On Race, Earthquakes, and Action…

Tags

action, African-American, beauty, blindness, compassion, complacency, confederate, earthquake, harassed, Jesus, learn, listen, love, power, protest, racism, senses, uncomfortable, value

Photo credit:  https://www.npr.org/2015/05/22/408558234/the-exquisite-dissonance-of-kehinde-wiley

A few years ago, the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts had an exhibit of the works of Kehinde Wiley.  I had not seen his work before, and found his pieces in the exhibit shocking to the eye.  Wiley managed to take traditional poses and settings from art history and infuse them with images of modern African-Americans.  The pieces were jarring to the senses.  As I made my way through the exhibit, it began to dawn on me why my senses were so jarred. By consistently seeing classical art featuring people with light-colored skin, I had been enculturated to expect certain images in art.  The prominence of one kind of subject also created unspoken messages about value, beauty, and power.  Wiley’s vibrant pieces were like an earthquake.  And as someone who considers herself fairly self-aware, I found myself humbled by his work, and sorrowful for my ignorance.

I think that is why I was so surprised by an experience last week.  Last Tuesday night, our family went up to Richmond to take a look at the Robert E. Lee statue and the surrounding damage to businesses and monuments.  For those of you who have not been following the story, as part of the protests about George Floyd’s death and the Black Lives Matter cause, the prominent Confederate monuments in Richmond have come under fire.  The statue of Robert E. Lee’s large stone plinth has been covered in graffiti, protesting George’s death, the treatment of African-Americans by the police, and systemic racism.  As I took in the visceral, pain-filled cries of graffiti, as I looked at pictures of black victims of police violence surrounding the statue, whose names I have prayed for over the years, as I watched families of color take pictures in front of this once pristine, but ever-controversial, statue with a new sense of pride and defiance, what I began to understand is those who are harassed and feel helpless have been begging for our compassion for a long time – cries that could no longer be ignored when staring at that powerfully altered statue.

But mostly, I mourned again for my complacency and blindness.  As a descendant of Confederate veterans, student of African-American history and politics, and pastor of a church built long before the Civil War, I know the issue of Confederate statues and monuments is sensitive.  But watching what was happening at the Robert E. Lee statue created the same feeling as Kehinde Wiley’s art work:  an earthquake for all in positions of privilege and power.  Standing there with my family, I felt like I was on unstable ground, my complicity in systemic racism exposed, and the weight of the question pressing on my chest:  what are you going to do about it?

For my brothers and sisters of color, I am sorry.  I am sorry that you have had to do the work to awaken my senses instead of doing that work myself.  For my brothers and sisters of European descent, we have work to do.  Hickory Neck Church has been posting ways for you to engage this issue – not necessarily telling you what to do, but inviting you into the position of making yourself vulnerable to listening, learning, and acting.  This is our work to do.  It is hard and uncomfortable, and this post may even make you defensive.  Please know that I am here – here to walk with you, here to encourage you, and here to hold us all to Jesus’ message of love.  What you do next will vary widely.  Maybe you can only do one small thing to start.  Our invitation is do something – and keep doing something until we find ourselves doing the work of the kingdom Jesus has desired for a long time.

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse with permission only.

 

Sermon – Matthew 9.35-10.23, P6, YA, June 14, 2020

Tags

African-American, compassion, disciples, empower, God, harassed, helpless, Jesus, justice, love, mercy, police, protest, racism, rally, Sermon, Spirit, truth, witness

Last Sunday afternoon, I attended a rally in Colonial Williamsburg to renew the covenant between our Historical area police departments and the African-American community.  Established just three years ago, initiated by faith leaders in the African-American community, the covenant was established to proactively create collaborative relationships with our local police in order to prevent some of the racial divides that have occurred in other cities.  Although I was there to witness the support of the local clergy for this covenant, what I heard was the testimony of a community of people who have been harassed and feel helpless right here in our community.  Though we may have avoided some of the violence we have seen elsewhere in our country, the African-American community here in Williamsburg still feels the heel of racism pushing down on her neck.

