Discussion on Selma sounds like an old movie

I didn’t know where to begin.

The silence denoted something deeper than what my emotions had to say. I stood and paused long enough for the words to catch up with my feelings.

Ninety people gathered to discuss Selma, the movie that tells the behind the scene story of the protest against voter repression in Alabama. The people in the room watched the movie before gathering at the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Columbia (UUCC) to share their thoughts.

“It felt like the same story being played over again,” I said to begin the discussion.  “I left drained because the same thing keeps happening, over and over again.”

Rev. Molly Houch Gordon, minister at UUCC discussed learning to listen.  She admitted not having answers.  She talked about the need to show up.  She hoped that would be enough.

“There’s so much pain that I carry with me every day,” Mary Denson, 21, president of UUCC, said. “There are so many issues and I don’t know where to start.”

Denson wasn’t alone. Many in the crowd felt overwhelmed by the burden of fighting a war to end the systems that separate us from one another.

We all want to embrace hope in better days.  It doesn’t have to end this way. Right?

Rev. Cassandra Gould, pastor of Quinn Chapel AME Church in Jefferson City, talked about the connections between then and now.  Born in Alabama, Gould told the story of her mother going to jail after protesting the laws that kept her and others from voting. Gould’s mother was there on that horrific Sunday when police beat protestors on their way to Montgomery.

Then she talked about the tear gas mask she wore in Ferguson, MO.

“Watching the mask they wore in the movie connected me to the mask I wore,” she said.  “I had to grip the hands of those next to me to fight back the tears.”

It’s a reminder of how close we are to the story of Selma.  Many of us remember the images on our black & White televisions.  The brutal attacks of protestors shifted the consciousness of those far removed from the system that denied people the ability to vote.

What about the color images from Ferguson? Why aren’t people outraged by the men, women and children tear gassed in Ferguson? Has time robbed us of our sensitivity, or can we assume the people in Ferguson deserved to be treated that way?

Can we presuppose that every person in the crowd should be punished for looting? Was it deserved punishment for disobeying the law, and, if so, can the same argument be applied to those who protested in Selma on that bridge?

Has time crippled our compassion toward people begging to be heard?  Have Americans forgotten how corrupt ways can easily consume those employed to protect the rights of all Americans?

Could it be that we trick ourselves into thinking Selma happened a long time ago?  If so, we forget that so much of what happened then continues to strangulate so many today.

People are still working to suppress the vote of black people.  In Missouri, state legislators are pressing to place a Voter ID law on the ballot for the 2016 election.  If approved by voters, the law will be the most obstructive law regarding voting rights in the nation.

The Republican controlled House Elections Committee proposed HB30 and HJR1 within days of the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday,on  the 150^th anniversary of the end of slavery in Missouri and while people are watching Selma.

Do they care?

Don’t they understand how insulting it is to press to limit voting rights while people are hurting throughout the state after the death of Michael Brown?

Do they assume it doesn’t matter?

Or, are they too coldhearted to understand?

I didn’t know where to start. 

It’s too close to process through the pain. 

I’m still doing my best to understand.

Help me breathe

I didn’t know where to begin.

The silence denoted something deeper than what my emotions had to say. I stood and paused long enough for the words to catch up with my feelings.

Ninety people gathered to discuss Selma, the movie that tells the behind the scene story of the protest against voter repression in Alabama. The people in the room watched the movie before gathering at the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Columbia (UUCC) to share their thoughts about the movie.

“It felt like the same story being played over again,” I said to begin the discussion.  “I left drained because the same thing keeps happening, over and over again.”

Rev. Molly Houch Gordon, minister at UUCC discussed learning to listen.  She admitted not having answers.  She talked about the need to show up.  She hoped that would be enough.

“There’s so much pain that I carry with me every day,” Mary Denson, 21, president of UUCC, said. “There are so many issues and I don’t know where to start.”

Denson wasn’t alone. Many in the crowd felt overwhelmed by the burden of fighting a war to end the systems that separate us from one another.

We all want to embrace hope in better days.  It doesn’t have to end this way. Right?

Rev. Cassandra Gould, pastor of Quinn Chapel AME Church in Jefferson City, spoke of the connection between then and now.  Born in Alabama, Gould told the story of her mother going to jail after protesting the laws that kept her and others from voting. Gould’s mother was there on that horrific Sunday when police beat protestors on their way to Montgomery.

