There’s
something about conceding that your life is made better because of gifts handed
down. It’s not that you are more gifted
or smarter than the rest. You simply
have more stuff to begin with. Sometimes
that stuff is not the type placed in a bank account.
Stuff can be
race or gender. Sometimes it’s
heterosexual or Christian privilege. As
much as we hate to admit it, our lives are shaped by how others perceive us
more than the gifts we bring to the party.
Too many of us weren’t invited to the party because our personal
appearance failed to fit the invite requirements.
But, this
isn’t the prelude to a pity party. It’s
a celebration of a brewing trend that is capturing the hearts of people of
privilege. More and more, people are
less content with holding their privilege as a reward for being lucky enough to
be born on that side of the tracks.
They’re getting it. Something is
not right. We can no longer deny the God
given dignity of people born with a wooden, rather than silver spoon, in their
mouth.
You see, I’m
accustomed to protest. I was born within
a culture that refused to bow down to the limits imposed on me because of my
race. My mama believes in whipping that
ass when folks get in her way. Yes, I
was nurtured within a family culture that stepped up whenever someone seemed
broken by another person’s assumption of privilege.
I thank my
mama for that.
I’ve been
singing we shall overcome as long as I can remember. It often happened in what seemed to be the
brush arbor of black faith. That’s the
place where the slaves stilled away at night to get their praise on after
master and missy gave them Hell all day.
My ancestors would hide away somewhere under the protective arm of trees
to sing revolutionary songs.
That stuff
brings chills to my body whenever I think about it. Many consider that weak-minded
submission. I regard it critical in our
understanding of an ever present counter-culture that constantly redefined the
terms of human existence. It was that,
damn you, we gonna do it our way, moment.
I’m used to
that. Be it at the Second Missionary
Baptist Church here in Columbia, Missouri, or back at Compassion Ministries in
Durham, NC, I know what it feels like to hold hands with my people while calling
on God to let my people go.
But this new
energy is forcing me to rethink my assumption related to bondage and
limitations. James Cone tells us that
God is God of the oppressed, and, since black folks are oppressed, the
liberating message of God is found within the community of black people. I’ve always said amen to that, and, to a
large extent, it still roots the way I think about praxis and practice.
But
wait.
Back to this
new stuff. A new movement led by people
willing to reject the advantages of their privilege has taken center
stage. It’s what happened in North
Carolina with the Moral Monday movement.
Rev. William Barber, North Carolina NAACP President, has led a coalition
of grassroots folks in recasting the terms of discourse regarding public policy.
Barber is a
black man who leads a congregation in Goldsboro, NC. He is a product of the black church, with a
down home preaching style that rekindles memories of grandma cooking collards
greens after signing in the choir on Sunday morning. Barber is old school worship united with
progressive theological insight. There
is no question that Barber is black.
There is no question that his love for black folks has propelled him in
the middle of a flourishing movement.
I get
that. I get all of it, but the shift is
among those willing to do what the young rich man couldn’t do after Jesus
imparted the challenge. They are
rejecting all of that privilege in hope of a common good. Their views and desires are not embedded from
what they can get out of it all. They
are living from the inside out, rather than the normal position.
It’s
happening here in Missouri. Can you feel
the wave? Back in North Carolina, Barber led thousand into the state
legislative building in acts of civil disobedience. Close to 1,000 people willingly went to jail
to protest the actions of extremist politicians. Many of them weren’t black, in fact, most of
them are white.
Clergy in
Columbia, Missouri have decided to stand for justice. Many lead congregations filled with people of
privilege. They are willing to stand for
those hindered by the refusal to expand Medicaid benefits in the state. They are fighting for early voting, to assure
all citizens have access to the democratic process.
They will
stand with me on April 1 when Barber comes to town to discuss Moral
Monday. We will wear our robes, hold
hands and pray. We will sing a few
revolutionary songs and prepare to reverse the tide of hate laced public
policies.
The
revolution has changed over the years.
It has no race, no gender, no sexual orientation, and is not limited by
theological views. It’s a movement of
those who need more to make it, standing with people who have more than
enough. This is a movement of dignity. We are all the same.
Gil Scott
Heron said the revolution won’t be televised.
This time it will be the lead story on network TV.
The images will force people to say ‘those people are just like me.’
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