Let Us Pray

Here it is in one more place, a moving prayer.

So, once more, let us pray.




Here's another link to this grand warrior in this righteous cause of Justice.

And, here is the text of the prayer.

"A Prayer for the Nations"

The following is entitled "A Prayer for the Nations," and was penned and prayed in 1918 by Walter Henderson Brooks.

As of old Jehovah's working
Out of his will, in every land,
And it runs through all the ages,
Like a weaver's hidden strand.

Centuries with God are moments,
And a thousand years a day;
Kingdoms rise and wane and perish,
Others come and pass away.

'Tis not wealth alone, nor numbers,
Justice makes a people strong,
Righteousness exalts a nation,
Victories to God belong.

Give us then, O God, thy blessing!
We rely upon thy might,
Gird our men, and make them heroes,
Glorify the Cause of Right.

From Conversations with God: Two Centuries of Prayers by African Americans, by James Melvin Washington, Ph.D.

Charlie Wilson and Me

Charlie Wilson and I have a few things in common. No, maybe we have three things in common. We're both from smalltown USA, Trinity, Texas, and graduates of Trinity High School. Yes, we both are even listed as "Tiger Heroes." See this page if you're unconvinced. Yes, a bit ostentatious, but it'll make the point. The book about him was a heavy read, so it was simply a case of wait until the movie comes out to see what he did. Even as a kid growing up in East Texas, he was a larger than life character, but not one whose paths ever crossed with mine.

In the movie, Tom Hanks portrays him in "Charlie Wilson's War" as a complex and passionate man who is moved by what he sees when he goes to Afghanistan and visits with children whose arms have been blown off by the atrocities of the Russian army in their attempt to overtake the land and its people. That was a moving scene in the movie as the two children with the translator talk to Wilson. From that point on, Wilson was committed as long as he had breath in his body and a member of Congress, that he would fight for these people.

In a similar way, I still recall the interviews with farmers in Texas, Louisiana, and Georgia in the mid-90s. As I've said on several occasions, "I was not prepared for what I saw, felt, and heard." On the other hand, when those experiences come up with people of color, their response is typically, "Of course! What did you expect?!" How naive I was, how out of touch I was, with what had been happening on the farms and in the communities where African American farmers came face to face with the racist implications of policies for farming loans, etc. that should have been made for a playing field in which all farmers, every color dark or light, could negotiate.

So, in those days, the images of strokes, kidney failure, loss of life and farm land and farming and family, blindness, and on and on and on, moved me deeply, and they still do today.

The story has not been completely written, that of what will happen to the black farmers of our land. Like the line in the Wilson movie relative to Afghanistan, "the ball keeps bouncing and bouncing," and where will it stop bouncing for farmers. Will the 2008 farm bill and its economics and policies which address the issues for socially disadvantaged farmers work? Will the opportunity for those farmers shoved aside under Pigford actually make a difference, efforts for those 70,000 black farmers left in the dust of red tape as "late filers?"

Anyway, I admire Charlie Wilson's passion for righting wrongs. He saw children with arms blown off. I saw farmers who'd lost much of their health, livelihood, and trust in the system.

I'm just wondering. Did Charlie Wilson ever meet any Black farmers in his district? Maybe

our paths will cross some day and we can talk about that.

Seems like yesterday....

At the end of December, 2004, when the snow had made the area in Abilene where I live a winter play land, while out jogging one morning, I made a decision to write my grandsons each day, to reflect on things like running, life events, relationships, etc. That commitment was something I kept religiously. Here, then, is a part of a letter written on June 28, 2005 (hopefully they won't mind this one peek into their letters), one of the most memorable days of walking alongside advocates and farmers in this righteous cause. So, three years later, here are the words I penned to two children that day.

"We arrived in Raleigh, NC on Monday night after leaving you in Ada early Monday morning. We drove to OKC, took a flight to KC, MO, and then much to our surprise, we had to fly to Baltimore, MD in order to get down to NC. That was long, long, long, long. Then we found our way to the hotel, a nice one by the way, and then had dinner and bought a potted plant for the grave of a deceased farmer and his wife.

Then, yesterday morning, we were up and out early, something like up at 5:00 am our time and out to drive to Tillery, NC at 6:00 our time. We go there in plenty of time and just drove through the area.

Then at 10:30 things began to pop. We met the Black Farmer president, heard the history of the Tillery community, watched a video of the group that meets in the community center, met several kids and a bunch of adults, and then set off on an amazing lunch meeting. We sang, prayed, and read scripture like it was church, except that all the participants, and all the people at the meeting, except for your Mema and Poppie, were African Americans. We were the only white faces we saw all day long.

