Gilead
February 17, 2022
I left Monday's college meeting with an unexpected word on my lips.No, not "cookie." That was in my pocket.
It was "balm," a word that feels awkwardly round in my mouth.
You put it there. Your presence, your energy, your bright spots, your mask-hidden smiles, and your words of encouragement.
Accompanying that word was a half-forgotten tune. At that moment, in this month, it seemed fitting.
To the plaintive question of Jeremiah, I heard the melody of the African American spiritual echoing:
Yes, there is a balm in Gilead.
A strange word from an unfamiliar place. What might it mean? For that, I defer to the renowned theologian James Cone:
Hope, in the black spirituals, is not a denial of history. Black hope accepts history, but believes that the historical is in motion. . . .
It is the belief that things can be radically otherwise than they are: that reality is not fixed, but is moving in the direction of human liberation.
There is a balm in Gilead / To make the spirit whole.
There is a balm in Gilead / To heal the sin-sick soul.
I had been looking forward to seeing you on Monday. I didn't expect your contagious, stubborn, forward-looking hope. Thank you.