Then she talked about the mask she wore in Ferguson, MO.

“Watching the mask they wore in the movie connected me to the mask I wore,” she said.  “I had to grip the hands of those next to me to fight back the tears.”

It’s a reminder of how close we are to the story of Selma.  Many of us remember the images on our black & White televisions.  The brutal attacks of protestors shifted the consciousness of those far removed from the system that denied people the ability to vote.

What about the color images from Ferguson? Why aren’t people outraged by the men, women and children tear gassed in Ferguson? Has time robbed us of our sensitivity, or can we assume the people in Ferguson deserved to be treated that way?

Can we presuppose that every person in the crowd should be punished for looting? Was it deserved punishment for disobeying the law, and, if so, can the same argument be applied to those who protested in Selma on that bridge?

Has time crippled our compassion toward people begging to be heard?  Have Americans forgotten how corrupt ways can easily consume those employed to protect the rights of all Americans?

Could it be that we trick ourselves into thinking Selma happened a long time ago?  If so, we forget that so much of what happened then continues to strangulate so many today.

People are still working to suppress the vote of black people.  In Missouri, state legislators are pressing to place a Voter ID law on the ballot for the 2016 election.  If approved by voters, the law will be the most obstructive law regarding voting rights in the nation.

The Republican controlled House Elections Committee proposed HB30 and HJR1 within days of the Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday, the 150^th anniversary of the end of slavery in Missouri and while people are watching Selma.

Do they care?

Don’t they understand how insulting it is to press to limit voting rights while people are hurting throughout the state after the death of Michael Brown?

Do they assume it doesn’t matter?

Or, are they too coldhearted to understand?

I didn’t know where to start.  The emotions were too deep for me to put it all into words.

It’s too close to process through the pain. 

I’m still doing my best to understand.

Help me breathe

The fear of acting white

The room was chilly cold.  It wasn’t the temperature that had most of us trembling; it was the purpose of the gathering.  Administrators at Duke University, the Divinity School, called a meeting with black students to discuss our lack of participation during worship at the chapel.

Worship services were held Tuesday – Thursday at the divinity school.  The time in between classes was viewed as the perfect opportunity to ripen strong bonds with our peers.   It was our chance to practice what we were being taught – what it means to be “One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic”.

Many of the black students were being immersed in the teachings of liberation theology for the first time.  Some of us began pondering the significance of Christianity given its long and brutal history in being used to subjugate people of color.  Most of us found ourselves embattled by congregations that regarded theological education antithetical to the cause of the black church.

We were being pulled between diametrically opposed agendas – learning to advance the work of the Church and remaining vital in the churches we were being called to serve.

“I refuse to cast my pearls to the swine and, in the process, forfeit the idiomatic expression of the people I have been called to serve,” I said that day.

I meant every word. 

I was afraid of gathering for worship, taking preaching classes from people who had never participated in worship with a black congregation, learning the theology of white men who died long ago, and, as a consequence, gaining nothing to support the work I’m called to perform.

Put another way, I was afraid of becoming white.

More to the point, I was afraid of being perceived as too white.

The tension I felt then continues to pester many who make the decision to pursue theological education.  Many pastors warn their ministers not to be changed by the teaching.  They’re told not to listen. They’re warned not to learn, but to go. Go and receive credit for going, but don’t accept what is being taught.

They’re taught that theological training is not designed to prepare those in ministry, but to credential and separate those who have it from those who don’t.

So, what is the significance of my working as a pastor at Bethel Church, a predominately white congregation? Does my presence reflect the function of my theological training and, as a result, the surrendering of my role as a servant of the black church?  Is there an assumption that my embrace of the things I’ve been taught has led me toward becoming the very thing I feared.

Does this mean I have become white?

Let’s be clear. That is completely impossible.  No matter how hard some work in denying the implications of race in their life, there is enough to remind me that I can never run away from the relevancy of my skin.

Some want me to pretend it’s not there.  I’ve already been told I talk too much about being black.  Why wouldn’t I? Why would I refute the part of me I love so much?

I love being a black man.  I’m proud of my ancestors and the mass of people who keep it real while working to invalidate the stereotypes people wave in our faces. Yes, we are brilliant.  We are artistic, and we have contributed more to America than any other race.

I said it.  We make America what it is today.

