My place in a broken world
About the author. Allison Mann is the music director of Edgewater Presbyterian Church. For more information about our music ministry, click here.
Nathaniel Eck, Allison Mann, Jasmine Doll, and Lela Philbrook. Photo: Gerald Farinas.
May the words on my lips (or on this page) and the meditations of my heart be pleasing in your sight, oh Lord.
“What can I give him? Poor as I am?”
The old winter hymn, “In the Bleak Midwinter” has always spoken to me. “Yet, what can I give him? Give my heart.”
The idea that all God has ever asked us to give is our heart seems like an incredibly lopsided deal.
“You, sinner, shall receive my kingdom at the price of my perfect and only begotten Son, and all I ask in return is that you love me with all your heart, mind, and soul…AND love your neighbor as yourself.”
I will be the first to admit that I am not worthy of such a sacrifice. I remember the day I realized that in order to be saved by Grace I had to understand that good or bad, there was nothing I could do to deserve, or not deserve God’s love. Like any normal Christian, I had a good cry about my unworthiness and immediately turned to God and gave thanks. You see, it’s easy to sit there and SAY God loves us and died for ALL our sins, but to believe it? To really believe it? That, my friends, takes a tremendous amount of faith.
A few years ago, sometime after the beginning of the pandemic, the Presbyterian Church (USA) launched the Matthew 25 initiative.
“What a great idea! Let’s help our neighbors,” I thought.
But what at first was just a “thought” quickly became a large part of my brain capacity.
No, seriously.
“Please Ma’am. May I have some money to get something to eat?” asked the guy at the Walgreens down the street from my house.
“Sorry—I don’t carry cash,” I answered, embarrassed at my lack of resources to help as I walked into Walgreens.
“When I was hungry, you gave me something to eat,” echoed in my brain. I turned right around and walked back up to the man. “Is there something in particular you wish you could have to eat?”
“I would just like some tuna. No cans, please. Maybe some water to drink?”
“You’ve got it,” I replied.
I walked back into Walgreens. It just so happens tuna was 4 packages for a dollar, and there were 4 different flavors. “What a bargain!” I thought and I picked up 4 packages of tuna—each a different flavor so he didn’t have to eat something he didn’t enjoy.
I walked towards the fridge to get him water, and I found my diabetic-self thinking, “Geesh…he doesn’t have any complex carbs to get him through the day.”
I walked down the next aisle and bought him a whole box of saltine crackers. After all, saltine crackers fed our troops during the Civil War. I learned that in grade school.
I again walked over to the cooler to get him water.
“What if his blood sugar is low because he lacks the proper nourishment? Who will give him something to help him? And what if he’s dehydrated? Doesn’t he need electrolytes?”
I picked up a bottle of orange juice, a bottle of Gatorade, a bottle of the sugar-free kind of Gatorade, and a giant bottle of water.
“That should do it!” I thought.
The man was overjoyed when I gave him his care package. I felt myself doing what God has called us all to do, and I gave thanks for the opportunity to do his work.
This is one example of how God has led me down the path to help His people. But how do I help my neighbors now? Do I hide refugees in the choir room at church? Do I yell at ICE to leave my coworkers alone? What is God calling me to do?
And then, much like the day I realized God’s Grace was a gift of which I was unworthy, the answer hit me square between the eyes:
“I will use my voice.”
God has prepared me all my life for one such occasion as this. He has woven each part of my story together perfectly for me to learn how to use my voice and speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves. In fact, He’s almost insisted upon it.
In high school, I was a part of many groups whose sole purpose was to promote unity within the student body of my high school. In fact, one such group was actually called the “Unity Council!” However, the most memorable experience I had in high school was being a part of Empower—a theatre troupe who educated and EMPOWERED (see what we did there?) bystanders to safely intervene when they saw someone being bullied, harassed, or abused. We focused on teaching people the importance of “see something, say something,” and the impact one voice can have for a person in need.
Then, in the summer of 2010, I went abroad with the Iowa Ambassadors of Music.
One day, while we were touring in Germany, we stopped at the Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial Site. I will never forget witnessing the few remnants of an unimaginable horror as I walked through each and every building, read every prompt, watched every movie, and hung on every word.
One prompt in particular has haunted me ever since my visit. I remember vividly reading about the first people to arrive at Dachau and having the sickening realization that I, too, would have been a prisoner there. I remember my chaperone standing beside me and saying, “Do you truly understand who the people were who were brought here? Teachers, musicians, artists. . . anyone else who spoke up for the Jewish people or tried to help the Jewish people would be sent here.”
