A few weeks after the Republican Convention, I got a letter from the McCain Campaign asking for a donation. Once I saw that, I put the letter and its enclosures into the recycling pile. A couple weeks later, I heard someone else got the same letter. He took the time, even though he was a Democrat, to look through the papers and discovered the letter informed him he was a registered Republican, including an elections' office registration number. A call to the office cleared up the matter quickly but it was confusing for him for awhile.
That was not a nice passage through which to go to get to vote.
To vote in Florida, you may be automatically registered when you get a driver's license. -- I'm not positive because there is also the requirement that registration must be at least 29 days before the election. --
That's the easy part, presuming you can afford to drive a car regularly.
Finding the polling place may be a project. Sites are changed for many reasons and can be changed any time. Our poll is in its third home in three years. In addition, the addresses used to identify the polling places come from phone directories and lists that were made up before Hurricane Charlie four years ago.
At the polling site, upon getting to the first table, the voter need only present a driver's license. Those that have none may bring their passport or something like a credit card with the voter's picture and signature on it. Without something with a pic and signature, the person may do a provisional ballot which is not counted until the ID has been checked. We encourage that voter then to contact the supervisor of elections office frequently over the next two days until that is resolved. The office is supposed to handle provisional ballots within 48 hours.
Even in our small precinct with adequate booths and two counting machines, we frequently had someone sitting on the side filling out something or waiting while the clerk was on the phone. Other voters could see the disruption the person was involved in.
The voters with the needed pic and signature is next asked to confirm their address. It should be the same in the book we have and on the license. If it is, then the voter signs the book, fills in a small oval like the one on the ballot, and then signs a signature slip (about 2" x 8-1/2").
If the addresses differ, the voter is given a change of address form and is sent to the clerk to verify with the elections office the change of address. The office checks to see if that address exists and is the same as their most recent address information. That usually clears the matter and the voter then proceeds.
We had a case where a brand new house in a section previously undeveloped was not anywhere in the records at the office. That man got a provisional ballot until his location could be verified with another county office.
The voter then goes to the "next" table. There, the white signature slip is taken and a tag torn off the bottom of the ballot which includes the ballot number. That tag is then stapled to the signature slip and kept to verify the count (and could be used to trace the ballot if someone wanted to know how that person voted).
The ballot is then given to the voter with basic instructions about filling in the ovals next to the ones they are voting for.
The voter then goes to the next open booth to fill out the ballot using pens provided in each booth.
Besides filling in ovals for candidates for the various national, state, and local offices, the voters face "yes or no" votes on a half dozen sitting judges' effectiveness in office.
The hardest part of the ballot is the constitutional amendments everyone is asked to vote on. The ballot print is small, the light by which to read them is 25 watts about two feet from the ballot, and the amendment is summarized. This time there were seven. Six were obsurely worded about property and tax policies the legislature wanted the voters to decide about and one which glorified marriage as possible only between a man and a woman without saying it would abrogate rights already in Florida law for other kinds of partners (not just homosexual).
Many people had studied on the amendments and came with sample ballots from the newspapers to aid them in their filling out the ballot. Those who had not prepared but wanted to try to be conscientious took the time to try to figure out what those amendments meant. Those folks took up to a half hour.
Once a ballot was completed, it was taken to the poll workers who showed how to insert the ballots into the counting machines. It was no problem for most to go through (we only had two clog but clear after only a couple minutes of unlocking and opening various gates to the innards of the machine). The voters were then given a sticker saying they had voted and were sent on their way with thanks for coming.
Those with stickers could go to several fast food places to get a sandwich or drink or other benefit offered to encourage voting.
If I wanted to discourage people from voting, the first thing I would do would be to put at least a half dozen obscurely worded amendments to the constitution on issues that most people had no notion about. Being expected to sort that all out before comng to the polls is bad enough. Having to wait for others who had not prepared is really bad! While the tactic looks legitimate, it is really discouraging.
Another tactic is to make sure that the equipment is barely adequate so that things like poor lighting or paper clogging can happen easily without looking like a set up.
The third tactic I'd use would be to change the poll sites frequently in those precincts I wanted to discourage. I would say it was to use free facilities even if those facilities were built for elementary school children with few if any adult-sized chairs and tables. Hopefully, the new site would be a long walk inside a large building. That would seem like good use of county-owned resources even though it would be uncomfortable for many people, especially the differently-abled and elderly.
Then I'd make sure the addresses were not right. That would look like incompetence but not intentional voter suppression.
