Growing up in South India, I noticed how hard some communities worked and how invisible they still were. One such was a subset of the Dalits—formerly known as “untouchables”—often referred
to as Safai Karmachari, a community of manual scavengers. They cleaned latrines in cities and rural communities. For my doctoral research, I interviewed Ramakka on August 9, 2002. She was fifty-two and had been a manual scavenger since she was fifteen. It was disgusting work—cleaning other people’s excreta, collecting them in baskets and carrying these loads on her head—work she had done since her childhood days.
I used to think that rest was about the restoration of lost strength. For millions of people around the world, like Ramakka, rest is a restoration of lost dignity. That realization is their rest, their pause and their inner hope. Luke tells us of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, troubled by the execution of Jesus. They stood still, looking sad when the risen Christ intervened. They paused to assess their sorrow and were clearly irritated by the stranger. Yet this story reminds us that a curious stranger noticing and asking a question can help to initiate rest amid the normalized malaise of dehumanization.
During the pandemic’s imposed pause on our lives, we noticed a few things: that the coronavirus impacts Latino, Black and Native communities disproportionately; that we have treated African Americans as less than human; and that the earth rested. Out of our rest, stillness and lament, will we rise as a gentler and more just humankind?
—Prince Singh
Saints, share your personal REFLECTIONS here:
Lent Reflection – February 23rd 2021
Growing up in South India, I noticed how hard some communities worked and how invisible they still were. One such was a subset of the Dalits—formerly known as “untouchables”—often referred
to as Safai Karmachari, a community of manual scavengers. They cleaned latrines in cities and rural communities. For my doctoral research, I interviewed Ramakka on August 9, 2002. She was fifty-two and had been a manual scavenger since she was fifteen. It was disgusting work—cleaning other people’s excreta, collecting them in baskets and carrying these loads on her head—work she had done since her childhood days.
I used to think that rest was about the restoration of lost strength. For millions of people around the world, like Ramakka, rest is a restoration of lost dignity. That realization is their rest, their pause and their inner hope. Luke tells us of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, troubled by the execution of Jesus. They stood still, looking sad when the risen Christ intervened. They paused to assess their sorrow and were clearly irritated by the stranger. Yet this story reminds us that a curious stranger noticing and asking a question can help to initiate rest amid the normalized malaise of dehumanization.
During the pandemic’s imposed pause on our lives, we noticed a few things: that the coronavirus impacts Latino, Black and Native communities disproportionately; that we have treated African Americans as less than human; and that the earth rested. Out of our rest, stillness and lament, will we rise as a gentler and more just humankind?
—Prince Singh
Saints, share your personal REFLECTIONS here: