Kumbaya my Lord, kumbaya
Kumbaya my Lord, kumbaya
Kumbaya my Lord, kumbaya
Oh Lord, kumbaya

These are the lyrics to a traditional spiritual finding its written origin sometime in the early 1900’s and its sung origin likely well before that.  Whether the title lyric is Gullah or Luvale, we know that it means “Come By Here.”  The word itself has taken on its own rhetoric to refer to situations when peace must be forced, such as the forced moment between Clinton and Trump when each asked to say “one nice thing about each other,” their “kumbaya moment.” 

That’s how I was using the word last night.

Our family, the 6 of us, were having our bedtime devotion.  We did a check in with the kids to see how they were processing the national news.  Their news sources are weak at best: a clip shown through public school media and Instagram.  (Can you even get news from Instagram??)  They had a lot of good thoughts, a few immature thoughts, some not-so-well-thought-out thoughts, and some great questions….

“Haven’t we already settled this?” (you would think…)

“Should I feel guilty about this?” (not guilty, but aware and troubled)

“Was the statue that important, or was it about something else?” (it was about symbols)

“Do you think anyone was there peacefully?” 

“Yes,” I said.  “There were voices of peace. 

I know a woman, a church planter, who opened her church to the gathered protesters, who walked arm in arm with other pastors and offered signs of peace and cups of water.  But…there were a lot of people, most people, there with no intentions of peace.  The people who organized the rally were not there for peace.

 People who came with weapons and body armor weren’t exactly there to sing Kumbaya.” (insert eye roll)

...

I didn’t even notice at first.  He sings a lot anyway.  His bus driver says he sings all the way home from school.  But he kept singing last night.  And then he stood up in the middle of us, his parents and his older siblings with all of our words, and he kept singing.  His hands were showing us the words he was trying to pronounce, and as we quieted the tune became recognizable: someone’s praying Lord, Kumbaya…Oh, Lord, Kumbaya.  And when he realized he had our attention, he started praying.

I pondered my oldest son, a white, middle class, protestant, straight conservative kid who loves all kinds of classmates who share few of those demographic traits.  His closest friends do not share those same traits.  I asked him how he had so many different types of friends.  He thinks I’m weird for asking.  He tells me that music and football and xbox connect them… “Mom, they’re just my friends.”

I know.  Friends are precious.

Someone’s singing Lord. Kumbaya.  Someone’s singing Lord. Kumbaya.  Someone’s singing Lord. Kumbaya.  Oh, Lord.  Come by here.

Earlier that day one of my other sons, by means of connection through our area United Methodist Youth Fellowship, became the bearer of news to a girl, a classmate, that her boyfriend had been tragically killed in a car accident the night before.  The girl did not have her phone and her cousin asked my son to go with her to break the horrible news.  When I picked my brave boy up from school he said, “Mom, that could be my brother.” 

I know.  Life is precious.

Someone’s crying Lord.  Kumbaya.  Someone’s crying Lord.  Kumbaya.  Someone’s crying Lord.  Kumbaya.  Oh, Lord.  Come by here.

I giggle at my children as they pick on each other and their dad and beg for a few more minutes before bedtime. Big brothers, little sister, typically abled, differently abled, they’ve chosen to love one another as siblings…and as friends.   “Mom! Let’s just stay and talk some more.”

I know. Time is precious.

Someone’s laughing Lord! Kumbaya! Someone’s laughing Lord! Kumbaya!  Someone’s laughing Lord! Kumbaya! Oh Lord! Come by here!

But I make them go to bed.  Kumbaya is playing in my head.  I’m wondering where he learned that song.  And my thoughts drift back to the headlines of the day.  A precious life cut short.  A nation embroiled in a war of hate and sin and evil.  And I remember another headline out of the global news, a teasing headline saying they have eradicated Down Syndrome in Iceland.  I search my phone and read the article.  Again.  And again.  Did I read this correctly?  Did I read the CBS news report to say that Iceland has eradicated Down Syndrome by means of abortion?  Surely, I’ve misunderstood.  Surely, I haven’t read the whole article.  And now I am frantically searching for a counter point of view saying this is eugenics and this is evil.  But it’s not there.  It’s elective.  It’s choice.  It’s freedom.  (These are all their words!!!!@#!)  But I’m thinking about my sweet boy who just inserted into our very deep conversation about race and racism and hate and evil the prayer for God to “come by here.”  He is sleeping soundly in his bed (or he’s supposed to be…) not realizing that nations are plotting and applauding the “eradication” of people like him from their country.  I am numb.  My mom called, wondering if I had seen the headline about Iceland, wondering if she could come get extra kisses from our guy with extra chromosomes.  “Mama, I’m so so sad and angry and stunned.”

I know.  He is precious.

Someone’s sleeping Lord.  Kumbaya.  Someone’s sleeping Lord. Kumbaya.  Someone’s sleeping Lord.  Kumbaya.  Oh Lord.  Come by here.

And all day today I’ve wondered how to respond.  I’m just not a “jump in the fray” kind of person.  I’ve decided to speak out more than usual.  Add my voice to the cacophony, mostly just as a catharsis for me.  But my primary response will be the same today as it was yesterday as it will be tomorrow.  I will teach my children to love as they have been loved.  I will teach my children to forgive as they have been forgiven.  I will teach my children to be peacemakers.  I will teach my children that the

Lord looks at the heart of a person, so should they.  I will teach my children to be brave because they are not given a spirit of fear.  I will teach my children to seek wisdom over wealth, seek grace over gain, seek peace over power, seek faith over fear.  I will teach them that Jesus is their strength, their salvation, and their song.  And I will pray.  Pray for my world, for the broken and the bitter, the rage-filled hatemongers and the faith-full peacemakers.  I will pray for my children and the people that cross their path.  And I pray for my husband and myself as we try to help them make sense of a world that increasingly doesn’t make sense.  “Oh Lord.  Please help us.  We are lost, and blind, and deaf.”

I know.  And you all are precious in my sight.

Someone’s praying Lord.  Kumbaya.  Someone’s praying Lord. Kumbaya.  Someone’s praying Lord. Kumbaya.  Oh Lord.  Come by here.