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Tragic Grace

by the Rev. Katherine Bush

 

In the coming days and weeks, many events will grab our attention—both news of the day and reminders of our deep histories. We will inaugurate a new administration and retell the story of Martin Luther King, Jr. Over and over again, we’ll hear cliches and bromides that try to make fresh old patterns and familiar stories. We will celebrate and grieve and be reminded of all the peculiarities that make our nation the gorgeous conundrum it is.

 

Gwendolyn Brooks, an African-American poet, wrote about Martin Luther King after his assassination. In her poem, she spoke about his capital-D Dream and, as he did, about Justice. It’s a short poem; you can read it here: “Martin Luther King, Jr., April 4, 1968”. I don’t know what words will snag you, but the phrase that grabs me is the third line: “He was a tragic grace.” 

 

He was a tragic grace. Tragic, of course, killed at age 39, flawed and imperfect. And grace. I love that it’s a noun and not an adjective. He was a grace: a blessing who lived and taught and hoped and wept and dreamed. 

 

There is much to be said about this man, his legacy, and how his story intersects with the story of Memphis. And if you haven’t ever, or recently, read or listened to his words, I commend reading the whole of his Letter from a Birmingham Jail or listening to all of his I Have a Dream speech. And I invite you to join us at Calvary on Sunday, where we will honor his life in our liturgy and formation classes as we welcome local author Alice Faye Duncan.

 

But here, I want to sit with just the two words handed down to us by Gwendolyn Brooks—tragic grace. Not only do these two words touch on the fullness and complication of Martin Luther King’s life and story, but these two words touch on the fullness and complication of all of our lives. It’s another expression of one of my favorite ideas that our lives are beautiful and terrible, courtesy of Presbyterian minister Frederick Beuchner. The wisest among us—preachers and poets and prophets—have always encouraged us to acknowledge the spectrum of our lives. We might be tempted to look away from the tragedies, or just as likely, we might be tempted to dwell only in the tragedies. We might forget to look for the grace and beauty, or we might numb ourselves, insulated by comfort, to the point that we forget to tend to the needs of others. 

 

Tragic grace. No two words can sum up a life; wouldn’t that in itself be a tragedy? And any idea repeated long enough can become a trite cliche as we lose the import and power of the idea behind it. We live in a firehose of words and images, and most pour over us, a deluge that keeps us from paying much attention to anything in particular. So, I give thanks to Gwendolyn Brooks for catching my attention and reminding me of a true thing that I’ve long believed by showing it to me in a new way. And I give thanks for the witness of Martin Luther King Jr., who pulled back another curtain on the tragedy of our broken world and did it with love and faith that the world didn’t have to stay that way. And I give thanks, hard as it is some days, for the heartbreak of my own little life and for the constant presence of beauty and grace. 

 


15 thoughts on “Tragic Grace”

  1. Tragic Grace. Beautiful and Terrible. I am tempted to dwell ONLY in the tragedy of visiting my mom at her memory care living facility. You spoke of joy several weeks ago from the pulpit, and I have been reaching for more awareness when visiting Mom at her cottage. One day while assisting a patient, Ms. Shirley, to the living room, she said very quietly that God was sweet. I agreed with her! Then, she quietly said that we were sweet!!! I agreed with her again.
    Tragic Grace, a magnificent noun. Beautiful and Terrible.
    Your writings grab my heart full throttle, Katherine Bush!!!

  2. Reading this took me back to the day it happened in 1968. I remember we picked up dad from work early that day (only 1 car like most) and mom asked 4 kids to sit in the floor board. Now I think it’s because she had no idea
    what COULD happen. Your writing your favorite, tragic grace and your other words remind me we have had bad stuff happen before and survived. This was written in a timely manner for changes to come. I’ll remember the grace part even though like Mom, I’m not sure what could happen. Thank you so much! Perfect timing for me.

  3. Katherine, you are gifted in finding meaningful details in so many things, such as this beautiful gem “tragic grace.” As for your own “little life” don’t deceive yourself. Your life is not at all little. You give away so much of yourself – your time, your compassion, your genuine concern for all of us – that you may not realize how important your life is to us. This essay is an example. Thank you for the gift of teaching me about “tragic grace.”

    1. What a kind and generous response! Thank *you* for all the ways you show grace in the midst of difficult days!

  4. I loved every word of this and it fills me with memories of my childhood through til now. So thankful for tragic and grace…….. continues to create who I am…… one day at a time.

  5. Today I saw the movie “Nickel Boys,” based on the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel. It gives perfect meaning to tragic grace, and I would encourage you to make it a part of your MLK remembrance. Thank you, Katherine, for sharing your inspiring thoughts.

    1. Kate, I’ve read the book and heard good things about the movie. Tragic grace indeed.
      It was good to see you at church today – sorry we didn’t get to visit!

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