We had a great lunch, did a silly exercise led by an elderly, retired teacher, and then the farmer president asked Poppie and Mema to speak. That’s called an impromptu speech. Mema was amazing, and I’d called mine 'adequate,' but she’d give it higher marks. Mema had the crowd crying about her story of interviewing a Black soldier who fought in WWII. She was on, definitely on.

They gave us a cake for our 35th anniversary and sang over us.

We then talked and visited until thunder clouds came up, so we moved our activities out to the farm and the place where a farmer couple is buried. I had asked for permission to place flowers at the grave site, and the farmer president and his family said yes, and several community people came. It was raining, but we all had umbrellas, and we sang, said some words, quoted some scripture, and took a lot of photos. A lot of people spoke kind thoughts toward Mema and Poppie, and about the deceased farmer and his wife.

Grandchildren, I cannot begin to speak to you of how deeply moving that experience was. To say a few words over the fallen warriors who fought the good fight for the freedom to farm the land, to place flowers at their tomb, and to be received graciously by their family and friends all speak to the generosity of people who come together for a common cause.

Afterwards, we went to the farmer couple’s house, talked, ate, drank water or cokes, and sat under the awning and laughed and told stories. I really liked Gary, the young man who’s graduated with a degree in English from ECU; PJ, the tall, tall, tall young man who’s just graduated and going to school in RI to study cryogenics; Raymond, the retired police officer who came home to Tillery, who may be related to me through our common Cherokee heritage from Orangeburg; Gary Grant, the NBFAA president; and his extended family.

So, this morning as I sit in the semi-dark at the motel in Rocky Mount, I am filled with awe, wonder, and praise. It’s a long, long way from West Texas to Tillery, NC, but the human spirit of grace and peace connects them both. In the words of John Denver, 'In the eyes of all the people, the look is much the same; the first one is the last one when you play a deadly game.' He was talking about nuclear war, but the 'deadly game' I’m talking about is racism, a game that destroys all of us, those doing it and those receiving it."

Yes, that was an amazing day with an amazing group of people. Thanks for reading these words as I've attempted to describe it.

Inspirational in more ways than one

Wintley Phipps' version of "Amazing Grace" and his historical background of the song stir my soul every time I hear it. It reminds me that some things are of ultimate importance and that my task is to continue to work for that righteous cause. I am moved deeply at what must have been the sounds coming from the belly of the ship by human beings who were being dehumanized. Enjoy this song, Phipps' version, find yourself moved, and continue the work in bringing righteousness to this country and to this world. Thanks to Josh Oliver, member of Social Justice Team II for letting me know about this amazing video.

Faces on the Farm

A gentleman who is hip deep in activism on behalf of the Black farmer mentioned recently that he thought that one of the problems with the Black farmer movement is that there has never been a visible "face" of a farmer with which the cause could be identified. He's probably right. Did not the broken, beaten, and almost unrecognizable face of Emmett Till help to galvanize the Civil Rights Movement? Did not photos of Rosa Parks inspire us to action? Did not the face of Martin Luther King as he rivetingly spoke to us through the television screen move us?

What "face" should be the face of the righteous cause of the African American farmer? They are many. What "face," etched with life experiences will become the "face" with which we identify?

Should it be the face of the gentleman, now deceased, standing beside his mule in Tillery, North Carolina?

Should it be the face of the man in Owensboro, Kentucky who has had his land taken from him because he hasn't paid back a loan he never received?

Should it be the face of the elderly gentleman or his wife or his angry son in central North Carolina, all of whom agonize in different ways over the loss of land and livelihood?

Should it be the face of the elderly woman is south Georgia as she describes her life, husband, family, and the crops she'll work on that day?

Should it be the face of the man in Pavo, Georgia who lives in his single-wide under the oak tree along the sandy road named in honor of his deceased wife?

Should it be the men, father and son, in central Oklahoma who are still grieving the injustices wrought upon them and their family?

Should it be the resilient gentleman in central Kansas who is a activist like no other who believes in his right to his choice of livelihood, the man who refuses to give up?

Should it be the farmer out in west Texas who has faced numerous odds but still owns his land?

Should it be any one of countless thousands of named and unnamed African American farmers, male or female, whose faces will never be seen outside of their feed store, or local church, or street in smalltown USA? The ones whose stories will never be told?

Which "face" will it take to capture the hearts of people with passion and the minds and decision-making abilities of people in power to right these wrongs. Who is taking note of their faces? Who is telling their stories?

Just wondering.