I'd then make sure that the person coming to vote could not use the voter registration card sent out a month or so before the election but had to use something the voter might not have. Not many poor people have passports or credit cards with their pictures on them. Not all of them have driver's licenses.
Then I'd have everyone have to sign twice and go find another table to get a ballot.
This kind of thing is Katherine Harris' dream-come-true.
And it is how we operate here in Charlotte County, Florida.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Voting in Florida
Charlotte County Office of Elections hires and trains folks to be the poll workers for elections. I signed up two and a half years ago and have worked five elections, including this general election.
Sometimes it has been real fun. As I've posted in the past, working the polls is almost more like attending a family reunion because many workers and voters are old friends and neighbors. The workers often bring food so that we have a continuous "buffet" (more like a snack bar). And I hear some stuff that's pretty funny.
Valerie, who sat with me at the ballot table, told me that next week, there will be people in the streets, the government and all the banks will be closed down, there will be armed soldiers marching in the major cities, there would be demonstrations . . . or whatever else people do on Veterans day. - She had me worried for a moment there!
She had a tiny bit of history that I had not heard before. Margaret Truman got fed up with hearing her father, President Harry Truman, constantly using the phrase "cow manure" in his speeches about the politics of the day. Her mother Bess responded, "You don't begin to realize how hard it was for me to get him to say that instead of what he wanted to say!"
We had fun with a very simple thing. There were two people checking the voters in. They were at the first table. Valerie and I were at the next table to hand out the ballots as each voter brought us a "signature slip." The ones checking the voters in said, "Take this to the next table." However, our two tables had one long table cloth covering both so the voters invariably were looking for the "next" table somewhere else in the room. We had to wave our hands or yell we were the next table as they wandered by. That usually brought a smile because of the silliness of how we were handling it. It didn't hold anyone up, really, and it seemed to add a cheery note to what was going on.
Sometimes I was awed. In our precinct which still had about 400 eligible voters (we had about that many who already voted early or by absentee ballot), we had five people on crutches and two who obviously limped and should have been on crutches who came in to vote. We had some very elderly who barely tottered on their own who came to vote. We had whole families (one had six children on tow) there. We had people who had changes of address or anomolies in the registrar of voters records who patiently waited for as much as an hour while the precinct clerk sat on the phone trying to clear up the snags. Somehow, we seemed able to reconcile the problems and only one person left in a huff out of the 250 who passed our way.
Tom was awesome. In his seventies, he took the voters with their ballots to the booths with a friendly word or two. But he often took it upon himself to talk to the children who were waiting while their parents voted. Because one parent took a lot of time to read the amendments carefully before voting on them, Tom ended up staying engaged with two grade school boys for twenty five minutes. That was amazing!
Sometimes I was scared. This was the third location in three years for our precinct's poll. On top of that, the address given for this site is for a different building on the corner and a security fence keeps people from getting to our poll from that side of the school where we are located. Next time, I am planning to have a friend stand at that corner to give folks directions to our polling place.
In addition, we have no idea what is on the chips in the machines which counted the paper ballots. A ten percent flipping of votes built into the main chip could not be subjected to legal challenge since that chip's makeup is considered by the courts to be "proprietary." It happens that the totals of our vote gave the precinct to Sen. McCain by ten percent. From personal experience, I know the current supervisor of elections is a nice man who trains us to help voters have a good experience, though I do not know if he is partisan enough to be willing to go along with rigged machines. And now a new supervisor from the same party has been elected and I know nothing about him.
My experiennce, as you can see, is that there are so many points of interest in developing a voting process and then carrying it out, I am glad to be a small part of it.
But I will be even gladder when Congress revises election processes to remove the legal impediments to finding out if the critical computer chips are skewed and to remove the elections offices from partisan hands.
-----
Update: Just for the record, when I compare the voting patterns in our precinct from pevious elections, we had many more Hispanics (I'd guess about ten times as many) as before. All of them looked professional and were bilingual. We had fewer African Americans than any previous election even though we had more than twice the turn out (we had maybe eight or so at previous elections but only about five this time - I'm told the precinct has practically no African Americans in it). We had 121 voters in the September primary and 247 voters Tuesday. We had ten privacy booths for voters to use to fill out their ballots and two scanners to count their votes. We had only two ballots clog in one machine but which cleared easily once we found how to get at them. There were no lines that lasted more than a few minutes except when we opened at 7 am. They were all through by about 7:20. Voting was pretty steady all day. We were able to take breaks for rest stops and snacks and stretching legs without holding up any voters.
