Book Review - Up Against the Wall

I’ve just finished reading Curtis J. Austin’s Up Against the Wall: Violence in the Making and Unmaking of the Black Panther Party (2006).  Austin’s research into this storyline of the struggle for equality for black people in America is in depth.  He spoke at length with original sources, people who were in the Black Panther Party (BPP) and survived.  His description of his encounters with Elaine Brown are especially poignant.

This review is really my reaction.  I inhabit the group that for centuries subjugated people of color (POC) – white, middle class, educated males.  The animosity felt toward whites by the founders of the BPP is understandable, if white people accept our role in institutional prejudice, or at least accept that we have benefited from privilege that we have not earned.  It makes sense that there were black people who did not buy into the Martin Luther King Jr.’s nonviolent resistance.  Lynchings, abuse by the authorities, and lack of opportunities afforded to whites from the 1960’s up through to today are born of violence, perpetuated by those in power (whites), and victimize POC’s. 

My own feelings from reading the book are sorrow and regret.  I am sorry my ancestors maintained a system that kept an entire group of people as an underclass.  I hate it. 

However, I also know that many whites today are ignorant of the injustices of Jim Crow and don’t want to be educated.  Many whites today want equality, they say, but they don’t want to give anything up for it.  They don’t want to hear why black people are so angry; angry enough to espouse the violence that was policy for the BPP.  I have had maddening conversations with educated white people who simply will not acknowledge the existence of white privilege or that they have benefited from it. 

A mantra I hear from black friends in the struggle for equality (or equity) is “If you see something, say something.”  In other words, if you, a white person, see another white say or do something racially insensitive, confront that person.  However, when I’ve done that it leads to the other white person acting defensively and never gaining any insight into his or her own privilege.  Whatever sense of entitlement he or she felt that enabled him to say or do the racially insensitive thing is only magnified when I confront him.  Maybe I am just not good at the conversation.  But I also think a lot of white people aren’t interested in the conversation. 

This lack of drive for equity and a racially equal society, this callous indifference from whites, is the fuel to the fire that burned in Huey Newton and Elderidge Cleaver and the others who led the BPP from a place of anger.  I hope society is in a better place or at least moving toward a better place.  The events in Charlottesville, VA (summer 2017) are either a sign that we are as racially divided as ever, or the last gasps of a dying racism.  I hope it is the latter, but I fear it is the former.  If I that is so, then Antifa is a modern day incarnation of reactionaries driven by the same rage that drove the BPP.

It's Hard to See Hope From Here (Jeremiah 32)

            The state of the world today has me adrift at sea, in a boat without an anchor, afloat in a thick fog.  I don’t know if I am miles from land, or if I am about to run onto rocks that will rip through the hull and send me to the depths.  I am frustrated, sad, uncertain, and exhausted. 

            Yet, there is another a deeper feeling, and my brokenness cannot silence.  There is a low hum that never quiets, never quits, that is always there reverberating in my soul.  It began at the cross and grew in tone and texture on Easter morning.  I am an Easter Christian following the resurrected Christ.

            We are an Easter congregation that has hope even on the darkest day.  On Friday, we know that Sunday’s coming.  It doesn’t mean we’re happy all the time.  And we do get broken.  Right now, I feel broken.  But the light emanating from the empty tomb is there.  The hum of the Holy Spirit is there. 

            A few weeks ago there was a pipe bomb in Manhattan.  And a man associated with ISIS stabbed nine people at a Minnesota shopping mall.  These are reminders.  Violence is always possible, in any community.  It is hard to have hope that this era of terrorism will pass.  A broad historical perspective suggests it will pass and be replaced by deadlier evils.  But standing in the thick of it, it feels like we’re just waiting, wondering if the next attack or mass shooting will happen in our town.  We must pray.  But sometimes even with prayer, it is hard to see hope from here.

            The pipe bomb incident and the mall stabbing were not actually what pushed me to depression.  It’s what came next.  First, I experienced something quite hopeful.  Heather, Angel Lee, Carlin and Enam, Beth Roberts, and I were in Atlanta two weeks ago for the New Baptist Covenant Summit of 2016.  Did you know there are over 60 different kinds of Baptists in America?  In 2008, former president Jimmy Carter tried bringing Baptists together.  He thought if he could promote unity among Baptists, then we Baptists could be agents of unity in America.

Many of the Baptist denominations are primarily African American.  So, bringing Baptists together is also bringing black and white people together.  In Atlanta we heard from many Christians, our brothers and sisters from across America who are black.  They told of the pain they have experienced living in America.  Some shares stories that are pretty intense, testimonies of blatant discrimination.  It was hard to hear, but all of us joined together to walk in these stories. 

Then, this past week, I traveled to Campbell Divinity School where our own Beth Roberts is alum and Heather Folliard is a current student.  Campbell is having a series of discussions this semester on race relations within the body of Christ.  How can Christians who are black, white, Arabic, Cherokee, Chinese, Mexican, Korean, Ethiopian – how can we all join together in showing the world what the love of God looks like by the way we love one another?  Students and professors at Campbell are discussing this all semester and they invited me to the join the conversation.  That’s hopeful. 

