at that moment, I didn't know why. My babies (they were babies then) slept beside me and in the back and I felt afraid. Yet, I didn't know why. I thought it was hormones or something, but as I tried to look into that lush, green, forest, it came to me. Here is the growth from the soil nurtured by death. MURDER.

I can't begin to help you understand what went through me that morning. I looked again at my babies and knew that I would never let anything happen to them. I resolved, that was then--this is now! And stayed two years in Atlanta before deciding that I couldn't always separate the then from now in that place.

We have come a long way. That much I know. I have three beautiful children, a wonderful, intelligent grandson who is full of energy and life. And I have a new mission---to help end the use of the word, not to be afraid of it, but to never answer to it. Neither from friend or foe.

"Strange Fruit" has been sung by many. My favorite version is still Nina Simon's, in part, I believe because she took herself away, as I did, from the tyranny of the south. Did she find comfort in another land. I doubt it, but she kept her sanity, I believe, because of it. I often look for those sacred spaces---places away from racism and classism. I find it, too. My friends far and near have shown me those sacred spaces, where racism and the other isms of life are conquered. They are conquered by our friendships and other friendships like ours and the knowledge that it isn't just because I'm the exception to the rule (I'm not), but that we find the humanity in each other and relish the love that comes from knowing true relationship despite the differences.

This year I've spent time away from home. I was running away for my sanity, it seems. A lot has happened in the last decade that makes me understand how precious life is. Hard times can make us hard, or ...

And here is what I'm learning. Hard times can make us appreciate the quieter, sacred spaces because there is nothing that guarantees hard times won't come. Just ask those who were displaced by Katrina last year. Ask any child in Uganda and ask anyone who has lost a loved one. But, as to what I'm learning, we must answer to who we are. Who we are is God's gift. Because we are a gift to one another, we should call ourselves by our rightful name. We aren't any of the names that were created to separate us, to make us feel unworthy or unloved, to disenfranchise us. No matter the race or culture. We are God's gift, children of the world, brothers and sisters all. So, the next time you want to call out to your homegirl or boy---remember, brother or sister is who we are and that's all we should answer to.

--- Peace

Lord, I Want ...

to be a Christian--in my heart!


Yes, I want to be a Christian--in my heart. It is, I believe, where Christianity truly resides. However, I understand that once I am a Christian in my heart, I am now challenged to the be a Christian in my life.

On May 5, 2006, I will have a conversation with UT Professor Robert Jensen and pastor of Austin's St. Andrews Presbyterian Church, Jim Rigby. Both have been caught in the crossfire of two dissenting groups: Christians and Atheists. I haven't had the honor of meeting Rev. Rigby, but I do know Bob. And the truth is that I know quite a few professed atheists and further, I don't like some of them. There! I said it.

So, why do I like Bob, the professed atheist, and not some others? Well, its quite simple. Bob has never made fun of or ridiculed my beliefs. I guess I'm sensitive when it comes to someone telling me that what I believe is about my being both superstitous and stupid. I don't like being made fun of especially when poking fun is done to try to make me feel bad. These days I don't defend my beliefs. Not too much anyway. I'm at least hoping that my actions speak louder than my Christian rhetoric. Of course, as I've learned, I often fall short of this Christian action when my back's against the wall. More often than not, I just don't want anyone trashing my beliefs. I also know that I've got to get over it.

Once, as part of a panel discussion, I responded to a question from the audience where I talked freely about my faith. Soon after, one of the panelists remarked that he wanted everyone to know that he didn't believe in God and that he certainly wasn't a Christian. He said that he was a Marxist and that Marx pointed out that "Christianity is the opium of the people." It got him a few snickers, but when it came time to respond, I told him, "Speaking as my drug of choice ..." 'cuz if that's his definition, I'd roll with it. But, what I also said was that my faith, my belief, wasn't a license to ridicule him just as his Marxism wasn't a license bait or ridicule me.

And I guess that's the reality of where were are. We've got so many divisions, some of them pretty darn serious. Racism. Classism. They each rank right up there as the number one divisiveness. And when I intellectualize things like faith, belief and religion, I find that I'm often not standing for much if I don't take a stand.