In another post I will talk about the specifics of voting and some miscellaneous stuff that doesn't quite fit in this essay
Sometimes it has been real fun. As I've posted in the past, working the polls is almost more like attending a family reunion because many workers and voters are old friends and neighbors. The workers often bring food so that we have a continuous "buffet" (more like a snack bar). And I hear some stuff that's pretty funny.
Valerie, who sat with me at the ballot table, told me that next week, there will be people in the streets, the government and all the banks will be closed down, there will be armed soldiers marching in the major cities, there would be demonstrations . . . or whatever else people do on Veterans day. - She had me worried for a moment there!
She had a tiny bit of history that I had not heard before. Margaret Truman got fed up with hearing her father, President Harry Truman, constantly using the phrase "cow manure" in his speeches about the politics of the day. Her mother Bess responded, "You don't begin to realize how hard it was for me to get him to say that instead of what he wanted to say!"
We had fun with a very simple thing. There were two people checking the voters in. They were at the first table. Valerie and I were at the next table to hand out the ballots as each voter brought us a "signature slip." The ones checking the voters in said, "Take this to the next table." However, our two tables had one long table cloth covering both so the voters invariably were looking for the "next" table somewhere else in the room. We had to wave our hands or yell we were the next table as they wandered by. That usually brought a smile because of the silliness of how we were handling it. It didn't hold anyone up, really, and it seemed to add a cheery note to what was going on.
Sometimes I was awed. In our precinct which still had about 400 eligible voters (we had about that many who already voted early or by absentee ballot), we had five people on crutches and two who obviously limped and should have been on crutches who came in to vote. We had some very elderly who barely tottered on their own who came to vote. We had whole families (one had six children on tow) there. We had people who had changes of address or anomolies in the registrar of voters records who patiently waited for as much as an hour while the precinct clerk sat on the phone trying to clear up the snags. Somehow, we seemed able to reconcile the problems and only one person left in a huff out of the 250 who passed our way.
Tom was awesome. In his seventies, he took the voters with their ballots to the booths with a friendly word or two. But he often took it upon himself to talk to the children who were waiting while their parents voted. Because one parent took a lot of time to read the amendments carefully before voting on them, Tom ended up staying engaged with two grade school boys for twenty five minutes. That was amazing!
Sometimes I was scared. This was the third location in three years for our precinct's poll. On top of that, the address given for this site is for a different building on the corner and a security fence keeps people from getting to our poll from that side of the school where we are located. Next time, I am planning to have a friend stand at that corner to give folks directions to our polling place.
In addition, we have no idea what is on the chips in the machines which counted the paper ballots. A ten percent flipping of votes built into the main chip could not be subjected to legal challenge since that chip's makeup is considered by the courts to be "proprietary." It happens that the totals of our vote gave the precinct to Sen. McCain by ten percent. From personal experience, I know the current supervisor of elections is a nice man who trains us to help voters have a good experience, though I do not know if he is partisan enough to be willing to go along with rigged machines. And now a new supervisor from the same party has been elected and I know nothing about him.
My experiennce, as you can see, is that there are so many points of interest in developing a voting process and then carrying it out, I am glad to be a small part of it.
But I will be even gladder when Congress revises election processes to remove the legal impediments to finding out if the critical computer chips are skewed and to remove the elections offices from partisan hands.
-----
Update: Just for the record, when I compare the voting patterns in our precinct from pevious elections, we had many more Hispanics (I'd guess about ten times as many) as before. All of them looked professional and were bilingual. We had fewer African Americans than any previous election even though we had more than twice the turn out (we had maybe eight or so at previous elections but only about five this time - I'm told the precinct has practically no African Americans in it). We had 121 voters in the September primary and 247 voters Tuesday. We had ten privacy booths for voters to use to fill out their ballots and two scanners to count their votes. We had only two ballots clog in one machine but which cleared easily once we found how to get at them. There were no lines that lasted more than a few minutes except when we opened at 7 am. They were all through by about 7:20. Voting was pretty steady all day. We were able to take breaks for rest stops and snacks and stretching legs without holding up any voters.
In another post I will talk about the specifics of voting and some miscellaneous stuff that doesn't quite fit in this essay
We Won!
Today Ann and I finally were able to celebrate the election of Sen. Obama. Yesterday I was recuperating from working at the polls on Tuesday. (More on that in another posting.)
We went out for breakfast where I splurged and had corned beef hash and eggs while Ann went for the scrapple.
We know how to kick the lid off!
