JOY IN THE MORNING

“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” ~ Psalm 30:5

There is no shortage of joy-filled, heart-warming, up-beat and down-right tear-jerking moments to take away and treasure from the recently concluded Democratic National Convention (DNC). Held in the “windy city” of Chicago, the event blew in a breath of fresh air to help resuscitate and revive a divided nation suffocating under the smog of ginned-up culture wars, cynicism and grievance. It jubilantly ushered in the dawning of a new morn, illuminating the way forward along a path of hope and freedom.

Of the multitude of memorable moments that marked each day of the diverse gathering, there are two that may stand out to occupy a special space in the hearts of folks who wear those hearts on their sleeves, who display their intimate emotions in an honest and open manner. For me, both of them were captured in the humble innocence and spontaneous love and trust of children, those young people that Jesus identified with the Kingdom of God (Luke 18:16-17).

One came on the final night of the convention, the night on which the great Auntie of two little girls (Amara and Leela) was to accept her party’s nomination as the first multi-racial woman to hold the office of President of the United States of America. Before their surprise appearance on the stage of the expansive United Center (an apt name for this unity-building convention), Kerri Washington, actress and host for that segment of the evening, began to address the struggle that some folks, especially one certain person in particular, have (or pretend to have) in pronouncing “our future President’s name.”

She then went on to make a moral statement. “Confusion is understandable; disrespect is not! So tonight we’re going to help everyone get it right. Here to help me are some very special guests.” From stage left entered two adorable little dark-skinned girls to light up the stage and enlighten the unenlightened and dim-wittted. The promise of Isaiah 11:6 was about to play out, “… and a little child shall lead them.” Or in this case, two little children.

“Hello everybody, my name is Amara.” – “And my name is Leela, her little sister.” (And my heart is already in melt-down.) “And what are you here to do?” asks Kerri. “To teach you how to say our Auntie’s name, states Amara to an arena of wide-eyed and smiling learners ready to be schooled. “First say comma, like a comma in a sentence,” instructs Amara. “Then you say La, like la-la-la-la-la,” adds Leela, smiling like a cherub. “Put it together,” says Kerri, and it’s 1-2-3 KA-MA-LA.”

Then, because practice makes perfect, everybody got a chance to practice. Amara points to the crowd on the left. “Everybody over here say Kama.” Then Leela pointing to her right. “Everybody over here say La.” Then all together, back and forth, “Kama-la, Kama-la, Kama-la.” “For President,” adds Kerri. And the cherubs clap with glee. And my heart beats with glee as tears roll down my cheeks like justice and righteousness in an ever flowing stream (Amos 5:24).

But as sweet and tender as this lesson in respect was, it was ultimately an unscripted, unrehearsed display of spontaneous joy, genuine pride and uninhibited affection that may be the enduring image that left its indelible mark on this four day love fest. That moment burst forth on the same evening that members of the 1999 Mankato West Minnesota State High School football championship team regaled in their old jerseys took the stage in a surprise appearance to the stirring beat of their school’s fight song.

These were the guys that defensive coach Tim Walz helped take from chumps to champs, the same former coach that would soon take the stage to accept his party’s nomination for the office of Vice President of the United States of America. The camera then switched to where the coach’s family, wife Gwen and children Hope and Gus were seated. But now they were standing, clapping and enthusiastically singing along with the fight song as if it were a pep rally from 1999. But, joyous as it was, this is not the enduring image of the night and the convention that captured and melted my heart and the hearts of millions.

That searing moment came a bit later when the former coach and now VP nominee, paused during his acceptance speech, looked down from the podium at his family and proclaimed, “Hope, Gus and Gwen, you are my entire world and I love you.” Daughter Hope was sitting there holding back tears and forming the Heart sign with her hands. Her brother Gus, unable to curb his enthusiasm, shot up from his seat with tears streaming down his cheeks. One hand was over his heart, and the other pumping the air and pointing to the podium. It didn’t take a professional lip reader to interpret what those quivering lips were proudly proclaiming, “That’s my Dad! That’s my Dad!

What had been a purely political moment 10 seconds ago as a convention and TV audience had settled in for the most important speech of Tim Walz’ career, instantly became a quintessential human moment. It was an amazing Dad and Son moment, a beautiful bond of affection moment that no speech writer could write and no convention planner could plan. It was a moment of spontaneous serendipity and unfettered love, pride and exuberance.

The sight of tears streaming down this teenager’s face was a catalyst for tears to flow from the eyes of so many folks who saw the touching scene play out in person or on TV. I gladly count myself among those wet-eyed witnesses. It was for me and so many others across this divided and disillusioned land a true sign of the kind of joy in the morning that shines forth from the dark corners of life. I retired that night with the vision of Gus in my mind and joy in my heart.

Then, what do I awake to the next morning but a gut punch to the joy as I read of the MAGA malignancy that attacks a teenage son’s healthy positivity in an attempt to earn partisan points from a bamboozled base. I find that Ann Coulter had posted on X the photo of Gus weeping along with her maleficent comment: “How weird…” She later deleted it in the wake of a tidal wave of rebuffs. Mike Crispi, chairman of the America First Republicans of New Jersey, wrote in a since-deleted post on X.“Tim Walz stupid crying son isn’t the flex the left thinks it is. You raised your kid to be a puffy beta male. Congrats.”

That’s the proclaimed party of “family values” and supposed practitioners of “true Christianity” (aka Christian Nationalism) spewing its toxic, regressive, macho MAGA masculinity as it seeks yet again to throw shade on the bright light of a proud and poignant moment between a faithful, loving father and effusive son (who happens to have a nonverbal learning disorder, as well as ADHD and anxiety).

While adherents to the personality cult of an ego-maniacal convicted feckless felon play attack dog by maligning Gus Walz, his parents and sister look at Gus’s neurodivergence not as a setback but as his “secret power,” that makes him “brilliant” and “hyperaware.” It all depends on whether you view the world through the clear lens of love and respect, or the dark shades of scorn and contempt. Are you your brother’s keeper, or are you your brother’s captor?

This morning as I arise to greet the grace of a new day, it is time to put aside the malignant tweets of birds that mock and take to heart the portion of Psalm 118 taped to my bathroom mirror: “This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us REJOICE and be glad in it.” And with but 73 more days to the most critical election of my life, I shall add to the mirror the hopeful Psalm/song that began this post,“Weeping may endure for a night, but JOY comes in the morning.”

May we be filled with hope as joyful warriors fighting the good fight to protect and preserve authentic Christianity and true democracy in the weeks, months and years ahead. And as Coach Walz would tell us as this post draws to a close: “Look, we’ve got 73 days. That’s nothing. We can sleep when we’re dead.”