January 2003
Did any of you happen to see the piece about characteristics
of strong families syndicated recently by Joyce Brothers?
In glancing through it I was struck by the fact that she
included “faith” on the list. (The other Faith!)
The linking of faith and family is not a new concept, but
it struck me anew during the last couple of weeks.
First, our extended family, and perhaps yours, was able
to celebrate not only Thanksgiving, but also the first night
of Chanukah together. Expressing our gratitude one day and
lighting the Hanukiah the next gave unusual depth and substance
to our gathering.
I felt the same way at the conclusion of religious school
the following Monday afternoon, watching with some awe, as
our children stood together to sing Hatikvah, while their
parents joined with them from the back of the room. No question
that faith and spiritual connection can be wonderful assets
in the creation of strong families.
Experiences of these past weeks have led me to think also
about a corollary: that faith and faith communities can bring
a sense of family to those who might otherwise feel alone
and disconnected. At our Friday evening service I loved watching
the way that we as a community surrounded 88 year old Ruth
Belgard with so much warmth and care and concern, and allowed
her to feel that same sense of family. It was also touching
to watch the welcome we provided that evening to the new
families in our congregation. A woman from one of these families
phoned other loved ones afterwards to say, “I’ve
found my people.”
This is what we’re about. In the words of James Taylor, “that’s
why we’re here…ain’t no better reason;
that’s why we’re here.”
I have seen much the same with refugees arriving in Israel,
and Louise and I have seen it with Cambodian orphans being
able to form new “families” in America.
The idea of faith and family came to mind yet again last
week. A group of men and women diagnosed as HIV+ in Durban
South Africa had formed a support group to share their stories
and to weep together rather than alone. (Many of them were
now without families of their own.) Being South Africa, they
also sang together – and they soon discovered that
they were pretty good. Officials of an international relief
agency heard them sing, and organized an American tour. My
kids and I heard them sing in Memorial Church at Harvard.
The group called itself Sinikithemba, meaning “God,
give us hope.”
When they walked into Memorial Church the group members
were clearly frightened and intimidated. (Being identified
as HIV positive in South Africa carries with it both stigma
and the fear of violence.) But before long they felt themselves
embraced by the audience, and by the Boston black/white gospel
choir that was their “warm-up act.” Everything
the South Africans did was greeted by clapping and foot stomping
and waving hands. Pretty soon the two choirs were singing
together, and then dancing together in the aisles of the
church, and this went on for 45 minutes after the program
had ended – with about a third of the audience too
mesmerized to leave.
And what happened at the conclusion? The groups prayed together – it
was the most natural thing in the world. Our South African
friends were glowing, surrounded by people who genuinely
cared about them, united in faith, and, despite everything,
reinforced with hope.
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