Last week, we heard Matthew’s Great Commission, and we talked about the juxtaposition of civil unrest exploding around the issue of systemic racism and Jesus’ call to go out into the world doing works of justice, mercy, and love.  As some of the heat from protests simmered down a bit this past week, we could easily come to church today and long to turn down the heat too.  But our collect appointed for today, which you will hear later, holds our feet to the fire.  The collect says, “Keep, O Lord, your household the Church in your steadfast faith and love, that through your grace we may proclaim your truth with boldness, and minister your justice with compassion…”  Now the Collect of the Day is not just a random prayer, meant to sound good.  The Collect of the Day pulls themes from the scripture lessons appointed for the day – in essence, the Collect of the Day tries to articulate the thesis of our lessons.

After watching weeks of protests (maybe attending some yourself), hearing countless stories about unrest, reading articles or starting books about systemic racism, and praying diligently for peace, you may have come to church today hoping for some respite or reassurance.  But Jesus’ message to “Go!” from the Great Commission last week does not fade today.  Instead, Jesus’ words from Matthew’s gospel from almost 20 chapters earlier shows us our work is ever before us, beckoning us out into the world.

Years before his cross, resurrection, and ascension, we find Jesus teaching, healing, and proclaiming the good news to crowds of people.  In the midst of this work, we are told Jesus looks at the crowd and has compassion for them because they are harassed and helpless.  When Jesus sees the harassed and helpless, he does not simply fix the problem or strike down the system with godly power.  Instead, he turns to his disciples with a charge.  Jesus calls the twelve disciples by name (Simon Peter, Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, Matthew, James, Thaddaeus, Simon, and Judas), those who have been following him, learning from him, studying and praying with him, and sends them out, telling them how hard the work of showing compassion will be:  they will go without financial support, will be dependent upon the hospitality of strangers – some of whom will show them scorn rather than hospitality, will be persecuted and beaten, and will be betrayed even by their closest relatives.  This is the sobering work of love – of proclaiming God’s truth with boldness, and ministering God’s justice with compassion.

So how do the disciples hear such a sobering commission and still take the first step?  They take the first step because Jesus empowers the disciples.  Jesus gives the disciples power to heal and care for the oppressed; Jesus teaches them how to dust off their feet when they are scorned; Jesus promises when they need words, the Spirit of God will speak through them.  In other words, they just need to go, and God will take care of the rest.

Several of you have reached out to me over these last two weeks, longing for something to do in the midst of this important moment.  We have exchanged ideas and resources, and many of you have already begun to take specific action.  The content of how we respond in the coming weeks and months will vary widely, given our different gifts and abilities.  But our Collect today is not a prayer asking God to empower others to do the work of love or for God to just “fix it.”  Our Collect today is a request to God to help each one of us – called by name (Sue, John, Linda, Bob, Lisa, Bill, Tori, Don, Terri, Jim, Beth, and Dave) – to proclaim God’s truth with boldness, and minister God’s justice with compassion.  Jesus has already given us everything we need to do this work.  God is already keeping us in God’s steadfast faith and love; through God’s grace we can proclaim God’s truth with boldness, and minister God’s justice with compassion.  Amen.

On Resurrection and Race…

Tags

anxiety, comfort, cross, Easter, Jesus, kingdom of God, light, light of Christ, privilege, race, racism, resurrection, shade

Photo credit:  https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2017/august-web-only/reflections-on-cross-and-lynching-tree.html

This Sunday at Hickory Neck, we kick of a three-week series on James H. Cone’s book The Cross and the Lynching Tree.  Only a few pages into the book, and I confess this will be a heavy discussion for us as a parish.  You might be wondering why we chose such a book in Eastertide – isn’t race and violence a better topic for Lent?  Or maybe you are wondering why we are talking about race – again – at church.  Surely we can move on to talk about other topics!?

When my family I visited the Mississippi Civil Rights Museum in April, something poignant happened to me as I shepherded our young children through the museum.  There was an exhibit about the Jim Crow era in Mississippi.  As you walked through the exhibit, there were motion detectors that triggered recordings.  The recordings were of white men and women saying or shouting the things that were said or shouted to persons of color – about not belonging, about watching out, about even just existing in a segregated world.  Since I had small, active children, the motion sensors were triggered a lot, meaning these voices were shouting at me constantly.  I found by the time we exited that portion of the museum, my nerves were totally shot.  The exhibit was a powerful reminder of how, even when civil liberties were won, African-Americans were still not treated equally.  In fact, their existence then (and I suspect even today) was one of walking on egg shells – never knowing when someone would say something offensive, physically-threatening, or even life-threatening.  That kind of lifelong anxiety must do things to your psyche and mental, emotional, and spiritual health.

