I was writing a chapter in my book this week about how love is the most powerful force on earth. My mom was hovering close by while I was writing; I could feel her. That sounds good, precious, I felt her whispering. Tears fell because I miss her so much. The last days with her, though, she gave me a love transfusion—like we traded love and cells. It feels sometimes like she is living inside me.
It can feel as though there is so much death around us, family. Loved ones who have transitioned, the grim ways COVID-19 ravages bodies here and around the globe, the sense that civility is dead, that kindness is dead, that truth is dead. Maybe we even wonder if our democracy is dead.
In an interview today, I was asked about death and resurrection. I said, “God is not dead. Jesus is not dead; he is resurrected in each of us, whenever and wherever we do love. Love is resurrection, taking the space where death wants to be.”
Love stands at the polls, voting, serving as a poll worker or as a chaplain. Love is the mother strolling, masked, with her child, on the way to school; love is the dad doing homework with this teenage son on Zoom. Love is the health-care workers and the ones moving vegetables from farm to market. Love is the colleague calling to hear your voice; love is the virtual hug from your grandmother, and Ti Ti who mails you cupcakes. Love is the belly laugh, the stolen kiss, the falling tears. Everywhere love is, life is. Mahatma Gandhi said it this way: “Where there is love, there is life.”
Facing the deadness of these days—violence, heartbreak, economic uncertainty and a democracy teetering on the edge of destruction—love can resurrect us. As Maya Angelou wrote, “Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.”
This week, I pray you’ll mail in your ballots, you’ll vote early, you’ll take someone to the polls with you, and remind your friends to vote. You’ll vote for love. I mailed my ballot for my mom and dad; for Ophelia, Octavius, Rio and RJ. For Jourdan’s college loans and Ron’s 30-year-old tall, Black, gorgeous self to be safe while he skateboards around his hometown.
Join us for worship on Sunday and hear me preach about what it means to vote for love. We’ll sing together, pray, cry a little, and love each other through it all. If you need some help, beloved, reach out to us here
, and we’ll show up as best we can. Because we love you.
Big kiss (with non-transferable red lipstick!),