It is hard to conceive that the American people voted for someone who represented "promoting the general welfare" phrase from the Constitution rather than for someone who represented the life of wealth and privilege to which we all aspire.
It is welcome news that the majority of Americans now are willing to look past the tactics of fear and vote with hope.
Hope does not include for me that all the promises made by President-elect Obama will come out in the forms he stressed during the campaign. The Obama I voted for is the consultative, collaborative, collegial-style leader, the "Jean Luc Picard" who gathers his top experts to consult together before falling back on his roll as the "decider."
That means the only promise I expect Obama to keep is that he will listen to all sides before taking action and will work with all parties-at-interest on developing legislation and policies.
If the Clintons had done that, they would have been far more effective.
I want to see the tax cuts for the middle class but I will be happy if more comprehensive tax policies are developed which are even better for everyone. That would come out of a bigger "committee" of concerned people from all perspectives.
I would be delighted to have the status of forces agreement with Iraq include an extension only for the purpose of safe withdrawal of our troops and provision for the safety (allowing emigration to the US) for those who have been specifically protected by us. But if a better plan with the same long range results was developed, I would be happy even if it meant troops staying there a little longer.
I think that the President-elect really cares about finding what is best for all of us in the US, not just the ones "at the top" of our society. I think he really cares about folks all across the globe. I think he has the intellectual curiosity so lacking these past eight years that he can understand consequences so much better than his predecessor.
Imagine! Someone smarter than me will be President! Someone smarter than you too!
For all those reasons, we won.
We went out for breakfast where I splurged and had corned beef hash and eggs while Ann went for the scrapple.
We know how to kick the lid off!
It is hard to conceive that the American people voted for someone who represented "promoting the general welfare" phrase from the Constitution rather than for someone who represented the life of wealth and privilege to which we all aspire.
It is welcome news that the majority of Americans now are willing to look past the tactics of fear and vote with hope.
Hope does not include for me that all the promises made by President-elect Obama will come out in the forms he stressed during the campaign. The Obama I voted for is the consultative, collaborative, collegial-style leader, the "Jean Luc Picard" who gathers his top experts to consult together before falling back on his roll as the "decider."
That means the only promise I expect Obama to keep is that he will listen to all sides before taking action and will work with all parties-at-interest on developing legislation and policies.
If the Clintons had done that, they would have been far more effective.
I want to see the tax cuts for the middle class but I will be happy if more comprehensive tax policies are developed which are even better for everyone. That would come out of a bigger "committee" of concerned people from all perspectives.
I would be delighted to have the status of forces agreement with Iraq include an extension only for the purpose of safe withdrawal of our troops and provision for the safety (allowing emigration to the US) for those who have been specifically protected by us. But if a better plan with the same long range results was developed, I would be happy even if it meant troops staying there a little longer.
I think that the President-elect really cares about finding what is best for all of us in the US, not just the ones "at the top" of our society. I think he really cares about folks all across the globe. I think he has the intellectual curiosity so lacking these past eight years that he can understand consequences so much better than his predecessor.
Imagine! Someone smarter than me will be President! Someone smarter than you too!
For all those reasons, we won.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
A Friend's Response to the Election
A pastor friend from Alabama wrote the following letter to some of us to share his reaction to the Obama election. His father, also a pastor, had been very active in civil rights as had his sister, and he in his own right:
Dearest Ones,
One of the memories seared into my soul from my childhood is the presence of the black people who worked for us in and around our home. We, like so many other white families, employed black domestics on a regular basis for years in Montgomery and Mobile. I was a child at home in Montgomery, not yet in school, and later in Mobile, I was the elementary school boy with more time spent on the homefront than my teen-age sister. So, I got really close to our “help.”
When I would talk to them, which I did at length on lazy old sunny days, I would listen to their stories and their reports on the status of things in their families (not always good) and feel so big. I thought I was their confidant, which I kind of was. It was not unusual in the South of that day for little white children to be the only creatures a black person would dare to reveal more than perfunctory details of life to. They were wise. They knew children would not run off and tell everything to white grown-ups, because a child seriously values being talked to without condescension and reveres the one who shares so intimately. In the child’s eye, it is all a huge, mysterious, sacred secret between the conversing parties, and the “spell” is broken if anything is leaked to those on the outside.
So, I would spend hours with Katie and JoJo and Fax Oliver and Silvie, soaking up the treasures of heart-to-heart exchanges, but mostly just listening to them and being exposed to a rich vein of human experience and insight. The thing I most remember about them physically was how natural their facial expressions were and how easily they made eye contact as our gabfest unfolded.