But as a Caucasian, I have the privilege to not experience that egg shell kind of life.  I have the privilege to decide when “we’ve talked about race enough.”  I even have the privilege of deciding when a good season to talk about race is – lest we confuse happy seasons with sad or contemplative ones.  And that is why we try at Hickory Neck to engage in at least one book or film study a year – to remind us of the privilege we hold because of something totally out of our control:  our skin color.  And if we are an Easter people, then celebrating resurrection life means bringing about the kingdom of God here on earth.  One of the ways we advance the kingdom is to live out the gospel – to live out the life of Jesus, instead of one that is counter to the life of Jesus.

I know the reading will be hard, and I know you have hundreds of things to do.  But for the next three weeks, I invite you to join us.  Join us in setting aside the comfort of our privilege in life, and stepping into the shady places of life.  Join us in being open to hearing other experiences, learning new things, and seeing race and reality differently.  Join us in living into the true meaning of Easter – a life where the resurrection means reconciliation and renewal.  Walking into the shady parts of life will allow us to more authentically proclaim the light of parts of life – the light of Christ.

On Race, Lent, and Children…

Tags

America, brokenness, children, Civil Rights, confess, Jesus, Lent, prayer, race, racism, repentance, shame, sin, unite

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse only with permission

This past week, our family traveled to Mississippi to visit friends.  On the trip we were able to see both the Mississippi Civil Rights Museum in Jackson, and the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis, Tennessee.  While the museums were appropriate for our older child, who has been studying the Civil War and Reconstruction in her Social Studies Class, our younger child was a bit mystified by the museums.  She struggled with understanding the concept of history versus modern day, but she especially struggled with why people were hurting and killing each other.  She clearly made the connection that Caucasians (or “peach-skinned” people as she called them) were being mean to African-Americans (or “brown-skinned” people), but she could not fathom why.  With every video or picture, I was barraged with questions about why people were doing what they were doing, or why someone would kill someone like Martin Luther King, Jr.

Explaining the atrocities of American racial history to a five-year old is one of the most gut-wrenching experiences I have had.  I already struggle with the shame of our history and my participation in racism.  But to expose my child to the sinfulness and brokenness of our country made the shame deeper.  As the museum bombarded me with statistics around racial disparities, as prerecorded voices shouted out awful words that were once shouted out to people of color, and as “Precious Lord,” or “We Shall Overcome,” played overhead, I was reminded of all that we have been through as a country, and how much further we have to go.

In Lent, we do a lot of confessing of our sinfulness and working on repentance.  On Ash Wednesday, we confessed our exploitation of other people, our blindness to human need and suffering, and for “all false judgments, for uncharitable thoughts toward our neighbors, and for our prejudice and contempt toward those who differ from us.”[i]  In the Great Litany this Lent, we prayed, “From all blindness of heart; from pride, vainglory, and hypocrisy; from envy, hatred, and malice; and from all want of charity, Good Lord, deliver us.”[ii]  In the Exhortation in the Penitential Order, the priest asked us to “Examine your lives and conduct by the rule of God’s commandments, that you may perceive wherein you have offended in what you have done or left undone, whether in thought, word, or deed. And acknowledge your sins before Almighty God, with full purpose of amendment of life, being ready to make restitution for all injuries and wrongs done by you to others; and also being ready to forgive those who have offended you, in order that you yourselves may be forgiven.  And then, being reconciled with one another, come to the banquet of that most heavenly Food.”[iii]

As we finish these last days of Lent, as we hear the passion narrative on Sunday, and as we walk the days of Holy Week next week, I am reminded of how much work we still have to do.  For me, I will be contemplating the ways in which I participate in the systems and practices of racism in our community, working to not only be better, but to teach my children to be better.  And knowing our work of repentance is on-going, I look forward to our Eastertide book study that will allow us to delve into these issues even more.  This week I pray for the whole human family:

O God, you made us in your own image and redeemed us through Jesus your Son: Look with compassion on the whole human family; take away the arrogance and hatred which infect our hearts; break down the walls that separate us; unite us in bonds of love; and work through our struggle and confusion to accomplish your purposes on earth; that, in your good time, all nations and races may serve you in harmony around your heavenly throne; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.[iv]

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse only with permission

[i] Book of Common Prayer (BCP), 268.

[ii] BCP, 149.

[iii] BCP, 317.

[iv] BCP, 815.