It's interesting to note, however, that it is easier to ridicule me about my Christianity than say, Desmond Tutu. Some of the very folks that will do their level best to 'diss' me would break their neck to get a seat next to Bishop Tutu and not because he's a Christian. Simply because he's famous. I've watched it happen too often to mention here, but suffice to say that we're constantly throwing out the baby with the bath water when we put up the fence of division, only to tear it down when it suits our purposes. Anyway, it would be a lot simpler to build bridges for all the building and tearing down that we do. And I'm guessing that we're only going to start building bridges when we find a way, as I'm thinking Bob and Pastor Jim have, to build a bridge where none existed before.

So, what's the answer? Seems like every peace hour blog ends with that question. I wish I had answers -- the kind of answers that would make folks say, "Hey, she's got a point--a good one." Then they'd change their narrow-minded, gilded actions to be more like the heart of Christ, even if they don't believe he's the son of God. I don't mind. I really don't. That's not the sticking point. The sticking point for me is to say you believe it and then act like you don't. And when its all said and done, I just want to know that I'm Christian in thought and deed and that if you're not, you at least act like a decent human being--Christ like after all. Makes us even, sort of.

So, I get Bob's Christian trek and I at least know that when we stand shoulder to shoulder on the same pew, we're talking about the same tenets of faith that makes us want to build a culture of peace for the world. That's bridge building, folks. Amen.

The Peace Hour Vision ...

"The future is something which everyone reaches at the rate of sixty minutes an hour, whatever he [or she] does, whoever he [or she] is."

--C.S. Lewis

This quote from C.S. Lewis jumped out at me this morning as I started writing this week's blog about The Peace Hour radio program. The Peace Hour offers its listeners a chance for one hour to explore the reasons for peace through non-violent communication and action. If we are heading into the future, as Lewis acknowledges, at sixty minutes per hour, we might be looking at accomplishing peace in record time. That's the quest and hope of The Peace Hour. As stated in its mission statement, 'The Peace Hour sets aside sixty minutes to explore peace through non-violence in the stories of others.' This is one small step on the road to accomplishing the peace we wish to see by finding those who are that peace in word and deed. What I am finding in doing The Peace Hour is that the voices of peace vary in cultures, races, classes and religions. They are male and female. And they are brothers and sisters of the Earth family--connected by threads. Some threads are delicate and break easily. Other threads are sturdy and durable. Every thread is important, however, to the fabric of life. Woven together, all are strong.

The Nobel Peace Laureates of this time have appealed to us to build a culture of peace for the children of the world. What does that mean? I try to answer that question on each Peace Hour program. When I find evidence of it, I try to capture it in story form. I do my best to set aside my biases and prejudices when telling these stories, but I have found that I AM always a part of the story. We all are. That's another reason for the peace hour. Connecting us one to another is what building a culture of peace is about. If we don't stop to think of ourselves as part of the whole, we will continue the spiral of violence that has permeated the centuries before.

This Decade ends in 2010. What will we have accomplished? I'm not sure. But I am sure about this. We will accomplish more than we could ever believe possible. Why? Because every day someone takes the road to peace at sixty minutes per hour, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year---day in and day out. We are clocking the minutes and so is the peace.

Peace Education In Schools

“We’re building a culture of peace for the children of the world.”

Why should peace education be taught in schools? Simple. Because there is no way to peace. Peace is the way. I've waited all my life for a method by which we can teach children honesty, respect and integrity. But, I realize that we teach them that and more. We also teach them to lie, to steal and to turn away from endeavors that take time and effort. We want easy. We want fast. We are teaching our children that "other" children don't matter. It is worse than when we taught that the world was flat. Yet, I'm convinced that while we are teaching bad behavior, we are waking up. And waking up means a constant vigil into self to understand why we don't become the peace we wish to see.

I was with my grandson this weekend. He wanted gum. I said, "Please, may I have some gum?" He looked at me and held his hand out more forcefully. "Gum," he said with a seriousness that meant he wanted it then and there. I said, "Gum, please. You must say please if you want some gum." He cried. He demanded gum as he said with more force, "GUM!" I said, "Unless you say, 'gum please' or 'please may I have some gum,' I will not give you any gum. And I put the gum in my purse. He cried in earnest and I took him in my arms. I held him and started singing a made up song.

Please is a word that says you care
Please is a word that gets you there
If you say 'please' I know you care
And please can take you anywhere

Please, Please, Please
Won't you please say please
If you say please
Then I won't sneeze

And then I pretended to sneeze. He laughed and said with that wonderful smile of his, "Gum?" And I said, "Gum, please." And he just looked and put his head back on my shoulders. He wanted gum. He didn't say 'please' and it seemed we left it there.

