The list of so-called supporters of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King will swell to questionable proportions this weekend. These individuals will quote small and select portions of Dr. King’s many sermons and speeches in an attempt to claim their religious, political or philosophical positions would be right in line with his. Some will even amass a small fortune and live in royal accommodations by going around the country telling crowds what Dr. King would be doing were he still living. At the same time, they will fail to do anything for King’s cause unless it brings them more fame and gain.

Dr. King delivered his last sermon on Sunday, March 31, 1958 at the National Cathedral here in Washington, D.C. He took as his sermon title, “Remaining Awake Through a Great Revolution.” I have listened to it over and over since it was first brought to my attention by my mentor, Marian Wright Edelman, President and Founder of the Children’s Defense Fund. At the time of the speech Dr. King and others were involved with putting together the Poor People’s Campaign.

In his sermon, Dr. King took inventory of our abundance of material and financial resources and warned about the consequences of our overlooking the needs of the poor in our midst. “This is America’s opportunity to help bridge the gulf between the haves and the have-nots. The question is whether America will do it,” King said. “There is nothing new about poverty. What is new is that we now have the techniques and the resources to get rid of poverty. The real question is whether we have the will.”

I believe when it comes to our celebration of the Life of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. we are prone to making an error suggested by the late Reverend Peter Gomes. During a lecture I attended at the Fourth Presbyterian Church in Chicago, Rev. Gomes, then Pusey Minister at Harvard’s Memorial Church said too often we merely celebrate and highlight the life of Jesus of the Scripture and what he did, but fail to truly follow him. “We ought to go the text, depart from the text and never return to the text, because we should find ourselves headed in the direction that Jesus was going,” the Rev. Gomes said. I still owe him tuition for his words.

His lecture was one that has forever changed my approach to the reading and interpreting the New Testament as well as my understanding of what it means to be a Christian.

Like many, who can recite large portions of his speeches from memory, I will attend various worship services and prayer breakfasts honoring Dr. King this weekend. And I will begin a tradition of visiting the newly erected National King Memorial. Still, this is not enough. This weekend is not about how we will celebrate his life. It is about whether we have the will to work to end poverty in the world in our lifetime.

And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

-Luke 2:10 (KJV)

Today is Christmas. That is quite obvious. Whereas we ought to sing and shout, “Joy to the World,” someone wants to sing Etta James’ “At Last.” If this is how you feel on today then it may be due to the fact that your celebration of Christmas is rooted more in the lure and seduction of our culture and not the belief and teaching of the church. Our culture is one in which, each and every year, at Christmas, we spend money we don’t have to buy things we don’t even need for people we don’t even like. We can save ourselves a whole lot of money and whole lot of time by reclaiming and occupying Christmas and reminding ourselves what it’s all about. Allow me to help you toward this end. In your retail store of choice, some angelic voice will welcome you and bring a smile to your face by announcing the items that are now on sale. But listen to another angelic voice as recorded by Luke, “behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ Lord.”

Each and every year we need to be reminded of the real meaning of Christmas and our role in it. I can remember (still) when I was child how I took pride in being handed the longest speaking parts for our church’s Sunday School Christmas presentation. We called them Christmas “pieces.” I can remember that when it came down to the nativity play, youth would covet certain roles in the Nativity play. Depending upon who was selected to play Mary, young men would fight; I mean line up to play the part of Joseph. Seemingly though, no matter how small or how large the church, there would be enough parts for everyone. There was something for everyone to do. The casting call listed a need for someone to play King Herod, shepherds were needed, angels had to be identified, wise men needed to be found. If you or the director thought that you would not be able to memorize your lines then you became a part of the scenery. At an early age, I understood that I had a role to play in Christmas and the cost was minimal but the reward was great.

A few years ago, my niece Sufiy, a huge Oprah Winfrey fan, was watching one of her shows, during the Christmas season. On this particular show, Oprah handed out a check for $1000 to each person in attendance. She told them that they were to spend it on a total stranger. My niece observed that one lady paid for a woman’s face to be repaired. An abusive spouse had shot it off; another lady stood in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart and gave out gift cards. My niece was moved to tears and so she prayed and asked God what she could do with the little that she had and believe me it was little. God spoke to her quickly and she moved from prayer to action. Her assignment was to go to a local homeless shelter and take 5 people to the movies to see “The Pursuit of Happyness.” After she took the first group friends and family began making contributions. Someone wrote Oprah to tell her the story and Oprah decided to send a film crew to follow her around and to bring her on the follow-up show. She was just playing the part that had been assigned to her. I believe it was William Shakespeare who once wrote, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.