On Race and the Pilgrimage Ahead…

Tags

action, call, God, journey, pilgrimage, race, racism, sin, transform

Photo credit:  parentingsquad.com/6-ways-to-improve-race-relations-at-home

Last summer a confluence of events happened.  I heard an interview with the author of Homegoing that made me want to read her novel about the history of the slave trade in Ghana and America.  I learned of a Diocesan pilgrimage to Ghana.  I was invited to a racial reconciliation discussion group in the community.  And my Netflix queue brought up two movies in a row – Lee Daniel’s The Butler and Straight Outta Compton.  As I read, watched, listened, and prayed, I wondered if God might be inviting me and our church community to talk more deeply about race.

So we did.  We read Homegoing at our church and our discussions were vulnerable and beautiful.  We went to a play in Colonial Williamsburg about the difficulty of serving as black and white interpreters in a time of slavery.  We hosted an Anglican priest from Ghana, prayed for this year’s Ghanaian pilgrims, and encouraged parishioners to consider a pilgrimage themselves.  We hosted a Bible Study with a predominantly African-American church. And we watched sports films that addressed racial relations.  At some point this summer, about a year after my initial epiphany, I began to wonder if I were beating the same drum too often.  Maybe race was a conversation we needed to give a rest.

And then the protests and counter-protests happened in Charlottesville.  As I watched hatred, racism, and violence on full display, as I saw rage, indignation, and entitlement in protestors’ eyes, and as I watched peaceful resistance dissolve into violent resistance, I knew we were not done with this race topic.  The scars are so deep and the impact is so rampant that we may never be done.  But fatigue, especially by white people, is not an excuse to disengage.  This week, I invite you to consider what you want to do in your life and in your community about racism.  If you are looking for suggestions, I commend the concrete suggestions by the Diocese of Virginia found here.

For me, I am committing to staying involved in our local ecumenical racial reconciliation discussion group.  I will keep inviting our church into race-related conversations, and encourage our exploration of our own complicity with the sin of racism.  I will keep reading and learning.  And I want to commit to going to Ghana with our Diocesan pilgrimage group.  I am not sure our family can afford it (I guess you know what to get me for my birthday!), but I feel God pushing me to walk through those slave castles, to learn in-person our shared history, and see the impact of slavery on another country.  I feel drawn to walking with fellow pilgrims of both white and black races, seeing how God might transform me on the journey.  If you feel similarly called, please join us next summer.  Or if you know you cannot make the pilgrimage, but want to financially support our engagement, I will help you become a partner with us.  Whatever you choose, do something.  I look forward to hearing about how God is calling you or how God is already using you for change.

The Power of Love…

Tags

broad, death, Holy Spirit, Jesus, love, mantle, power, racism, reconciliation

Photo credit:  blog.claibornehouse.net/2011/06/yes-virginia-we-are-for-lovers.html

Last week, two very opposite realities collided for me.  On the one hand, I was processing all sorts of anger, grief, frustration, and hopelessness.  In the course of one week, two more African-American men were killed at the hands of police officers, and five police officers were killed in retaliation.  Though each case was different, all I could see was blood and death and racism.  By the end of the week, I was despairing, wondering how we could pull our act together to be able to have open, honest, vulnerable conversations about our own participation in the sin of racism without turning to violence and degradation.

On the other hand, as the reports from Dallas were filling TV screens, I was on my way to a weekend getaway – a vacation planned long ago with some dear friends.  The following days involved sun, sand, food, art, yoga, laughter, and joy.  Part of me felt guilty for having so much fun, but part of my soul really needed that time away.  It was cleansing and restorative, and in some ways, could not be better timed.

As I made my way home on Monday, I found myself listening to and seeing stories of reconciliation:  Protestors and counter-protestors hugging; a Police Chief being raw and real about how hard being a police officer is; a surgeon, who worked tirelessly on the same police officers that he, as a black male, fears in daily life.  As I drove home, I passed a rest area that had a simple sign:  LOVE.  I have always loved Virginia’s slogan, “Virginia is for Lovers,” but never have I appreciated how deeply that lesson could go.  Virginia has made a claim on love – the same claim that our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ asks us to claim every day.

And in case I did not receive the message clearly enough, I am blessed with two children who have the capacity to show unbounded love.  Hugs, kisses, giggles, and gentle pats on my face were the tangible reminders of what love can do out in the world.  How each of us makes a claim on love will vary.  But traveling through an airport, seeing all the world’s people crammed into one place is a great way to see how broadly and widely we will need to love if we take up the mantle of Christ.  The good news is that the Spirit is already working to empower us to be agents of love.  Our work is to let the Holy Spirit work on us.