I have no reason to run from my blackness. I love the energy and passion of black worship.  I am a preacher of the black faith tradition.  I love the deep moans that leap in my throat when the spirit of God catches hold of the congregations causing all present to break free from bondage of the week. That’s who I am, and nothing will ever take that away.

So, why am I serving a white congregation? If all of that is true, and it is, what is it that would lead me to step into the pulpit of a congregation that doesn’t understand the significance of what it means for me to be me?

That’s simple. It’s called a calling.

Put another way, this is bigger than me.  It’s beyond what I understand.  All I know, for today, is this is the work that God has chosen for me in this season.

How do I know this to be true?

Because everything I have done, before today, has prepared me for this challenge. I have been trained for this season.  I know it’s true because I’ve written about and preached the message of inclusion long enough to be baptized into its meaning. I know it’s true because my footsteps point in the direction of healing and understanding. 

I know it’s true because the world and the Church have to change the way it functions in regards to the things that divide us. It’s true because hate and detachment has fractured the essence of what it means to be crafted to promote love and peace.  It’s true because someone has to stand beyond the assumptions we claim to rouse faith beyond the barricades built to keep us on the other side of unity.

I know it’s true because of the people I serve at Bethel Church.  They have taught me beyond the things I have been taught.  They teach me not with their words, but with their willingness to build community in a new way.  I’ve watched them transcend the comforts of their sacred community.  I’ve watched them say no to the crippling messages that keep America divided because of an aversion to listen.

No, it has not been easy. Yes, it comes with a cost beyond what I may be able to pay.

But, I’m here now glaring at my words from long ago.

“I refuse to cast my pearls to the swine and, in the process, forfeit the idiomatic expression of the people I have been called to serve,” I said.

I have a new message.

Beyond the color of my skin.  Beyond the history of suppression. Beyond the assumptions made when I show up to speak. Beyond all of it, I have been baptized in a faith that makes me who I am today.  Yes, I say it loud, I’m black and I’m proud. Nothing will ever take that away.

But, beyond all of that, thank you Lord for calling me to a purpose beyond things I can comprehend.  I accept your will.

Show me that way.  I don’t know the way, but I hear that still small voice calling my name.

Here I am Lord, send me.

Dr. William Barber's prayer at the Congressional Black Caucus Prayer Breakfast

William Barber II, state president of the North Carolina conference of branches of the NAACP and head of North Carolina's Moral Monday movement, delievered this prayer before the Congressional Black Caucus in 2007.  It was before the rise of the Moral Monday movement.  It was before the deaths of Michael Brown and Eric Garner.  Barber sent this prayer to me on last night to encourage me upon hearing I have been appointed to serve as Co-Pastor at Bethel Church.  The prayer reminds me of why we serve. It's a challenge to serve with integrity and passion. The prayer moved me to tears. After reading it the first time, I felt like hands had been placed upon me again to affirm my calling.  I'm sharing it with my readers to symbolize my unyielding faith in the God who called my name and set me free to serve.  This is my yes to the work at Bethel.  This prayer is my mission statement. I will feed upon each word and use it as fuel for my faith.

 

I thank God for William Barber.  I'm also grateful for the others who sent messages supporting this appointment: Dr. Jeremiah Wright, Dr. J. Alfred Smith, Sr., Dr. Melissa Harris-Perry and my good friend Dr. Robert C. Scott.  The outpouring of support challenges me. 

 

Read the prayer, say Amen and join me and Bethel as we move toward embracing this amazing calling. - The Rev-elution
 

Gracious eternal and all wise God.   Thou who formed what is out of nothing, and called us into being to serve you. You, oh Lord, who weighs every nation in the balance of your own standards. Today, we acknowledge how great Thou art, the marvelous mystery of your mercy and exalt the excellence of your name.

                Because your Holy Spirit brings all things to remembrance, breathe on us now, that we might remember how gracious you have been to this nation, we call America.  As a nation, we have our faith and frailties, strengths and shortcomings, yet you have allowed grace to be shed upon us. When we have honored your ways and when we have fallen short you have been a merciful God.   Remind us that the history of this nation is more about your grace than about our greatness. When we are not where we should be, let us hear and follow what you said to Solomon, 2 Chronicles 7:14, "If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will I forgive their sin, and will I heal their land."