Mother and I would go shopping downtown in Montgomery and Mobile. As we passed black men and women on the open streets, there was no conversation, barely even an acknowledgment that they were there. Gone was the conviviality of the backporch chats I had with my buddies at the house. Most memorably, the faces of these people were blank, unreadable. And their eyes were downcast, their heads lowered. I did not know then what to call it, but I saw it. Later, I would learn that you label such a thing subservience.
This morning, I went into a fast-food place for a cup of coffee. While seated fixing my brew, a black man about my age stopped near my table to rearrange his sack of breakfast goodies before going back outside to his car. I was reading the morning paper—the election edition of the Montgomery Advertiser—and looked up at him. I said, “That was quite a night last night, wasn’t it?” He replied at once, with gusto: “I mean to tell you it was!! I only wish my mama and papa were alive to see this day. Has there ever been a more beautiful day than today? I told my son this morning, ‘Boy, you take this day off from your job and just sit and contemplate what has happened! Your grandparents laid the foundation for it and you owe them homage!’ “ Then, he smiled as big as Satchmo, and wheeled around to go. As he departed I called out, “I wish my folks were around for this, too!” He turned back to me at the door and nodded his head, departing with these words. “Mine and yours are aware of it, I just feel it.”
Two things stayed with me long after he left. One was that it seemed I was back in my boyhood and had just finished one of those cherished dialogues. The other was that this time there was no secrecy assumed or needed. Oh, and one other thing. We were very much in public but he never once erased the true emotion from his face or lowered his head to me. He just said his piece and walked out into the sun with confident eyes wide open and head erect.
One measure to me of the extent of the meaning of last night’s victory by President-elect Obama is the distance between expressions of real humanity by blacks during my childhood, which only emerged when I was alone with them and otherwise stayed hidden when they were in plain view of The Man, and the joyful exclamations of my restaurant friend given right out front without hesitation or apology. He could do it now, though his forebears could not, for many reasons all of us who know our country’s history could recite. But the newest reason is that The Man is no longer of my tribe, but is personified in a black man from Illinois.
I know. He had a white mother. Race isn’t the only barrier that needs to be taken down. He represents lots of intersecting human realities, but he is only one person and exclusiveness is a disease curable only when all are accepted for who and what they are. This venture we are about to embark upon could become embittering if he proves to be less than meets the eye. Only fools place their hopes on one leader. And so on. But I for one will return to all that in due time. It all contains much truth and will always be there to work on. Just not today, please!
I am reminded of Jesus’ last week on this side of the grave when he was trying to rest at a friend’s house in Bethany. Some woman broke a jar of expensive ointment and poured it over his feet and bathed them in it. The crowd around him took her to task, saying the stuff had been wasted, that it could have been sold and the money used for the needy. But Jesus shut them up and said that what they had missed, and what the woman understood, was that on this day in this place Jesus was alive, available, a presence worth celebrating and honoring. It would not always be so, he said. There would always be more justice work to do, a society to perfect, etc (the poor are always with you). But at that precise moment, it was time to appreciate the man of the hour, to prepare him for his near-at-hand ordeal, show solidarity with him, and pay beautiful tribute to his impact.
Of course, I am not equating President-elect Obama with the fellow from Galilee. I do have a few parameters left that I observe! But all I am saying is that those of us who recognize what has just happened for the singular thing that it is need to stop and thank God we are alive on this day. Of the future, we know not. But today, a bugle has blown. A harmonious chorus is out performing a discordant one. A link has been forged between an ignominious past and a redemptive present. Break a jar of something expensive. Let it flow. Savor this time without reservation or skepticism. Our homeland has done a good thing. It has done a great thing.
“I only wish my mama and papa were alive to see this day.”
“I wish my folks were around for this, too.”
“Mine and yours are aware of it, I just feel it.”
Spencer Turnipseed
Dearest Ones,
One of the memories seared into my soul from my childhood is the presence of the black people who worked for us in and around our home. We, like so many other white families, employed black domestics on a regular basis for years in Montgomery and Mobile. I was a child at home in Montgomery, not yet in school, and later in Mobile, I was the elementary school boy with more time spent on the homefront than my teen-age sister. So, I got really close to our “help.”