Sermon – Mark 4.35-41, P7, YB, June 21, 2015

Tags

afraid, asleep, boat, care, Charleston, comfort, covenant, disciples, gun control, Jesus, Kingdom, Mark, miracle, oppression, other, racism, relationship, scared, Sermon, storm, suffering, violence

A long time ago, we got on a boat.  We were not really sure what was going to happen while we were out to sea, but we got on the boat because we were curious.  We had an experience, or maybe multiple experiences with a man named Jesus, and something about those experiences compelled us to get on the boat.  Maybe the experience happened as early as Sunday School, maybe the experience happened when we were confirmed, or maybe the experience happened as an adult.  We may not even be able to articulate the reason why we got on the boat.  But all of us, at some point, step onto the boat, however tentatively or boldly, and we sail with Jesus to the other side.

The disciples have that same experience in today’s gospel lesson from Mark.  After a long day of preaching and teaching, during which Jesus pulls them aside and explains parables to them, Jesus says, “Let us go across to the other side.”  Now if the disciples had been smart, they would have asked some questions: “What is on the other side?  What if a storm comes?  Can’t we just stay here and get a good night’s rest?  This place is familiar and comfortable.”  And they should have asked questions.  The “other side” of that body of water is exactly that – other.  The other side is Gentile territory, the land of the Gerasenes.  Jesus is taking his first journey into what might be considered dangerous, and even inappropriate.  Jesus is beginning a ministry beyond just the Jews.[i]  “Let us go across to the other side,” is no “Hey, let’s mix things up this year and go to Cabo.”  Yes, the disciples should have asked a lot more questions.[ii]

But they do not.  Something about this Jesus compels them forward, stepping on and manning that boat without question.  That’s the funny thing about Jesus.  We too got on a boat because of him, probably having no idea what we were getting into.  Suddenly we find ourselves cooking casseroles, watering gardens, and bringing in men’s undergarments for our needy neighbors.  Suddenly we find ourselves getting asked by the Rector to serve on some committee.  Suddenly we find the news of the day is not so simple when we remember all those words we said in our baptismal covenant about seeking and serving Christ, loving our neighbor as ourselves, and sharing the Good News.  We really should have asked more questions before we got on that boat to follow Jesus.

I have been thinking about that boat a lot this week.  You see, some of our fellow disciples were murdered this week – nine to be exact, in Charleston, South Carolina.  They were praying and reading Holy Scripture – just like we do every Thursday.  They even welcomed in a stranger that night – like Jesus always tells us to do.  That very stranger turned out to be crazy, filled with racist rage, and willing to kill nine people before fleeing.  At least that was how I saw the episode at first.  At first, this was another instance of a crazy person, senselessly killing other people.  But then the prophets of our time began to speak.  The prophets reminded me that violence proliferates in our society.  The prophets reminded me that because we cannot agree on a reasonable gun policy, more and more people die in our backyards.  The prophets reminded me that our African-American brothers and sisters in this country experience very fragile and virtually non-existent safety – they cannot even be safe in church.  There was a part of me that wanted to stay on the shore this week and say, “Oh, Jesus, that was just an isolated event by a crazy kid with extremist views.”  But I had already gotten on the boat.  It was too late.  And a storm began to rage.

That storm for me was the storm of our time:  a storm of violence, racism, and suffering.  No longer could I contain each story:  Trayvon Martin, Ferguson, Sandy Hook, Baltimore, Columbine, Selma, Charleston.  One story bled into another, and as I was reminded of each one, I felt the buckets of water dousing my face.  As I thought about every conversation I have had about how racism is not dead, I felt the water creeping up to my waist.  As I thought about the historical shadow of the oppression of others in our country, I wanted to cry out to God.  And all I could think about was Jesus on that stupid boat, asleep on a cushion in the stern.  Who can sleep at a time like this?  Doesn’t Jesus care about us at all?  Why couldn’t we have just stayed on the shore in that comfortable, familiar place instead of getting on the God-forsaken boat with a man who does not seem in the least bit bothered by our suffering?

