By Timothy Peoples
My favorite poem is “won’t you celebrate with me” by Lucille Clifton. (If you’ve ever been to my office, it is taped to the door as you enter.) This week I did a deep dive into Clifton’s poems, and they spoke to me like Scripture. I could say they fed me like bread and became a nourishment for my soul. That ever happen to you? Have words from another attached themselves to your soul or echoed the beats of your heart?
As I was doing my deep dive, I came across a 2001 conversation between Clifton and Sonia Sanchez from Cave Canem, a nonprofit organization committed to cultivating the artistic and professional growth of Black poets. If you ever have 30 minutes, I suggest you watch. The two share the hardships and the beauty of poetry and discuss their careers as poets, sharing poems and letters from their past. But there was one thing that stuck with me from Clifton. She stated:
“I borrow something from Rudine Sims, who said that all children, and I think all adults, as well, need mirrors and windows — mirrors in which they can see themselves; windows through which they can see the world. And everybody’s children are disadvantaged by not having that.”
I have been on this mirror thing lately. It seems so simple, yet so powerful, for us to look at ourselves and how we can be part of change and solutions rather than causing more division and disruption to the building of the Kingdom. But Clifton goes further in her remarks — we not only need mirrors to aid in justice work and reform of this world, but we need windows to see past ourselves too. The ask is not just how can we remedy ourselves, but also how can we allow the holy and wholly work we do on ourselves to validate those we see through our windows?
This morning you have taken time to enter this space, whether virtually or in person. My hope is that you will personally access a mirror and take time to do the inner hard work. But I have a request for you. Through the window of our eyes in this space, see each other. We are each going through so much, and whether we tell another verbally all we are holding on our shoulders, can we at least look each other in the eyes and reassure them, “I may not know what you are holding, but I am with you.” So often we forget the “world” is also right in front of us.