The next day as we were getting ready to go outside and play, he asked for a cookie. "A cookie, please." And with a grin so wide, he said triumphantly, "Cookie, PLEASE!" And I told him how proud I was of him and we got a cookie and I sang more of the made up please song. He got it. He'll be two at the end of the month. It was a moment of peace. I loved it and so did he.

The Noble Cause ...

"Where there is hatred, sow love ..."

The stage was devoid of people. Chairs and a podium were all that identified that a program was to start. How soon? No one was quite sure. I sat and watched the empty chairs, waiting on the program to begin and waiting on my reason for being in this place.

These days I'm not standing on ceremony. I'm not trying to be politically correct, overly polite or especially not, the gentle giant! Then I saw him. My reason. The beginning of the story that would culminate the next evening at Sage at Woodway in Houston. But, for now, I'd like to call your attention to this man. He's placing pictures in front of the podium. Two, in fact. The first is a picture of a soldier. Solemn. Dry. The second picture is of a young man with dancing eyes and a slight, but irresistable smile. It's a casual moment. He's wearing a striped shirt. He's loving the moment and he is loved at that moment. The man placing the pictures, stops and gently kisses the casual picture. A tear slowly rolls down his cheek. I'm here for him, I think. I look around. No one else has noticed.

I'm uncomfortable because more and more I'm paying attention. And you can't sit on your hands when witnessing such events as this one. I know without asking that this is the father of the young man--the soldier, yes, but the father of the son with the dancing eyes and charming smile. As he walks away, I come forward and ask him if I might hug him and share a moment in his grief as well as his love for his son.

This has made me consider DEATH and HONOR. We hear these words batted around ... like dying for noble causes: HONOR? I think not. These days the words are used simultaneously. Death AND Honor as in a soldier's death can an honorable one. I would agree with that in theory. Dying to protect a worthy cause. That's an honorable death. That is Death with Honor. Similar in nature ... the "and" and "with" being somewhat synonomous with a slight deviation. This in turn leads to the defining of noble causes. Death and Honor come about only with nobel intentions. Death with Honor are for noble causes. And this is the rub. The death and honor of these young men and women are without question. Their intentions were noble, protecting hearth and home. Their death with honor is lacking acceptance because there was and is no noble cause to justify their deaths!

How do we adjust?

"How can we find a way to honor our dead? The wars of the 21st century have brought tremendous suffering to the world. How do we make our children's deaths count for something?"

I understand pain. There's a Biblical scripture that talks about a time when children won't die before their parents. It talks about an order to the nature of things. We have children, grow older and pass on. Our children bury us with a heart that knows completion. He lived a full life. She lived life her way. None of this happens when our children die before us. I still think of my granddaughter and the short life she had. Yet, whether she was here for a day (in fact it was seven) or seventy years, I was supposed to go first. Period! I also know how my grandmother felt. When her sons died, one at the tender age of 2 and the other at 52, she lost a little more of herself. In later years, I would hear her speak of my Uncle as if she just talked to him although he had been dead a few years.

I've also listened to the parents of those children--yes, children? My children are 26, 27 and 32. They are grown, but I would suffer greatly if one of them were lost to me in death. I know just how painful that can be because my precious Mellilah left before her time. And knowing just that much gives me a small inkling of having someone die who didn't have to die. And isn't that the real issue here? Did these sons and daughters have to die? The answer, they will tell you, is a simple, but resounding "NO!" One would be too many, but the numbers are in the thousands now and before someone else tells me about how many died in WWII or in Vietnam, let me just say this --- we're older and should be wiser. War is not the answer. These deaths did not have to be.

So, there is no genuine comfort in the ceremonies that lay them to rest. For many parents, the souls of these sons and daughters cannot rest because they died unjustly. It wasn't their time and no amount of "honor" or "noble causes" talk can make it so.

So, I listened to the mothers and father that night. I saw the grief in their eyes and I felt the pain in their hearts. But, I also saw resolve. They are ready to wage peace in the names of these children, gone too soon and for no apparent good reason. In order that they bring honor to the lives of their children, they must wage a battle to protect other children. And when they end this war---and mind you, I believe with everything that is in me that they will see that it happens---when this war ends, then their children's deaths will not have been in vain.

