Ten-thousand strong descended bus steps onto the streets of Jena, hearts rife with anger, fear, confusion. Thousands must have left behind threats of foreclosures on their homes, jobs that might or might not be there upon their return, bills jammed into desk drawers, loved ones, who had begged them not to set foot onto such unfamiliar, threatening territory.

Yet, they came. Came with courage and determination to stand against those who would mock their humanity by hanging nooses to tree limbs or on the backs of pick-up trucks.

And, miracle of miracles, they came in peace. No Molotov cocktails, or smashed windows, or looting, or scorched earth that would have left Jena another Watts.

Rather, they turned the other cheek, if not with forgiveness in their hearts, at least with a facsimile thereof. And they showed themselves and the nation they could conquer their “discontent,” one descendant of slavery at a time, or ten-thousand, making real the sacred words of Claude McKay from White Houses, which we looked at last week in the piece,“ A noose is a noose, is a noose.”

Your door is shut against my tightened face,
And I am sharp as steel with discontent;
but I possess the courage and the grace
to bear my anger proudly and unbent.
Oh, I must keep my heart inviolate
Against the potent poison of your hate.

They came. They left. No National Guards, ready with bullets of rubber or steel, or stun guns, lined them up to hasten their departure. They came in peace. They left in peace. We, all of us, of every color and creed, owe them an everlasting debt of gratitude, the kind that should have headlined every newspaper across the nation. Didn’t happen. Had riots broken out, had blood flowed in the streets of Jena, and spread to countless villages and towns, the headlines would have shrieked the news in the boldest of type, with colored photos for chasers.

The news was that there was no news. But let us not become too sanguine in the quiet of the nights and days. This is time-out, a chance for both whites and blacks to draw in their collective breaths. There is work to be done.

Children to be taught, really taught, with books enough for every pupil, in schools with shiny floors, cheerful cafeterias, walls without cracks, music and art to lift their hearts and provide them with skills to create their own notes, their own paintings.

Jobs. Jobs. Jobs. Jobs to feed our people’s souls with dignity and purpose, with hope for tomorrow for themselves and their children and grandchildren.

.Medical care, so no one of any race will face bankruptcy because of cancer, or an appendectomy, or a slip on the ice.

Religion, freely chosen, that binds adults and children alike back to God, and glues them together in a belief that is bigger than themselves, stronger, wiser.

An economy that flows from peace, not war, sufficient to send the stock market aloft with optimism, yet. bound to earth with bonds of ethical responsibility to every citizen, from high chair to wheel chair.

Those ten-thousand strong provided us with a vision we never anticipated, with hope beyond our most modest of dreams. Where we go from here is ours to choose, no matter our color, bank account, or street address.

Lord, in the words of the psalmist, “You know our standing up and our sitting down.” You know what we need to move into solidarity with you and one another. Take pity on us, on our spiritual blindness, our sloth that makes change appear beyond our strength. Give us faith in You and in ourselves, sufficient to create decades of peace-filled, “Alleluia” tomorrows. Amen.

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