I love this time of year and one of the reasons is the music that accompanies the Christmas season. I dare not miss the performance of Handel’s Messiah by the Shiloh Senior Choir but another song captured my attention this year. While perusing the Internet, I came across a video on YouTube of the Spelman College Glee Club performing a song that bears the title, “We Are Christmas.” It’s a sermon set to music and it’s lyrics are now stored in my heart.

Remember we are Christ among us

And we live for his cause.

Fulfill his purpose daily

As we bring joy to all.

We are comfort for the hurting

Mending each broken heart.

We are friendly to the lonesome

And unite those far apart.

We’re his hands that touch the sick

And they’re instantly whole.

We are water for the thirsty

And bring peace to every soul.

We are Christmas!

We are God’s hands.

Together one another

In these war-torn lands.

We are Christmas!

The love that we share

Will carry one another

Until we understand

Jesus lives in me

Yes, he lives in you.

The Christmas story is an ongoing story meant to be performed not once a year, but each and every day of our lives. God sent his son to us, so that he could get all up in us, so that he could work through us. We are Christmas!

In all of the attention paid to the details leading up to the Royal Wedding this year, somehow my name was left off of the guest list. This slight caused me not to awaken early on the morning of April 29^th to view the wedding, but a fellow theologian (loosely defined) overcome with joy contacted me to see if I had watched. When I informed him that I had not he said that I had missed out on a very moving moment. At his insistence, I did what many others without prerequisite invitations had done; I pulled it up on YouTube.  There it was a scene for the ages Prince William inside Westminster Abbey making his way to the Lantern adorned in his Irish Guard Uniform followed closely by his brother as all those assembled join the choir in singing “Guide me, O thou great redeemer.” Yes, the future King of England, in choosing the same hymn for his wedding that had been sung at his mother’s funeral, was also acknowledging that having royal blood coursing through your veins could only take you so far. His appeal was that God might guide him.

As I anticipate attending the presentation of Handel’s Messiah on Sunday afternoon at the Shiloh Baptist Church of Washington, my mind was made to recall not only that scene but one that occurred well over two centuries ago when King George II was in attendance for the performance of Handel’s Messiah and, as the story goes (I can’t find the YouTube video for this) as the Hallelujah Chorus was being sung the King came to his feet and since protocol dictated that when the King stood everyone stood, folks came to their feet and to this day, people stand.

There are some who have argued that the performance was a long one and that the King had merely stood up to stretch his feet. This Royal Wedding has provided me with sufficient reason to believe that even those who wear earthly crowns know what the Apostle Paul once wrote to the church at Philippi, there is “a name which is above every name: That at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth; And that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.”

We in Washington, who think ourselves to be important, would do well to remember and acknowledge this this year.

Come Sunday at Five O’clock in the afternoon a very familiar chord will strike in a very unfamiliar way because the presentation of Handel’s Messiah at the Shiloh Baptist Church, in Northwest Washington, although a community tradition is everything but traditional particularly under the direction of Maestro Thomas Dixon Tyler. The Reverend Doctor Wallace Charles Smith, who has served as Pastor of Shiloh, for the last 20 years, will officially pronounce that it is Christmas time in Washington, because for him and many other that is what the Senior Choir’s annual performance has come to symbolize.

This year in attempt to address the critical urgency of developing an appreciation for sacred music among a new generation, the famed Show Choir and Orchestra of the Duke Ellington School of the Arts will join Shiloh’s Senior Choir. When asked about this year’s venture, Maestro Tyler was quick to point out that it is imperative that the custodians of such a rich legacy “insure that it (Handel’s Messiah) is performed for generations to come. As the presentation of Handel’s Messiah has been a gift to the Washington Metropolitan Area for several years, this year it hopes to present a generation more enamored by material gifts with a spiritual gift that will last them a lifetime.