The disciples know that feeling.  They are experienced at life on a boat.  At least when they get on the boat, they knew how to manage a boat.  They know the dangers and the perils, and have learned to navigate them for the necessity of survival.  But even these experienced fishermen are scared.  They have tried to control the boat, they have scooped out as much water as they can, and they know they have met their match.  And so they go to their last resort.  They wake up Jesus and shout, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?!?”  When they got on that boat, this is not what they were expecting.  They were expecting the fulfillment of a promise – the fulfillment of a different life and a different world:  the kingdom of God here on earth.  Instead they were going down fast with a man who could not even stay awake and fight the good fight with them.

I shouted those words this week too.  Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?  Maybe we brought all this violence on ourselves, but surely you care?  Surely you did not lure me onto this boat – into this relationship with you – only to watch us perish?  Though I wanted more than anything to think this was an isolated event of a crazy person doing something ungodly, I could not ignore the storm swirling around.

I struggled to find hope today in our gospel lesson.  All I saw was Jesus scolding the disciples for their fear and their lack of faith.  And then I saw disciples even more afraid than before – which is saying something given the awfulness of that storm.  Straining for some strand of hope – some glimmer of redemption – I came back to that invitation from Jesus, “Let us go across to the other side.”  Jesus does not tell the disciples to go to the other side alone.  Jesus does not say, “Go to the other side without me.”  Jesus says, “Let us go to the other side.”[iii]  Whether the disciples felt like Jesus was with them during that storm or not, Jesus was with them.  That may not seem like much, but that may be the biggest miracle of all in this story.  As one scholar writes, “God’s power isn’t in the control of creation or of people, but in being in covenant and relationship with them.  [God’s power] isn’t in imposing the divine will or insisting on its own way but in sojourning with us as we fumble around and make our way in the world.  God’s power is not in miraculous interventions, pre-emptive strikes in the cosmic war against suffering and evil, but in inviting us to build a kingdom out of love, peace, and justice with God.  God’s power is not in the obliterating of what is bad in the world, but in empowering us to build something good in this world.”[iv]

A long time ago, we got on a boat.  We did not know where we were going, what we would see, or who we would encounter.  All we knew was that Jesus was inviting us into a different life, and we felt compelled by this passionate, nonsensical man.  Oh, we had clues.  We knew that the “other side,” was not a place we wanted to go.  We knew that going there might change us, and change our entire worldview.  We knew that getting on that boat would mean stepping away from the familiar, comfortable coastline, and sailing into something different and scary.[v]  But Jesus said he would go with us.  Jesus invited us on a journey with him and something deep inside us, despite the little devil on our shoulder telling us to stay put, told us to step onto that boat.

I am still scared of the storm.  In fact, I am a little afraid of Jesus too.  But what brings me comfort this week is that Jesus is with us.  Jesus does not invite us onto a boat and let us sail alone.  And though Jesus may have an ability to sleep through a storm, with complete confidence in the direction of God, I also know that Jesus will wake up and respond to me when I call out his name.  He may not say what I want to hear.  He may leave me feeling more uncomfortable than getting soaked in a storm.  But he is here.  Jesus is here on our boat, and can make things right.  We just have to be prepared to go to the other side.  Amen.

[i] Beverly Zink-Sawyer, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 165.

[ii] This train of thought comes from Karoline Lewis’ writing “The Other Side,” June 14, 2015 as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=3645 on June 18, 2015.

[iii] Lewis.

[iv] David R. Henson, “When God Sleeps through Storms (Lectionary Reflection for Mark 4:35-41),” June 15, 2015 as found at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/davidhenson/2015/06/1804/ on June 18, 2015.

[v] Lewis.

Homily – Luke 6.27-36, Martin Luther King, Jr., January 15, 2015

Tags

enemies, faith, grace, homily, Jesus, love, Martin Luther King, mercy, nonviolence, oppression, racism

Today we honor the life and work of The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  Born on Jan. 15, 1929, Dr. King was the son and grandson of Baptist preachers.  After earning his Ph.D. in Systematic Theology from Boston University, he became pastor of a church in Montgomery, Alabama.  A year later, Dr. King was catapulted into national prominence as the leader of the Montgomery Bus Boycott initiated by Rosa Parks.  He was able to rally both whites and blacks with his nonviolent demonstrations and his ability to be an articulate prophet.  Dr. King’s work was instrumental to the passage of three Civil Rights acts in the 1960s.  He was constantly threatened, attacked, and jailed, but Dr. King refused to back down.  He was assassinated in Memphis in 1968 while advocating for local sanitation workers.