However, as we met in Buies Creek, North Carolina, at Campbell, Charlotte was burning because another African American man had been shot by police.  This was a few days after what happened in Tulsa. 

Make no mistake: sometimes white suspects get shot by police officers.  Sometime black suspects survive these encounters.  That is so.  But, the running narrative in America is a black person, especially a male, is more likely to be considered suspicious just because he’s black.  And public consciousness is less likely to be upset when an officer kills a black suspect.  It is as if the death of black men just isn’t big of a deal.    

Black men are afraid that a simple traffic stop might lead to death.  Black men have to live with a constant fear white men don’t have.  Before I was married, I was stopped by police quite often.  I had a lot of tickets.  Never, when I saw those blue lights in my rear view mirror did I think I might die.  Never!  Every time black men are pulled over they have to be hypervigilant and they fear that one wrong move could get them killed.  It is not fair that I am treated on way by the police, and a black man is treated another.

When I go to Campbell or to Atlanta and the New Baptist Covenant, I am filled with hope.  When I think about Terrence Crutcher dead in Tulsa, and Keith Scott dead in Charlotte, I struggle.  I want to inherit the dream cast by Dr. King.  I want an America free of racial hatred.  Right now, that seems light years away.  Right now, it is hard to see hope from here.

Someone I talked with this past week asked some powerful questions. 

·        Why aren't we all grieving for two men whose lives were cut short?

·        Why are we spending so much time pointing out how one "should" act instead of recognizing the loss of human beings created in God's image?

·        What does the Church look like when tragedy strikes and the church is broken open and poured out for the kingdom?

In the New Testament, more commentaries have been written on Romans than any other book.  The Apostle Paul says in Romans 12:15, “Weep with those who weep.”  Weeping in solidarity with one who is wounded is an act of discipleship.  At Lazarus’ funeral, Jesus wept for the pain of those he loved.  He knew he would raise Lazarus, but he wept out of his compassion for Mary as she wept.  As he rode into Jerusalem, he wept for the city lost in sin (Luke 19:41-44).  Weeping as an expression of God’s love is the right thing to in America right now. 

I don’t know if the deaths of Terrence Crutcher or Keith Scott happened because these men were black.  I don’t know.  But I know they are dead and they leave behind people who loved them.  I know God weeps when one of his children – one made in his image – is hurt.  If God is weeping, then I should too.  To align myself with God, I weep for these guys.

I also promote the expression #blacklivesmatter, and I do so because so many people in America act like black lives don’t matter.  Black people tend to get multiple year prison sentences for drug possession and drug sales.  White commit the same crimes at the same rate and end up getting 6 months and probation.  And there’s a ripple effect.  Many years in prison takes years from your life and no one seems to care. And you can’t get a job when you get out. 

In Atlanta, we were told about Dallas community where all the services – gas stations, grocery stories, banks – were gone from a certain low-income, black community.  Whites from a church in North Dallas in a wealthy community came to visit the poor community.  Churches from each community were in partnership.  The whites from the wealthy community were shocked that the only institutions open in the economically ravaged black community were payday lending institutions. 

And what about convictions.  In the cases of black young men killed by the police – Eric Garner, Freddie Gray, Michael Brown, Tamir Rice – there have been acquittals; no convictions.  .  A lot of black people feel like the system is stacked against them and they live in fear.  It shouldn’t be that way. 

#blacklivesmatter is not saying all police officers are racist or are bad or are out to get black people.  Most are honest, public servants.  All the police officers I know want to protect and service.  The stories of the many good things police officers do are never reported in the media.  We have to tell those stories. #bluelivesmatter.  We must appreciate, support, and love police officers.  Please hear me that. 

#blacklivesmatter is not saying all lives don’t matter.  Of course God loves all people.  The picture in heaven, which we as church hope to reflect, is a gathering of people from every race, tribe, language, and nation.  That multi-colored, multi-cultured image is found in Revelation 5 and then again in Revelation 7:9-10.  We don’t want HillSong to be a white church.  We don’t want HillSong to be a black church.  We want to be a Revelation 7 church.  And we’re on the way to that.

We have people from many cultures right here in our church family.  We are in relationship with two congregations that speak other languages, Karen and Spanish.  We reach for this diversity not for diversity’s sake but because we want our church to have fuller expression of who God is.  When we expand our vision of the body of Christ, we see more of God.

We now have a lot of black people at HillSong.  We say #blacklivesmatter because we want to stand with our members who are hurting.  When one of is injured all of us hurt.  This is us.  In the Garden of Gethsemane, knowing the cross was coming, Jesus wept because sin leads to death. We join him there and with him, our Savior,  weep over sin and death.   