This year’s presentation will also take on deeper biblical and theological meaning for the Senior Choir has not only put in hours of rehearsal time but they engaged along with other members of the congregation in a six-week study of Handel’s Messiah entitled, “The Reason Why We Sing.” For this Pastor Smith turned to a friend of Shiloh, the Reverend Doctor Lewis Anthony, to lead his flock into the deep waters of theological inquiry. This, Maestro Tyler says, “has led to a deepened scriptural awareness” of the libretto.

During the first Bible Study Session, Dr. Anthony admonished the audience that “worship runs the risk of becoming reflex after you do it for many years.” Judged by the number of handclaps and Amens many in the audience were in agreement. Barbara Williams, a member of both the Gospel and Senior choirs, when asked about the impact of the six-weeks of study on those who would now have to perform offered this reflection, “choir members who have sung [the words] for a long time have finally gotten a sense of the background,” that led to the selection of Scriptures that comprise Handel’s Messiah.  She expects that new life has been breathed into each and everyone.  They have an increased awareness to go along with their personal knowledge of the Messiah.

The story is told of an up and coming opera prodigy who had been very well trained. A well-known music critic went to hear her perform and was absolutely amazed. He went up to the performer’s voice coach and declared that hers was one of the best voices he had ever heard and that indeed she was ready for the big stage. Her voice coach said that she had plenty room for growth and would possibly be better than even he could imagine. The critic asked how could this be possible and the voice coach said that she would sing even better once her heart had been broken.

Come Sunday, the Shiloh Baptist Church will undoubtedly be filled to the rafters with people and the Senior Choir will give them a gift of a lifetime, for they have been reminded of the reason why they sing and those gathered will be reminded as well. It is Christmas time in Washington!

“And he said unto me, Son of man, can these bones live? And I answered, O Lord God, thou knowest.” -Ezekiel 37:3 (KJV)

“The Black Church, as we know it, is dead.” This was the claim put forth by my friend and Princeton professor, Eddie Glaude, Jr., over a year ago. Words that prompted many clergy to cry crucify him, crucify him. There has always been a needed tension between the academy and the church. I viewed his remarks not as an indictment, but as a warning. If the Black Church is to remain relevant it must resurrect and reclaim its prophetic voice.

Several weeks ago, the Progressive National Baptist Convention (PNBC) held its 50^th Annual Meeting here in Washington, DC. It was founded in 1961 in response to those in the National Baptist Convention who were critical of Martin Luther King. Jr. and other ministers’ involvement in the Civil Rights Movement, so the story goes. As the PNBC gathered to celebrate, another organization, the Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights Under Law had just begun to circulate its Map of Shame that highlighted state-by-state voter ID laws and other suppressive legislation that threatened to undermine the Voting Rights Act of 1965.  The Black Church was very instrumental to the passage of the Act and must once again rise to the occasion.

Martin Luther King, Jr. once stated, “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” There exists a profound and urgent need for the Black Church to rise up to the challenge of the moment and to unleash its power, implore its membership and lend its resources to make sure that the communities that they represent are able to fight the latest attempts and disenfranchisement and voter intimidation. America needs to know that The Black Church, as we know it, is not dead. To do so, it must awaken its prophetic voice.

In the age of Obama, this has become somewhat of a challenge. The relentless and unjustifiable assaults against the President, which in too many cases, is not about policy differences has caused many in the Black Church to withhold criticism for the fear of giving inadvertent cover to those who continue to make it their mission to see him fail, even if it means that our country goes down with him. I strongly believe that it is possible to be both critical and supportive of the President. In fact, an honest critique will make him stronger and our nation better. I support our president and I have faith in him, but my faith is not a blind faith. Frederick Douglass pointed out that “Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will.”

The Black Church must encourage congregants to register to vote, identify their polling place, know what is and is not required to cast their vote, and vote, come rain, come shine. If you don’t vote, you don’t count. Our civic responsibility does not end with voting. Our civic responsibility begins with voting. I heard someone say recently, “Our vote is our currency.” After we cast our vote, we have to keep watch over those for whom we have cast our vote. We cannot afford to place our vote in a blind trust. This is the message that the Black Church must continue to preach while we are still alive. In the words of Troy Anthony Davis we must, “Keep praying and keep working.”