Dr. King was a man of tremendous faith, and I imagine he read the passage we heard today from Luke many times.  Jesus teaches those gathered to love:  love their enemies; love through non-violence; love by giving freely without expecting anything in return.  In a time when he had plenty of reasons to hate and be bitter, Dr. King chose love, over and over again.  When he was arrested, he loved; when he was stabbed, he loved; when he was threatened and his home bombed, he loved.

Malcolm X, a contemporary of Dr. King, disagreed with him on this point.  He did not believe in nonviolence.  He had seen too much pain, suffering, and degradation.  As his people were beaten, abused, and murdered, Malcolm X wanted to fight back.  Many people judge Malcolm X, saying he should have embraced nonviolence like Dr. King.  I think we judge because we have a hard time admitting that there is a part of us that is a fighter, too.  Nonviolence sounds fine until you are slapped in the face; nonviolence sounds romantic until your children are threatened; nonviolence sounds noble until you watch your brothers and sisters beaten and murdered.

What Dr. King does is inspire us – inspire us to live a Christ-like life in modern times.  We may be past segregation and legal oppression of people of color, but there is still racism and oppression, as seen by many recent cases in the news.  Jesus and Dr. King today invite us and remind us to be agents of love.  In a world that needs less violence, we can be agents of love, mercy and grace.  Amen.

Sermon – Exodus 1.8-2.10, P16, YA, August 24, 2014

Tags

change, choice, difference, Exodus, genocide, God, impact, midwives, other, Pharaoh, Puah, racism, Sermon, Shiphrah

We know exactly where our story is going today in Exodus when the introduction says, “Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph.”  This introduction is ominous because to not know Joseph is to not know how Joseph saved Egypt from famine, making Egypt a world leader in a time of crisis.  But on a more personal note, to not know Joseph means that the warm welcome the Israelites once received in gratitude for Joseph’s service has also been forgotten.  This is how Pharaoh’s reign of terror begins.  Not knowing the formerly friendly arrangement between these two very distinct groups, Pharaoh chooses prejudice and fear.  Afraid that this foreign group will pose a threat, Pharaoh strikes preemptively.  First, he enslaves the Israelites, forcing them into labor for Egypt.  But that kind of subjugation is not enough to assuage Pharaoh’s paranoia.  So Pharaoh starts another campaign – he enlists midwives to kill any male newborns, in the hopes of reducing the number of men who can revolt against his new stratified system.  And when that campaign does not work, Pharaoh extends his reach and calls upon all the Egyptians, instructing them to kill all Hebrew newborn boys that they encounter.

This story is scary because the story is a bit too familiar.  Just in the past several months we have witnessed similar violence and oppression of “the other.”  The advance of ISIS in Iraq is so extreme that their violence is being labeled as genocide.  Whole communities of faith, both Christian and other faiths, are either being displaced, murdered, or sold into slavery.  And though the players and terrain may be foreign to us, genocide is not.  Whether through Pharaoh thousands of years ago, in the Holocaust seventy years ago, or in Rwanda twenty years ago, we know the devastation, trauma, and scars that genocide leaves.  Each time we pray, “Never again,” and yet, here we find ourselves again in Iraq.

A more complicated version of oppression can be found much closer to home – in Ferguson, Missouri, in Staten Island, and yes, even in Plainview.  Though the recent cases are about the racial tensions between police officers and African-Americans, the truth is that racism is a reality throughout our country and involves a system of oppression that benefits some over others.  I remember when I first met my husband, Scott, we had a conversation about racism.  As young seventeen-year olds, we came from very different backgrounds.  He was a conservative Republican (though I think he was a Republican mostly in defiance of the long history of liberal democrats in his family – but that is another story).  He grew up in San Diego:  a military town across the border from Mexico.  His peers were people of every race, nationality, and geography, and what he saw was a mixture of people who seemed to function without much prejudice.  I, on the other hand, was an idealistic Democrat, who saw a very different world in rural Georgia and North Carolina.  I was a part of an organization as a young woman who did not welcome people of color – a fact I did not realize until I wanted to invite my African-American girlfriend to join.  At my high school, there were threats of the KKK coming by to intimidate the few African-Americans at our school.  So when Scott and I first began to talk about racism, you can imagine that we had very different opinions about the role that race places in our country.

