I only know
The inconsistently virtuous
The intermittently thoughtful.
I do not know anyone whose choices
Continually align with their values.
Quite frankly,
I don’t know anyone who can manage
Goodness
Most of the time.
The people who think they are
Winning that game
(This was me)
Are telling themselves half truths
And it is only a matter of time
Before that white/straight/cis savior
Is outed as a terrible ally
A label they will
Resist and thus become
A terribler ally.
It is terribly predictable.
I know plenty of people
Who want to do good
But forget that desire
When the moment of true potential arises
And the fear takes over.
It is easy to forget to tell about the fear
In stories of virtuous disruption.
It is easy to forget that goodness
Can feel terrible in its enactment.
The truly terrible are ordinarily
Defensive of their sins
While refusing ownership of them.
How do we reconcile the gap
Between our commitment to high-mindedness
With our quotidian self interest?
What do we do
When we are always or occasionally
Terrible allies
Rarely breaking that pattern?
Our oldest stories speak
Of a man who blamed his wife
And a God who cursed her for his sake.
No solidarity there.
God authored the first injustice.
A truly terrible story of perfectly terrible allies.
Perhaps we get it from our creator,
An excuse that condemns us all.
We must abandon our commitment to the
Vanity of our own goodness and
Trade it for less glamorized versions.
Do that courageous thing
When no one important is watching
And the cost to ourselves is high.
We will challenge ourselves and our systems with our honest truths
Knowing that even when we are trying
We will do this terribly
But learn to strengthen our muscles of apology and
Relationship repair.
3 Responses
I feel you sister. My pronouns are, Your Grace, really.
I have tried to be a good ally and had it slapped in my face like a wet fish.
I often say I have plenty of room for improvement from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet.
Being so completely imperfect, I keep trying, often opening my mouth to change feet.
Missteps are wonderful and awful learning opportunities.
I laugh at myself but everyone else is welcome to laugh AT me.
At almost 70 I tell youngsters to soften their hearts while toughen up their ability to accept criticism with an open mind. And getting older will not stop folks from kicking your booty, mine stays sore.
Gorgeous and cutting and full of truth. Thank you.
a year ago my aunt died from heavy drinking, a habit she practiced in self-medication after my grandparents and mother rejected and disowned her for marrying the love of her life. She suffered with little support but she never let her hurt and anger diminish how she showed love to me or my siblings. I was a terrible ally. I carry that guilt still. Now, in confronting the face of my own bisexuality, I keep asking myself how gracious will God be if I truly let my faithful premonitions down for commitment to showing his children kindness. Wasn’t kindness Jesus’s ultimate message? Still haven’t figure out what that exactly means for me, but I’ll keep trying my best. Hope this and the beautiful poem above helps someone else going through the same struggles.