 “Choose you this day whom ye will serve…but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” –Joshua 24:15 (KJV)

A few of months ago, I received an e-mail from a parishioner who was in the midst of planning her family reunion in Wilmington, North Carolina. Among the various activities she was planning she had decided to include a family day of worship. The week that her family would convene would be filled with many meaningful family traditions, but one tradition was key: taking time to honor God, the God of their personal salvation and collective liberation and their bridge over both the scenic and troubled waters of their lives.

“Now – you say after me, in my mother’s house there is still God.” These are the words required to live in the House of Younger, the family at the center of Lorraine Hansberry’s masterful “A Raisin in the Sun.” As long as Mama Younger provides room and board, her children’s belief in God is non-negotiable and disrespect for God will not be tolerated. She may not be able to control her daughter’s thoughts and actions on the other side of her door and farther down the road of life, but she is determined to do what she can while she can. Her strong determination is a part of her even stronger faith. She is duty-bound to instill in her children a belief in God because the big book laying on the coffee table says that she must train up her children in the way that they “should go.”

How does one transfer to a successor generation, those whom the acclaimed novelist Colson Whitehead calls “our replacements,” a belief in God, an understanding of one’s story and a familiarity with the songs and hymns that provided the soundtrack along the journey?  You must tell them! Tell them not only about the joy and triumphs but the pains and tears as well. It is what Moses instructed the Children of Israel to do in his valedictory as he was preparing to graduate from the school of time to the university of eternity. Tell them! As an African proverb states, when an elderly person dies we lose a library.  The annual gathering of elders and children alike allows the transfer of the books in our living libraries, which necessarily includes How We Got Over.

The Fourth of July has proven to be a very problematic holiday for many African-Americans. How do a people celebrate a holiday that honors national independence and freedom while fully aware that one’s ancestors were everything but free?  The question famously addressed and raised by Frederick Douglass, “What to the slave is the fourth of July?” still demands attention. Yet and still, it serves as a very popular date for family reunions and gatherings. A time when people get together to reunite not only with each other, but to reunite with their history and traditions.

Just as my parishioner thought it important to show her family’s “replacements” that worship is important. This summer numerous families throughout our country will converge on cities and give churches advance notice to rope off pews so they can in great numbers proclaim that in their family  “there still is God.”

The news that the African American population in Washington has decreased to the point where it is now predicted that African Americans will no longer be in the majority has startled many in the African American community. This news has come with a “tsunamic” like force.  It is being talked about around kitchen tables, in barbershops and hair salons, on buses, in bars and other places known for black political conversations. A recent article in the Washington Post raised the question as to whether or not Washington’s rich black culture can strive in the midst of the changing demographics. Just as the historic names of  U Street and Shaw are being replaced (or expanded) to reflect economic and social changes.  Change has come and continued change is inevitable. Change if properly accommodated can become a wonderful opportunity for all.

One of the richest treasures in the African American community is its churches. Week after week many make their way to this historical houses of worship that provide solace and strength with the spiritual, gospel, and contemporary soundtrack of the African American religious experience. Black churches are very diverse in its socio-economic, political and theological make-up and perspectives, unfortunately the old saying still holds true, that Sunday morning at 11 a.m. is the most segregated hour of the week. This has more to do with the liturgical and denominational preferences of Christian believers and less to do with racial attitudes and beliefs. If black churches in Washington, DC are to survive, instead of building bigger edifices they must build on the belief that all are welcome. Martin Luther King, Jr. preached about the utopia of a “beloved community” where all could live and worship together.  I believe that black churches, particularly those who still preach and work toward social justice and liberation are more open to the notion than many would have you to think. Although, there is a lack of racial diversity on Sunday morning, the sign “All Are Welcome” still hangs in the heart of the black church.

The poet Elizabeth Alexander in her poem “Praise Song for the Day,” written for the inauguration of President Barack Obama joins us at the intersection of history and hope, the place where we now find ourselves. She reintroduces the notion of The Golden rule which for Christians is love thy thy neighbor as thyself and for some other faiths first do no harm or take no more than you need. Then she poses the million-dollar question that will make winners of us all, What if the mightiest word is love?

The Golden Rule presents for us a golden opportunity – the opportunity to build community, a beloved community. We can do this street by street, block by block, neighborhood by neighborhood, and ward by ward. Washington, DC can and should be come an example for all.

