Here I Am

Not long ago I read this story about Maya Angelou in a book by Frederick Buechner. Given the current anger and angst about racial disparities and unequal treatment, it is most apropos. He tells the story of Maya Angelou whom he met on several occasions. He describes her as “a large woman about [Buechner’s] height, black, beautiful, and so full of energy you can warm your hands in front of her.” He includes a remarkable encounter after one of her lectures. Here it is.

The most moving part of my time at Trinity happened after one of Maya’s lectures. There had been a number of questions and one person asked her a question about racism—has it gotten better, has it gotten worse, is it better in one place in the West Coast than the East Coast? And she had said, “Let me tell you a story.” She said she had been in the San Francisco Bay area fifteen years or so before to do a public television program on African art, and out of the blue one day she got a telephone call from a white man who told her that he had a collection of a certain kind of African statue and perhaps she would like to come over and look at them. So she went over and they were wonderful examples of whatever form of African art they were, and he lent them to her and she used them in ways that pleased him. Through this experience, they became great friends. She went to his house for dinner a number of times, got to know his wife, and Maya had them over to her place for dinner, and they were terrific pals. She said it had been one of the bright spots during her time there, and then the public television show was over and she went back to wherever it was she went. Time went by and about four or five years later she returned to the Bay Area, this time for a longer period of time. So right away she called up her friend, who told her he’d be delighted to see her again. He said, “Let me just catch you up on what I’ve been doing since I saw you last. I have been in Europe working on the problem with American troops over there. It’s not an easy row for them to hoe in a way,” he said, “and it’s especially hard for the black troops for obvious reasons. There aren’t too many blacks over there, but our boys are also having a hard---“ She interrupted him. “What did you say?” “I said, in Europe it’s especially hard for the black troops, and that our boys are also---“ What did you say?” She interrupted him again, she told us, because she wanted him to hear it. So again, “Well, the black troops…” and then he got it. “Oh my God! What have I said to you, of all people? The black troops…our boys. I’m so embarrassed I simply have to stop talking. I’m going to hang up. To say this to you, of all people.” And Maya had said, “No, don’t. Don’t hang up. This is just the time we need to talk. This is what racism is beneath the level of liberal utterance and superficial friendship, the sort of deeply rooted sense of we and they, the whites, the blacks, the browns, the whatever it is.” So they finished off their conversation agreeing that they would meet. Then she said after that she had tried to call him innumerable times and left messages of one kind or another, and there was never any response at all.

She told us that was the end, and when she had finished that question and answer time, she had been obviously very moved and sort of shaken by it. The next day she had started her lecture reflecting on this story about racism, saying, “As I left the room yesterday, a man stood up and said, “Here I am!”

No sooner had these words left her lips when this small, bearded, white Episcopal clergyman suddenly stood up in our midst a few rows behind me and walked down the aisle, up onto the platform, and put his arms around her. He was, of course, her friend who had been too embarrassed to talk to her anymore. And she cried and he cried and all of us cried because we just got a glimpse of the kingdom of God. So moving. So gorgeous.

This story about reconciliation reminded me of the words of the Lord in the book of Isaiah. The Lord speaks of the day of his salvation for a people who had turned against him and become sinful and oppressed. The Lord will declare, “Here I am,” and the people will know that it is the Lord who speaks to them (Isaiah 52:6). These words in Isaiah are part of a magnificent story of people being reconciled to God. This is precisely what God accomplishes in Jesus Christ. As II Corinthians 5:18 says, “Through Christ, God reconciled us to himself.” God’s purpose is reconciliation with him and with each other, not a we-versus-them kind of standoff. In all the debate about black/white and racism in society, it is easy to lose sight of God’s purpose to reconcile us to himself and to each other.