[printprofilepic]Over the past few weeks, the recent tragedy in Arizona and the subsequent conversations it has begun on the national stage have been playing out in juxtaposition with the words of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I was fortunate in the week before I gave my King sermon that the newest volume of Beacon Press’ King Legacy collection was released—a collection of many previously unprinted speeches of King’s on issues of work and poverty entitled All Labor Has Dignity. I was struck time and again in my preparations for that sermon with the intentionality in King’s language. Despite the rabid disagreement between those opposed and those in favor of civil rights (and of King’s radical anti-poverty stances), despite the actual violence committed against those who stood up for their rights, King maintained a form of discourse that never descended to threats and violent imagery. Almost consistently, King’s language of opposition centered not on what his side would do to “them,” but with what his side would never allow their opponents to do to them—alluding frequently to the old spiritual “Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me ‘Round.” King, much like Gandhi whom he emulated, could attack injustice without ever making the perpetrators of injustice ever feel like anything less than the human beings they were. This was as much because of an intentionality of words as it was actions.
It is that idea of intentionality that is sticking with me in these early days of 2011.
After the horror in Tucson, much print and airtime has been given over to the idea of violent rhetoric and it’s effect on the American people (and specifically its effect on mentally ill Americans). The knee-jerk, and all-too-defensive response from those who have most recently engaged in what can arguably be called violent rhetoric has been, almost without fail, “Don’t you dare trample on my freedom of speech!”
As I prayed for the victims and families the Sunday following, I added my own prayer that those who speak from a place of fear remember that freedom without responsibility is meaningless. As dear Mr. Duynstee taught me all those years ago in my high school civics class, “My right to extend my fist ends before it hits you in the nose.” It is again a question of intentionality. We may be free to yell “Fire!” in the proverbial crowded movie-house, but only if we are willing to accept the consequences of our actions. It is better still to consider both harm to others and the potential consequences to ourselves as we exercise our rights. It is better to exercise our freedoms with intention, rather than abandon. That, I find, is the continuing lesson of Dr. King for us today.
As I’ve rolled that word—intention—around in my head these past few weeks, I’m also struck by what it can mean not only for how we talk at one another (the raison d’être of the national talking heads), but also for the way in which we talk with one another, for how we engage in dialogue.
Years ago I took some classes in improvisational theatre. The word “intention” had a different connotation in that setting, but one no less important to the real world of dialogue between human beings. One’s intention in an improvised scene was the purpose and direction one brought to it in trying to drive it forward. The one cardinal and unbreakable rule of improv was this: never deny the intentions of your fellow actors. For example, if my partner were to begin the scene by saying to me, “Hey, John, what are you doing with that penguin on your head?” then the very worst response for the purpose of our scene would be for me to say, “I’m not John, that’s not a penguin, and who the heck are you?” I would have, in effect, shut down everything my partner had tried to build.
The goal of improv is to take what each person brings to a given scene and see what can be built. Intentions may develop or fall by the wayside naturally as the scene progressed, but no one would ever dare shut another person down during a scene. Improv fails when a person believes more in their idea than in the strength and value of the people around them.
In the realm of church-speak, we often talk about establishing a “covenant of right relations” within a congregational community. Often, those covenants ask that we “assume good intentions” on the part of one another—that is, assuming that we all act out of a place of love for the community and want what is best for it.
What would the world look like if we approached our human interaction with all of these ideas contained within the word intention? What if we spoke to one another with constructive intention and assumed good intentions on one another’s part and sought to build on one another’s intentions rather than denying them? If we loved our neighbors more than we loved our ideas? Certainly disagreement would occur. We’re only human. But imagine how much more constructive we could be within our differences if we lived our lives with intention.
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I’ll be away on study leave the week of the 14th, sharing reading lists and sermon fodder with several of my seminary friends just outside of Tulsa, Oklahoma. Rev. Gail Marriner fills in for me on Sunday the 20th while I travel. Please give her a warm welcome. I hope you enjoy hearing from a different voice that week.
Take care,
Rev. John Cullinan