I don’t recall the first time I heard a sermon on a “God don’t like ugly” from my mother or what actions on my part or (more than likely) the part of one of my siblings prompted it but it probably had to do with an incident that was counter to her teaching and/or that of my Baptist church upbringing.  I was supposed to follow the Golden Rule, “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” (Matthew 7:12) It was a difficult proposition trying to do that which I knew to be right and still be cool and maintain my popularity. You can’t please God and man. More times than not, I would “fall short of the glory of God” and find myself the recipient of my mom’s punishment on earth because as she would put it, “you know better.”

This week I will make my way to a movie theatre to see “Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire.” I actually read the book several years ago and was moved by Clareece “Precious” Jones journey from tragedy to triumph. The picture of Precious in my mind was based not upon her physical characteristics as depicted in the short novel, but conjured from the lingering image of those who I have come across at various points in my life that have had to take the same lonesome journey. After seeing the trailer for the film I could not help but think about how many young people will be teased and ridiculed as looking like Precious.

Young people (and adults can be mean)! I know I’ve been one and now I am the other. I can recall in my endless effort to be a comedian once looking at someone who I thought to be “ugly” because they did not fit my unimportant and narrow standard of beauty and saying in contradistinction to what I had been taught (I know better) and remarking “God don’t like ugly.” There are many cold and callous remarks that I have uttered that exist as painful memories and still haunt me from my childhood. I’m thankful that over time I have been able to fix that character leak before all of my humanity drained out and that I cannot dedicate myself to helping others to see what true beauty is. Long gone are those ugly days of my youth.  I fear that other young works in progress will hurl insult after insult at those members in our community who are struggling to put the broken pieces of their lives together character as others continue to chip away at their self-esteem and physical reality. Look y’all there goes Precious!

The words of William Sloane Coffin eat at my soul, “There is no smaller package than that of a person all wrapped up in himself.”  His words augment that which we must teach a new generation, what we must continue to teach other. There is none as ugly as those who think themselves to be so beautiful and others to be so unattractive as not to rate or deserve our love and respect. Many individuals hide how they really feel about themselves behind that which they say and do towards others. In fact, beauty is that which says you are without you saying I am.

The color of one’s skin figured prominently in the treatment of people of African descent during slavery (House Negro vs. Field Negro). It made its way into the discussion of who should be admitted to black colleges and social organizations during the first part of the 20^th Century (brown paper bag test) and it still permeates our minds in the workplace and in families (favoritism).  Decisions based upon the physical appearance of others cause the bright lights of our current progress to grow dim. Everyone deserves the opportunity to flourish and to be measured by the “content of their character” and not the shade of their skin or the size of their waist.

I believe that we all can be beautiful. I know that we all can be ugly. In so-called Christian (religious) America let’s us covenant to be more beautiful toward each other. God don’t like ugly!

-Thomas Bowen

*Editor’s note: Several friends have shared with me that the updated version of the verse reads, “God don’t like ugly and he’s not too fond of pretty.”

There are not many parents, Christian or otherwise who can resist the yearly demands of children to purchase costumes and go “trick-or-treating.” Many parents consider the celebration of Halloween to be akin to the worship of all that is evil in our society and that are precious little ones should not be encourage or taught to celebrate something that is without biblical or religious sanctioning. As I am reminded of the various superhero outfits I adorned myself (still able to remember the houses that gave regular size candy bars and not bite size), I can say for many children Halloween is all about one thing – FREE candy.

I was baptized at age 7 and my regular attendance of church and Sunday School began well before that time. I never associated my yearly treasure hunt with things satanic; this is not to say that there are not those who do. I just happen to have been raised to know that I was a child of God and that the world is under the control of the evil one with whom we were at war (I John 5:19), not Ms. Tomlin or Mrs. Sales or The Glynns who doorbell that I rang whose children I went to school with, people I and my parents actually knew. Neighbors who informally covenanted with one other another to take care of the other’s child and to make sure we had a safe place to undertake our full-time jobs of being children. For some that was a bygone era, but I believe that is it still about the children.

