The other day Beyonce’s song “Halo” came on through my music stream. Every time I hear this song I think of my great-grandmother.
 |
| Grandma Harris |
My great grandmother died when I was around 10 years old, but to this day I think about her anytime the strong emotions hit me—joy, fear, sorrow. Those days when I feel “all the feelings” I also feel Grandma Harris looking down on me with her halo. I am not Catholic, but she is the one saint to whom I pray.
In my first decade of life, I saw Grandma Harris almost daily. To me, she represented unconditional love, consistency, and safety. I could always find a welcome spot on her lap where she would give me the kind of all consuming hug that only she could give.
Grandma Harris had six children, who all went on to have children of their own, who all went on to have children of their own, who all went on to have children of the own. She is like Abraham to me. Her descendants now are as numerous as the stars.
And even with all those grandchildren and great grandchildren, Grandma Harris made sure each one of us felt like her favorite. That’s the way she loved.
Today Grandma Harris’ descendants have the diversity that you find in an extended family that continues to grow and expand. We have different political views, different sexual orientations, and even people with different ethnicities have been folded into the flock. One thing I know everyone in my family can agree on is how much we all love Grandma Harris. She is our rock. Our matriarch. Our angel.
It can be easy to put Grandma Harris on a pedestal. She means so much to me. But I know that she wasn’t perfect. Sometimes Grandma Harris would use the n-word has casually as one might say “pass the butter.” But then on the same day, she would take me with her to go hang out with the black woman who lived two houses down. They would chat while I played with her neighbor’s purse collection.
Grandma Harris taught me the words of divisiveness but she also demonstrated the beauty of unity through her friendship with her neighbor. This juxtaposition seems to be the way of life. Today the same faith that has led me to love those around me and advocate for the oppressed is also teaching people to discriminate against those in the LGBT community and advocate for the dismantling of their rights.
Grandma Harris didn’t talk about politics from what I remember. In fact, the only time that I remember her mentioning politics was during the 1992 election. Grandma Harris had fallen asleep during a speech from Ross Perot. By the time she woke up Perot’s speech was over and the Pope was on. Grandma Harris, thinking this was still the same person and the same program, shared her concern that Ross Perot thought that he was God.
That story always makes me laugh. It also reminds me that no one we vote for is divine and neither are we.
As we press on in these divided times my goal is to love with the sincerity of Grandma Harris, to laugh at the thought Ross Perot in a Pope costume, and to remember while are not divine, it is the divine that connects us all to one another.
Lord, hear our prayers.