                In our land we need healing, for a land so blessed by grace there is too much poverty, too much sickness, too many children dying, and too much war. We need a healing.  Michael Bell and five others in Jena, or the three year unjust lock down of James Johnson in Wilson are but symbols of a justice system that needs healing.  Katrina was more than a flood.   It was a failure to protect the vulnerable and a metaphor of the wave of disenfranchise that flows in too many communities.  We need a healing.

In your word you have said, he who rules the nation must be just and if we are to please you we must learn to do justice, care for the fatherless, support the widow, loose the bands of wickedness, pay people what they deserve, care for the sick, the homeless, and the hungry.   To please you it must be said of us, “For I was hungry, and ye gave me meat:  I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in; naked and ye clothed me; I was sick, and ye visited me; I was in prison, and ye came unto me.”  

                Trouble the soul of this nation as you did in the days of Amos so that no one is at ease in Zion. Use our prophetic words and our prophetic actions to remind those in the seats of power that they are not God.   Trouble this nation with the voice of concern and the voice of compassion.  Make us mindful of the thousands without paths to the pursuit of happiness…

Shake the foundations of our conscious until we cannot help, but change our course. Move on us to study war no more. Cause us to live our lives to serve others.   Teach us that life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness requires justice and hope and help and caring.  Expand our morality beyond the narrowness of personal piety into the broadness of public policy.   Give us the strength to challenge racism, classicism, poverty, and uncheck militarism.  Empower us with your Spirit that we might be a nation unto God, not unto fear; show us again that America is only here by your grace.  Show us that grace carries responsibility.   That a nation under grace must lead the world not merely police the world.  A nation under grace must care, must remember her past so that she will not be arrogant in her present. A nation under grace must bring the world together and not tear it apart. A nation under grace cannot refer to people as aliens when we all were created with one blood. A nation under grace cannot leave cities decaying and flood victims barely surviving.   Grace demands something better than that. So Lord as you stirred up dry bones in the valley, stir up hope, and stir up righteousness.   Restore the Prophets and the prophetic voices to the land.  Revive the spirit of Medgar, Martin, Malcolm, Corretta, Harriet, Rosa, Cinque, Douglass, Dubois, Sojourner, Jordan, Wilkins and Bethune.    Hold and sustain the Congressional Black Caucus whose seats are dipped in the blood of martyrs and were raised to be the conscience of this nation. Call us and challenge us again.  Teach even this nation that even with all our power and all our resources we will still have to stand before your judgment one day.   Give us leaders who understand that the purpose of power and influence is to help someone.   Grant us a citizenry determine to be yoked together in common humanity.   Let us know the only way to a more perfect union is for our laws and policies to reflect your kind of love. Let faith be a conviction not a convenience. Help us, Oh God, to smooth out every wrinkle in the flag of our community life until we are one nation under God, with one justice system for all, with living wages for all, with quality education for all.  Finally, oh Lord we pray that the mind of the psalmist will be ours:

Psalm 66: 1-7

1 Make a joyful noise unto God, all ye lands:

2 Sing forth the honor of his name: make his praise glorious.

3 Say unto God, How terrible art thou in thy works! through the greatness of thy power shall thine enemies submit themselves unto thee.

4 All the earth shall worship thee, and shall sing unto thee; they shall sing to thy name. Selah.

5 Come and see the works of God: He is terrible in His doing toward the children of men.

6 He turned the sea into dry land: they went through the flood on foot: there did we rejoice in Him.

7 He ruleth by His power for ever; His eyes behold the nations: let not the rebellious exalt themselves. Selah.

                We thank you God that your eyes still behold the nation.   We thank you God that you still see injustice, you still see poverty and because you can still see it, these things don't have the last word.   We thank you God that you still see America.  You still see our leadership.  You know how to bring down the high and lift up the humble.   O God we bless your name, we lift up every voice, we declare and rejoice that you are still the God of our weary years, the God who is able to bring life out of death. Help us to know like our foreparents sung, ‘Time is filled with swift transition, naught of earth unmoved can stand, Build your hope on things eternal, Hold to God’s unchanging hand.”

In the name of the Father who sticketh closer than a brother, watches us like a mother, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.  AMEN.

 

Additional Scripture References:  Colossians 1, Daniel 5,

Isaiah 1-58, Ezekiel 37, Luke 4, Matthew 25, and Psalm 27 

In memory of all the saints of old who taught us the words and worth of prayer.