I instantly remembered a scene from one of my favorite books I read as a kid, Play to the Angel by Maurine F. Dahlberg. Without giving too much away, the main character’s piano teacher, Herr Hummel, was a German who helped Jews escape the Nazi Regime.
“Herr Hummel could have been sent here,” I thought to myself.
In college, my choir was fortunate enough to sing at the North Central ACDA Convention. This life-changing experience introduced me to my most favorite choral masterwork of all time, To Be Certain of the Dawn by Stephen Paulus.
This massive oratorio was commissioned for the Jewish community by Father Michael O’Connell of the Basilica of Saint Mary in Minneapolis. It contains not only some of the most beautiful music ever written, but also Jewish prayers, a chilling recounting of survivors’ stories, and historical photos of everything from “Kristallnacht” to little girls holding hands as they walk together with an air of innocence and light.
I remember several things about the trip we took to Madison, Wis. to sing this incredibly life-changing piece of music. I remember staying with an actual survivor of the concentration camps for my homestay. I remember being gifted a book she had written about her experiences—Pumpkin Soup and Shrapnel. Most of all, I remember everyone imploring me to remember their stories and tell them for as long as I was alive and to STAND UP for others and SPEAK OUT about injustices they might face.
Rabbi Joseph Edelheit was the first person who ever mentioned anything about people actively denying that Shoah (or as it is more commonly known, “The Holocaust”) ever happened.
“What kind of moron would deny that a horrible and extremely documented event ever happened? They have to know they’re just plain wrong—there’s too much evidence that refutes their claims!”
Yet, I promised Rabbi Edelheit that day, as well as Gunda Davis, that I would always, always, ALWAYS share their stories.
My journey of preparation continued into my graduate studies. When I performed with Opera Classica Europa, I lived about two hours away from Frankfurt am Main. One of the best things about working with Opera Classica Europa was traveling to a lot of fun places to sing opera in historically significant places.
One day, our conductor Hans took us to a very special place—the Neuer Börneplatz Memorial Site—a wall where they have placed the names of every member of the Jewish community in Frankfurt who were killed during Shoah.
Once again, Hans implored me, “PLEASE. PLEASE make sure you insist on telling these stories!” He then explained that the day would come very soon when there would be no survivors left to tell their story—it would be up to all of us to ensure this atrocity never happened again.
Now, here we are in the United States of America—the so-called “land of the free”—and I fear my worst nightmares are quickly becoming a reality. Every day, people are taken off the street and sent to who-knows-where. Regardless of immigration status, NO ONE deserves this. This is NOT what Jesus would do—nor will the Kingdom of God exist if this nonsense continues!
Every day, I become a little more bothered, a little more horrified by what I’m hearing/reading/seeing. I see stories of horrifying group chats filled with messages that are so hateful you wonder, “What happened to these people to make them like this?” I hear people say things like, “I’m choosing not to be a part of it. I don’t watch the news, and I don’t engage when others talk about what’s happening.” Perhaps the most chilling of all are all the “oopsie” comments people are making about this situation:
“Well, I don’t think I’m the demographic they’re looking for, so I don’t have a reason to be scared.”
“But what did the protestors do to get shot with the pepper balls in the first place?”
“It’s not like they’re just scooping people off the streets and taking them somewhere without telling anyone. SOMEONE knows where they’re going.”
“Those people died because they didn’t communicate that they take medicine. They should’ve communicated that they had to have their medication.”
Every time we excuse the behavior, we tie the blindfold a little tighter. Every time we say, “That doesn’t apply to me because . . .” we put the noose on a little further. If we don’t start paying attention to our surroundings, we will eventually fall off of a Grand-Canyon-sized “oopsie” cliff.
Our neighbors deserve better. Our loved ones deserve better. Perhaps most importantly of all, the very fibers of our democracy DEMAND better.
Friends, to say it in the simplest terms possible, if we want Jesus to come back to Earth, we absolutely have to start being the Christians Jesus has called us to be.
Each one of us has a choice to make in how we get involved. Some of us will protest. Some of us will write. Some of us will simply resist by living our lives in spite of our challenges—both organic and circumstantial. The important thing is that we all do something to ensure the atrocities committed in the 30s and 40s never are repeated.
As for me, I commit to using my voice to speak up for the underserved, underprivileged, and underrepresented.
Because that’s what God has asked me to do—time and time again.
And WHEN Jesus comes back to Earth, I hope there will be enough of us who recognize him...
Because, my friends, IF Jesus were to return today, I’m concerned more than half of the people claiming to be “Christians” in the United States of America would vote to crucify him a second time.
“But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” – Joshua 24:15
Love and peace to all.