The scary part for me in our news lately is that genocide and racism are two different expressions of the same problem.  Both stem from the recognition of difference – of there being one group of privilege and one group of disenfranchisement – or “the other.”  Once an “other” has been established, judgments of value are next.  Through those judgments of values emerges prejudice – and in the instance of race, racism.  When taken to the extreme, that prejudice can lead to genocide – a complete annihilation of “the other.”  So genocide and racism are just markers on a spectrum of reactions to difference.

Now many of you may be thinking, “Okay, so we cannot help but notice differences among us.  And if we notice differences, and the next natural step is a judgment of value, then what are we supposed to do?  How are we supposed to change our natural judgments?  Obviously most of us are opposed to the extreme of genocide, but can we really do anything about racism?”  As a person who has attended many anti-racism trainings and programs, this is where many of us are caught up short.  When we enter into discussion about this issue, we feel guilt, frustration, helplessness, defensiveness, confusion, anger, and shame.  Though most of us can agree that we do not want a society where prejudice exists, truthfully, we just do not even know where to start or what to do.

That is why I love this story from Exodus today.  Though Pharaoh brings the ugliness of our current events into light, the women in this story show the way toward salvation.  My favorite women are the midwives, Shiphrah and Puah.  Pharaoh tells the midwives that as the Hebrew women are delivering their children, if they deliver any male children, the midwives are to kill the boys immediately.  Shiphrah and Puah have several options here.  They can run away – out of fear of Pharaoh, they can disregard their charge from Pharaoh and run for safety.  They can stand up to Pharaoh, refusing to kill others, but face the consequences of Pharaoh’s anger.  But what they do instead is genius.  Instead, they disobey, but they disobey with cunning.  The midwives play into the prejudice of Pharaoh – that the Hebrews are somehow different.  So they come back to Pharaoh with farcical story about why they did not kill the babies, “Because the Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women; for they are vigorous and give birth before the midwife comes to them.”  You can almost hear the feigned innocence and incompetence in their response.  Though we all know that the midwives basically lie to pharaoh, Amy Merrill Willis calls this act by the midwives a “gracious defiance,” because of the way “it embraces life and blurs Pharaoh’s attempts to draw lines of distinction between ‘us’ and ‘them,’ between Egyptian and Hebrew, between dominating and dominated.”[i]   Shiphrah and Puah show the world another way to respond to prejudice.  And their small act – their act of gracious defiance – changes the course of history.

What I love about Shiphrah and Puah’s story is that they basically teach us that we can all make a difference – in fact, we can all change the world.  Now I know that sounds idealistic or pie-in-the-sky, but think about this.  Shiphrah and Puah were of little consequence in their time.  They have very little power.  They work under Pharaoh and they are women in a time when women had even less power than they do today.  All they did in a little slice of history was disobey an order and tell a tiny little, but incredibly awesome, lie.  And from that small, tiny action, they save an entire people.

Andy Andrews wrote a book called The Butterfly Effect, in which he argues that each of us makes decisions every day that have a ripple effect on others, and that simple, courageous efforts can have an extraordinary impact.[ii]  The possibilities are endless:  the teacher who encourages a student who later befriends another student who is going through a rough patch; the grandfather who volunteers to read at the local elementary school who instills a love of reading in a child who later becomes a prolific writer; the parishioner who makes a sandwich for a client of the INN, who is no longer so hungry and disheartened that he cannot care for his struggling family; the young woman who helps a mom load groceries into her trunk who is then encouraged to be much more kind and patient with her rowdy, sometimes frustrating children.

The point is that when we talk about the world’s ills – racism, prejudice, or genocide – we often feel overwhelmed and incapable of affecting change.  But the truth is, we can be a part of changing the world every day.  The choices we make impact others and ripple out in much larger ways that we can imagine.  Sometimes our choices are bold and courageous, but sometimes they are small, often unnoticed choices.  But our choices have the potential to impact greater change than we know.  Thousands of years ago, Shiphrah and Puah were the gracious defiers who quietly and cunningly stood up to a bully and tyrant.  This week, you can be the gracious defier who chips away the world’s injustice.  The choice is yours – and the potential for goodness is great.  Amen.

[i] Amy Merrill Willis, “Commentary on Exodus 1:8-2:10,” as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching. aspx? commentary_ id=972 on August 19, 2014.

[ii] David Lose, “The Butterfly Effect,” as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=1599 on August 19, 2014.