"We must make the commitment to JUSTICE and HEALING! And we must do it through non-violent action. True patriotism requires this path of redemption for us all. We must become the instrument of peace."

P.K. McCary

When We All Get Together ...

What a day of rejoicing that will be

When we all see the peace come
We'll sing and shout the victory!
---readapted from a Negro Spiritual

The Peacemakers ask, "What do we hope to achieve?"

On Saturday, February 4, 2006, peace ambassadors from several organizations in the Houston area came together for a day of renewal, collaboration and fellowship. The event was hosted by the Unity Peacemakers (at Unity Church). At the beginning of the session led by Department of Peace-Houston representative, Kathy Kidd, the question was asked of the participants, "What do you hope to achieve?" While the question was specifically targeted to the present event, the answer became an idea that has been permeating the peace movement for a while: IMAGINE ...

...that day when we can see our words in action! What a day of rejoicing that will be. I see it often, but not often enough. Perhaps I see it more clearly than some because I'm intentional in my seeking--intentional in my pursuit. Actions always speak louder than words, but the words set forth in this poster galvanized a thought. We have to keep putting it out there--the words, that is. We have to keep saying it and then acting on these powerful sentiments of what the world will look like when we open our hearts and minds to the possibilities.

IMAGINE! The world awaits our decisions. P.K.

Building Bridges: Peace by Peace

If God is a god who chooses sides, pits one child against another, then there is no God. But, if, as I suppose, as I try and live my life, God is a god who has no need to pit his children one against another and who offers the same amount of love to either, that is the God I serve.

— P.K. McCary

Conversations on interfaith relations can often take a strange and tension-filled turn. Even one faith, one group of people, can be at odds with one another if one or more individuals branch out to commune with other faiths. People get upset with one another not only because of the choices they make or are making, but because they are not agreeing. One of the questions raised in interfaith communities is whether to allow groups or individuals that espouse fundamentalist beliefs into the (or that particular) interfaith arena. They say things like, They’re not ready. You can’t change ‘em. They do more harm than good.

I’m not sure I like the word—fundamentalist—to describe narrowly interpreted adherence to a faith. I understand intellectually that we’re speaking of narrowly interpreted traditions that create an attitude of supremacy. I get that, but fundamentally, I’m Christian. Because I believe in the virgin birth and in salvation through Jesus Christ, I’m sometimes grouped with those narrow-minded groups headed by leaders such as Pat Robertson or Jerry Falwell. While I don’t proselytize my faith to others, I am hopefully living it. And perhaps that is where the comparison should end. I should just get over it. But, what can I say? I’m sensitive! Oddly enough, many of my friends of other different faith traditions honor my commitment to my faith as I honor theirs. So, where is the tension coming from? Where is the discord in our interfaith work?

I believe that most of us have experiences that obscure our objectivity when it comes to interfaith work. Perhaps we’ve seen the damage that comes from the bigoted and prejudicial thinking of some individuals of their faith tradition. We know the kind of talk that decrees that we have the answer or that God speaks to us alone. For instance, I find it difficult sometimes to talk with my fellow Christian brothers and sisters about my work, but I never give up trying. I tell them that it is important to be committed to your faith, to practice your faith traditions and doctrines. I also tell them that the commitment to one’s faith does not negate another’s commitment to theirs or makes one faith superior to the other. There is no conflict for me in that thinking, but I see the confused look on some faces and fortunately, I understand. I’ve been there. I’m not trying to change their minds about the faith. I’m trying to encourage them to broaden their faith with a respect for other traditions. But, there are those who would believe that we shouldn’t invite the dialogue with those who have a narrow view of this world and the many religions and spiritual expressions if they are not ready to come around. NOW!

We’re up against a mountain of human stubbornness and, of course, fear. Interfaith work is difficult. And rewarding. It is badly represented by some and an awesome experience with others. It seems all we do is talk. We don’t talk enough. We’re working together on some incredible projects. People have been nourished, nurtured and cared for in spectacular circumstances. Interfaith communities around the globe have met challenges. So, should we limit who participates by some criteria? Then one has to ask by what criteria? ‘Who sets the standards?’ This is not a rhetorical question. I’m genuinely asking here. Is there a time when you refuse someone entry into the ‘club’ of the growing interfaith community? Are there some people who just cannot be allowed in? When is it ok to be exclusive? What does being inclusive entail? Who is right about the direction we take in interfaith dialogue? And who gets to decide? What is wrong withthe questions we ask? Questions like: Where should we go? How do we get there? Who gets to answer them? Zora Neale Hurston said once, “There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”

