Ebony and Ivory

I miss dancing in the kitchen with my husband.

We don't dance or cook well together. We have some leadership issues. But I long for those times when he walks into our one-butt kitchen, wraps his arms around me and we sway to the sweet lulling rhythm of NPR. Then I press my lips to his ear and begin singing,

Ebony and Ivory, live together in perfect harmony

Side by side on my piano keyboard, O Lord, why don't we?

I can ruin the mood faster than a fart. He will jump away and say, 

"That's not our song."

"It's totally our song - all about living together closely and getting along."

 "No, the song is about race relations, black and white people living in harmony."

"Well, it got played at my mostly segregated middle school at every dance and when I stage managed For colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf  they told me my hair was so nappy I had to have black blood in me somewhere. See it is about us."

At this point, he normally kisses me so I stop talking. 

I have no idea why this song pops into my head or why I know every word. I do know that perfect harmony is a lot to ask out of any relationships, let alone relationships that cross racial, cultural, or economic boundaries.

One of my professors in seminary once said, "If you don't have a friend who is a person of color, then you are a failure as a pastor." I thought that was the most ridiculous thing. I still think friendship can't be forced, but I do think being in relationship with folks who experience and see the world differently is essential to our life of faith. I also think walking with someone and experiencing how the world views him or her can be stunning. 

I've been the only person with pasty skin in a room many times. There are times that I've taken some pretty wicked teasing and felt uncomfortably outside, but I still often hold more power and resources than anyone else in the room. The color of my skin, my education, upbringing, and connections open doors for me where others have to walk through suspicious glares and unmarked obstacles to get to them.

I don't know how to fix anything, but I do know how to have lively conversation with pretty much anyone I meet. So I do. I try to get as many eyes on the world as I can because the center of my faith is a table where all those boundaries are broken and we all gather to eat.

I also appreciate something Elijah has taught me. He talks about a person with darker skin or lighter skin, a person who is in the wheelchair, or a person who can't see. I don't know where identifying the person first and then the other mark came from, but it's very Grundtvigian. 

Nikolai Grundtvig was the Danish theologian in the 1800s who argued, "“Human first; then Christian.Our common humanity is the basis for freedom, equality and dignity. Christ is found in the living community rather than in any book." Many trace the Danish resistance to the Nazi regime to his "Human first" motto. 

I don't know how I got to Grundtvig from dancing in the kitchen with my husband. All I know is:

There is good and bad in everyone, but you learn to live, and you learn to give each other what you need to survive together alive.