Contagiously welcoming…pow wow morning blessings…
Awoke to a group of native americans across the street, at the widow’s home, doing traditional pow wow songs—wow! Thought at first it was in my head or heart actually, as I have native american blood, and often hear music in my heart when lamenting or even when praying, but turns out they were celebrating their tribe and teaching kids how to play the talking drum! And sing the old lament and joy songs of their tradition.
Needed that. Such ancient lament, community and joy all in one circle of sound, and that music carries you somewhere very ancient, and you sense many generations present in grief and joy-you are no longer alone is sorrow. Certain songs feel like direct prayers. I grew up in North Carolina and my great grandmother was Cherokee. So those songs guide their way into my heart, lots like Irish and Klezmer music, or maybe all true worship which is grounded in real suffering and authentic hope, does.
I miss that way—that “bright sadness” as, the priest, Richard Rhor would call it (music, which slowed down works for funerals, sped up, for weddings-i relate to that way!, as my klezmer friends put it) they still carry as a people group. That ministered to my heart. Thinking also of my friend Debbie’s and mine shared Cherokee blood, and each of our spiritual heritages. Blessed me. One of the ladies was from North Carolina…We met a lady who is the organizer of the largest pow wow here in Texas. She invited us, and welcomed us. Felt very special on this week of grieving a friend. Thanks for that.
Made me start thinking about the gift of invitation into the human family, and how certain people, like our friend Debbie who passed this week, or people groups, or even certain nations, have that gift of invitation or welcoming you in, making you feel part of the family! In the light of the refugee crisis, feels even more prescient to move in the blessings of welcome.
I’ve experienced it with my Jewish friends, my Irish friends, Native Americans, the Moravian community we grew up next to, and a few other people groups—who carry that welcome banner, you are part of the human family. Come home, join us as long as you want to. And I definitely experience it with The Jones family.
Anyway something about the contagious inclusion this morning within that music, and the still kindness of the woman’s eyes who invited us in, reminded me of what it feels like to be welcomed, even by a song and the dance of children, or a friend—whatever color, age, or cultural heritage, we turn out to be one family of humans in ever occurring need. Or in ever re-curring need!
Made me thankful for friends who have offered that way of welcome to me, over the years, and challenged to continue to make room at whatever table I’m sitting at, for whomever shows up. The gift of making people feel not just invited in, but really desired, truly included in The Beloved conversation. That’s a great healing gift for us all. Knowing we are loved somewhere matters in life. That we belong somewhere. The ministry of belonging.
That music had that in it today, as well as at least three generations of absent but very present performers, I could sense. You could hear the mother’s and father’s voices who came before, and which will come afterwards….
True family makes the whole thing work, despite ourselves. It’s one of the “higher metaphors” as the great theologian and artist, George MacDonald would put it. The Jones have carried that for many. Thankful again today, and to be awakened by the sound of an ancient drumming of welcome to our hearts today!