Tonight 2,000 children will file through the gate at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in search of a treat, I think that they would be better served this week by dressing up as a lobbyist, health insurance executive, or banker and heading down Pennsylvania to the Capitol and asking the Congress to pass health reform legislation that will end the bureaucratic barriers that keep 2 out of 3 of the 8 million uninsured children who are already eligible for the Children’s Health Insurance Program (CHIP) or Medicaid from actually getting the care they need. Legislation that will guarantee every child access to the full range of child health benefits they need which are now provided to children in Medicaid but not to children in CHIP. Legislation that will eliminate the unjust lottery of geography and provide an affordable national health safety net for all children whose family income is below 300% of the federal poverty line ($66,000 for a family of four).

Our children do not need more candy this year; they need insurance to cover their cavities and diabetic conditions. Insurance that will concentrate on preventative health measures that will lower too high incidents of childhood obesity. This year the trick may very well be a monumental health reform that leaves our children worse off. We cannot afford to pass up the opportunity to give our children a treat, health reform that fixes the health system for all of our little ones. I am not taking any children “trick-or-treating” this year not because I think it to be rooted in evil, but because I will be taking them to the West Lawn of the Capitol on Wednesday, November 4 to participate in the Children Defense Fund’s Stroller Brigade to demand that Congress and the President support real child health reform. What do our children deserve? Trick-or-treat?

-Thomas Bowen

My aunt was born in Mt. Holly, Arkansas in 1926 to Genie and Lucy Bowens. She attended school up until the 5th grade at which time she had to start doing her part to maintain the Bowens household. She followed my grandfather and father (Clinton Bowens) to Elyria, Ohio in 1948. They had grown tired of picking cotton and hauling logs and journeyed “Up South” in search of the Promised Land.

My Aunt Ophelia never bore any children of her own and that was turned into a blessing for my seven siblings and as well as our parents. Over the years, she has been “Auntie Mom.” If there was a church or school program in which we were to perform, she was there. If there was a graduation ceremony, she was there. If there was a wedding, she was there. She always remembered all of our birthdays. (How she did this without a Facebook birthday or social calendar reminder is amazing.) I can still recall receiving a birthday card from her with my name printed across the breadth of the envelope: Young Master Thomas Lee Bowen. She planted the early seeds of my confidence and strength and belief in my “somebodiness.” The Timex watch (my first timepiece) she gave me on another occasion was thought, albeit prematurely, to be a welcome into adulthood with its many expectations.

Auntie O is a woman of deep faith and conviction. Every day that the “Lawd” sends is greeted with prayer, daily devotion and a cup of communion (coffee). If it is Sunday morning, then she can be found at the Unity Missionary Baptist Church. Before her retirement (the working person’s emancipation) from the Housekeeping Department at Elyria Memorial Hospital where she wore a gold uniform five days of the week. She has not retired from her church obligations and still very proudly dons her usher’s uniform at Unity on most Sunday mornings (when not in uniform she is able to sit in the pew and with her eyes and periodic coughs unofficially supervise those that are).

My aunt has witnessed a lot of changes in this nation of ours. When I asked her what has been the most important occurrence during her lifetime, she emphatically stated, “When women were allowed to vote.”  The 19^th Amendment to the Constitution, which granted this, had been ratified six years prior to her birth but as with most voting rights amendments enforcement was borne out of struggle. She has been a lifelong member of the NAACP and for the last 15 years has been a volunteer poll worker with the Lorain County Board of Elections. The first President she recalls voting for was John F. Kennedy. She was filled with unspeakable joy as well as disbelief last November 4, when Barack Obama was elected President of the United States of America.  She like many others of her generation thought that the election of a black President would never occur in her lifetime.

Auntie O takes great pride in the fact that she is still able to live on her own, travel, and drive herself around town. I took the liberty on her birthday of pointing out to her that she benefits from assisted living. Once again, there was silence on the phone. I explained to her (as she has taught me) that she has been leaning on the everlasting arms of God. The silence was replaced with a laugh, a laugh that our family knows very well. It earned her the nickname “chicken.” Yes, she said, I have been assisted. All over the life of my Aunt Ophelia can be found the fingerprints of God.

O how, sweet to talk in this pilgrim way,

Leaning on the everlasting arms;

O how bright the path grows from day to day,

Leaning on the everlasting arms.

What have I to dread, what have I to fear,

Leaning on the everlasting arms?

I have blessed peace with my Lord so near,

Leaning on the everlasting arms.

-Thomas Bowen