This is the half-way mark of the Decade of Non-Violence. We are definitely in the years of the questions. However, we will have the answers to our questions soon enough and we may not like those answers. If we are asking who can belong to the club, who can participate in the building of this better word, the answer will be in what we create or worse—what we fail to create. I want to build a better world. And I’m tired of looking under rocks and beating the bushes for the snakes. True, I don’t want to be bitten. But, I’d rather die knowing that I didn’t let the threat of snakes deter me from the work that needs to be done? I also know something else. There is another Me waiting in the wings to continue where I left off. I’m finding that I am part of a growing circle of interfaith workers who love this planet. Tenacious. Yes, stubborn, but loving. AND We’re not giving up.

My enemy and I came nigh.
He drew a circle that shut me out.
Heretic, rebel and thing to flout.
But love and I had the wit to win.
We drew a circle that took him in.

Edward Markum emphasizes the need to create a world that includes all. But, I believe some of us want to include all ONLY if and when they change to our way of thinking. In reciting this poem to others, I’ve come to realize that the first line of the poem is often not recited. The first line is telling—‘My enemy and I came nigh’—and reminds me that at this stage of our planet’s metamorphosis, we are currently made up of friends and foes. But, as Pogo once quipped, “We have met the enemy and he is us.” So, I guess we are our own worst enemy. Perhaps we’re standing so close to the enemy (‘us’), that we fail to grasp that it more of the reason why we aren’t building this world we say we want. We’re getting in our own way of building these bridges and making that difference.

There’s a story I love about two brothers who were feuding. A river ran through their property. If that wasn’t enough to separate them, the brothers wanted a clearer line of demarcation. They each decided to build a fence. Since it was such a large task, they both had trouble getting good help, but one brother found a man that not only was willing to work for him, but to start right away. Later, when the brother came to inspect the work, he was livid to find that his precious lumber had been used, not for fences, but to build a bridge. But, just when he was going to give the carpenter a ‘what for,’ he sees his brother running across that bridge, tears streaming down his face. Before he knows it, his brother throws himself into his brother’s arms, tearfully exclaiming, “You are the better brother. You were the first to mend the rift between us. How can I ever measure up?”

Indeed! How can we measure up? By emulating those who are willing to build bridges instead of guarded fences. I believe that we are the carpenters for this better world. What that means is that the feuding, fighting, warring factions will probably continue UNTIL someone builds a bridge that one of them will cross. OK, I can hear the rumblings now. But, some will tear down that bridge. Some will shoot the first person that crosses that bridge. The bridge won’t even get finished! But, I’m hear to tell you that while some of that may happen, other miraculous things will happen, too. We just have to change the percentages. Keep building bridges.

Where are the stories about the real models of peace. I love these stories. I love to tell the stories. Every natural disaster of the year 2005 has been witness to some wonderful interfaith work. Disasters in Louisiana, Sri Lanka, Somalia—to name a few—have shown us what people from different faiths can do. When it is time to help a brother or sister from the depths of such disasters, no one stops to ask—are you a Christian? A Muslim? (OK, maybe some groups asked, but that has not been my experience concerning Hurricane Katrina.) Why can’t we see that we have the capacity to work together and build a better world no matter the faith tradition?

I’m tired, but not so tired that I’ll give up building bridges that sometimes take more time than I’ve been given on this earth to build. But, I know this. There are a lot more bridge builders than we know. We just gotta get to know one another. And there are bridges being built. How do I know? I’ve crossed them. And, it may not look like, feel like, be like, what you envision, but I believe that it will be better!

It has been said that there are some of us who have to see it to believe it. To those I say, ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet!’ And then there are those who believe it so that they might see it. They already believe that ‘We ain’t seen nothing yet!’ Just wait. It’s coming—the bridges, that is. Whole lots of ‘em. Mighty, well-built bridges. You might be surprised who you see coming your way.

I’ll teach my children that bridge building
Will help them to see the world
Across a bridge to foreign places
The world will be strange no more

I’ll teach my children to teach their children
That building bridges is grand
Because the person on the other side
Can often become a friend

I’ll reach my children’s children’s children
Who will no longer fear the others
They’ll see the handiwork of bridges we’ve built

A world united—finally—bridges to one another