When I would talk to them, which I did at length on lazy old sunny days, I would listen to their stories and their reports on the status of things in their families (not always good) and feel so big. I thought I was their confidant, which I kind of was. It was not unusual in the South of that day for little white children to be the only creatures a black person would dare to reveal more than perfunctory details of life to. They were wise. They knew children would not run off and tell everything to white grown-ups, because a child seriously values being talked to without condescension and reveres the one who shares so intimately. In the child’s eye, it is all a huge, mysterious, sacred secret between the conversing parties, and the “spell” is broken if anything is leaked to those on the outside.
So, I would spend hours with Katie and JoJo and Fax Oliver and Silvie, soaking up the treasures of heart-to-heart exchanges, but mostly just listening to them and being exposed to a rich vein of human experience and insight. The thing I most remember about them physically was how natural their facial expressions were and how easily they made eye contact as our gabfest unfolded.
Mother and I would go shopping downtown in Montgomery and Mobile. As we passed black men and women on the open streets, there was no conversation, barely even an acknowledgment that they were there. Gone was the conviviality of the backporch chats I had with my buddies at the house. Most memorably, the faces of these people were blank, unreadable. And their eyes were downcast, their heads lowered. I did not know then what to call it, but I saw it. Later, I would learn that you label such a thing subservience.
This morning, I went into a fast-food place for a cup of coffee. While seated fixing my brew, a black man about my age stopped near my table to rearrange his sack of breakfast goodies before going back outside to his car. I was reading the morning paper—the election edition of the Montgomery Advertiser—and looked up at him. I said, “That was quite a night last night, wasn’t it?” He replied at once, with gusto: “I mean to tell you it was!! I only wish my mama and papa were alive to see this day. Has there ever been a more beautiful day than today? I told my son this morning, ‘Boy, you take this day off from your job and just sit and contemplate what has happened! Your grandparents laid the foundation for it and you owe them homage!’ “ Then, he smiled as big as Satchmo, and wheeled around to go. As he departed I called out, “I wish my folks were around for this, too!” He turned back to me at the door and nodded his head, departing with these words. “Mine and yours are aware of it, I just feel it.”
Two things stayed with me long after he left. One was that it seemed I was back in my boyhood and had just finished one of those cherished dialogues. The other was that this time there was no secrecy assumed or needed. Oh, and one other thing. We were very much in public but he never once erased the true emotion from his face or lowered his head to me. He just said his piece and walked out into the sun with confident eyes wide open and head erect.
One measure to me of the extent of the meaning of last night’s victory by President-elect Obama is the distance between expressions of real humanity by blacks during my childhood, which only emerged when I was alone with them and otherwise stayed hidden when they were in plain view of The Man, and the joyful exclamations of my restaurant friend given right out front without hesitation or apology. He could do it now, though his forebears could not, for many reasons all of us who know our country’s history could recite. But the newest reason is that The Man is no longer of my tribe, but is personified in a black man from Illinois.
I know. He had a white mother. Race isn’t the only barrier that needs to be taken down. He represents lots of intersecting human realities, but he is only one person and exclusiveness is a disease curable only when all are accepted for who and what they are. This venture we are about to embark upon could become embittering if he proves to be less than meets the eye. Only fools place their hopes on one leader. And so on. But I for one will return to all that in due time. It all contains much truth and will always be there to work on. Just not today, please!
I am reminded of Jesus’ last week on this side of the grave when he was trying to rest at a friend’s house in Bethany. Some woman broke a jar of expensive ointment and poured it over his feet and bathed them in it. The crowd around him took her to task, saying the stuff had been wasted, that it could have been sold and the money used for the needy. But Jesus shut them up and said that what they had missed, and what the woman understood, was that on this day in this place Jesus was alive, available, a presence worth celebrating and honoring. It would not always be so, he said. There would always be more justice work to do, a society to perfect, etc (the poor are always with you). But at that precise moment, it was time to appreciate the man of the hour, to prepare him for his near-at-hand ordeal, show solidarity with him, and pay beautiful tribute to his impact.
Of course, I am not equating President-elect Obama with the fellow from Galilee. I do have a few parameters left that I observe! But all I am saying is that those of us who recognize what has just happened for the singular thing that it is need to stop and thank God we are alive on this day. Of the future, we know not. But today, a bugle has blown. A harmonious chorus is out performing a discordant one. A link has been forged between an ignominious past and a redemptive present. Break a jar of something expensive. Let it flow. Savor this time without reservation or skepticism. Our homeland has done a good thing. It has done a great thing.
“I only wish my mama and papa were alive to see this day.”
“I wish my folks were around for this, too.”
“Mine and yours are aware of it, I just feel it.”
Spencer Turnipseed
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