Editor's Note: The following is a manuscript of Felicia Murrell's talk from the Open Table Event, in conversation with Wm. Paul Young.

FELICIA MURRELL

I want to begin by saying this is not an easy ask.

For me, AND is the bridge to our re-turn, our homecoming, turning once again to ourselves, to Divine Love and to one another. For me, I’m holding both individual responsibility to participate with the Divine in our integration AND collective activism in a world that is a conflux of bodies in different states/stages of being who are responsible for the systems, bureaucracy and structures that inhibit the livelihood and flourishing of all bodies.

Racism IS most definitely systemic. AND the fear, insecurities and incorrect interpretation of “subdue the earth” which has led to a patriarchal obsession with dominance (of people, places, creation, and things) is very much a heart issue that has to be transformed through an experiential knowledge of Love.

Dualism does not resolve tension; it only furthers the divide.

Yes, there are laws that can be changed. But even with more equitable policies of the 90s, poverty and mass incarceration, and wage and wealth gaps abound.

How helpful are laws if people’s hearts are not transformed? It only means that when power changes, laws change. One only has to look to our Supreme Court to see this at play.

I don’t want to get into a tug of war of facts or statistics so I’m resisting the urge to lean on a lot of data and history. Often we wield information to attempt to convince or sway someone. “There has always been…” is too often used to dismiss what is. And I don’t want to get into a game of comparing suffering or domination stories.

Information does not create transformation.

We have to trust Spirit for the part we as a society can’t do, which is heart transformation.

If hell is a state of mind created by the illusion of Love’s absence, then perhaps heaven is the awareness of the Divine within and our intentional participation with Love.

How does participating with Love aid in alleviating fear – society’s and my own?

Much time has passed since George Floyd was murdered. Since books by Black people rocketed to the top of the New York Times Best Seller list. Since corporations made anti-racist statements declaring Black Lives Matter and people turned their social media profiles black in solidarity with the suffering.

What has changed? In you, in me, in the world… What has changed?

Did we rush too quickly to fix, to absolve ourselves of discomfort? To avoid the pain caused by a long history of messes made, realities ignored. Did we learn how to be sad together, to grieve with or just be? To allow the weight of the moment to be its own masterclass. Or have we rushed in brandishing our savior capes to plant a chair over the poop so our houses have an appearance of ordered cleanliness regardless of the smell?

Have we really slowed down enough to hear in the time that has passed since George Floyd was murdered? In that span of time, have we made space for people to vent and unburden their insides without crowding out discomfort, theirs and ours?

Can we name the most marginalized persons or people group in our local area, community, state, region and the nation? What are their concerns? What are their fears? What does their heart cry sound like? What legislative and civic changes need to be addressed to ensure they are empowered to live?

Pus draining from old wounds is a necessary thing to stave off infection. But not everyone can tolerate open sores.

Phobias and -isms have no place in the labor of Love. To that end, when we talk about restoration, transformation, I want to know who is actively and intentionally participating with the Divine in healing and liberation. Who are those unfazed by gore and know how to love with strong stomachs?

Who has learned to handle the gruesome, to sit in the discomfort of their own pain, to allow space for others to live in theirs?

As a child of the South, I lived in the fear that dripped from my family’s muscle memory. A fear that ordered my coming and going, my way to be in the world. Demanding that I be small, invisible. That I shrink myself to the tiniest possible existence so I wouldn’t be next. The next one to die. The next one to be raped or maimed.

Even when the white hooded robes made its way to the back of people’s closets and lynching and cross burning were no longer a thing, in the South we knew there were still ways to be lynched, still ways to be railroaded. Still police willing to carry out long-held beliefs.

Today, as an adult, access to safety is still a constant I carry with me. I’m Googling “is this town safe for black people.” I have to consider inflamed racial and political climates when deciding where to live, where to travel, where to shop. There are certain towns that are still unsafe for Black people at night even though sundown towns are supposedly no longer a thing.