One more way to explain why it is so important for Christians to focus our love by standing in solidarity and saying #blacklivesmatter is the analogy of the house on fire.  At the fire station, the call comes in.  “We’ve got a house burning down on Elm Street.”  The firefighters DO NOT shrug their shoulders and say, “All houses matter.”  We know all houses matter.  They give their attention to the one that’s on fire.  In our church, we know all lives matter.  But right now, our black brothers and sisters feel like their house is on fire.  We – followers of Jesus of all races and colors (what a privilege we have to be in a diverse church) – we lead the call to wake America up and say that Jesus cares about people and because of that we love people who feel unloved right now.  #blacklivesmatter.

I look at my friends – my brothers and sisters in Christ; I say that; and I am filled with hope.  But, then, I talk to other Christians who don’t feel the same way.  I go on Facebook, I talk to people in person, and I hear many white Christian friends rail against the idea of #blacklivesmatter.  They gripe that all people who say that phrase are thugs and looters and criminals.  I hear Christians speaking damning words against the victims and against communities that are in pain.  Instead of the compassion of Christ, I hear judgment. 

Why would anyone oppose expressing love and offering help to hurting people?  And yet I hear Christians deny systemic racism.  I don’t know how it could be denied, but compassion gets kicked out of the conversation and is replaced with argument and anger and more pain.  In the midst of that, it’s hard.  It’s hard to see hope from here. 

This is where Jeremiah has something beautiful to offer because he found himself about as far away from hope as you could imagine.  He didn’t want to be a prophet, but God tells him that God had planned his life even before he was born (Jeremiah 1:5).  On career day Jeremiah’s classmates had their pick – Shepherd, Merchant, Torah Scholar, Farmer, Soldier.  They could fill out the career day form with their first, second, and third choice.  Jeremiah got a different form.  Jeremiah, you can be a prophet, a prophet, or a prophet. 

He hated it.  He says to God in Chapter 20, “you enticed me.  You overpowered me” (v.7).  In the Hebrew way of thinking, the verb used in Jeremiah 20:7 was the same one used to describe a rape.  In calling him to be a prophet, Jeremiah felt God had overwhelmed him.  But God was dealing with his people when they had sinned against him for generations.  God needed a prophet to speak a hard word and whether he liked it not, Jeremiah was that prophet. 

This all happens in the 6^th century BC.  Babylon is a major world power and by the time we come to Jeremiah 32, the capital of Judah, Jerusalem is surrounded by the Babylonian army.  They will break through soon.  Inside the walled city, Jeremiah, the reluctant prophet is in jail because of his prophecies.  The king has Jeremiah locked up.  The leaders at the palace ask him, “Why do you say, ‘Thus says the Lord: I am going to give this city into the hands of Babylon?’”  He’s been telling a truth they haven’t wanted to hear.  Their generations of turning away from God have led to God allowing them to fall into enemy hands.  But they didn’t want to hear it so they imprisoned Jeremiah when he said it. 

            For Jeremiah, the situation could not be worse.  The city is surrounded, and starving.  What will happen when the Babylonians finally break through?

Will the people be massacred?

Will they be enslaved, dragged to exile?

What will happen to the great city of Zion and to the temple Solomon built, one of the wonders of the ancient world?  It’s hard to see hope from there.  Very hard. 

At that moment, in the jail, once again, the word of the Lord came to him.   

“Buy a field at Anathoth from you cousin Hanamel.”  What Lord?  Say that again?  The great prophetic act you want me to perform is to buy a farm?  Um, hey God?  The Babylonians are all around.  I can’t even get to Anathoth. 

Right then, his cousin Hanamel arrives.  He’s a jail visitor’s pass.  Baruch, Jeremiah’s right hand man is there.  Baruch and Hanamel have brought witnesses and legal documents.

Jeremiah just stares at Hanamel.  “Let me guess? You want to sell me a field?” 

The description in Jeremiah 32 is unusually detailed.  All documents are officially signed.  All signatures are notarized.  Jeremiah instructs Baruch to put the parchments – deeds of sale – in a clay pot, the 6^th century BC version of a safety deposit box. 

Why does God speak this word to Jeremiah?  Buy a field?  Every field in Anathoth is going to belong to the Babylonians in a week.  But God tells him that what he has done is a sign of what God will do.  God says, “Houses and fields and vineyards shall again be bought in this land.  … I will bring upon them all the good fortune that I now promise.  … I will restore [them]” (32:15, 42, 44).  God says exile is coming and it will be bad.  But he also promises it will not be the end.  On the other side of the valley of the shadow of death is new life.  Shalom – the Hebrew idea of peace, wholeness, community, and right relationships - will come again to people who put their trust in the Lord.  In the midst of calamity, God tells Jeremiah to speak a word of hope.

I take courage from God’s promise to Jeremiah and the people in that desperate situation.  As I said, with the state of race relations in America, it is hard to see hope from here.  And for HillSong, that’s devastating because we’re talking about our church family.  Yet I see hope, and I think the best hope in our situation is God’s church.  We – the Body of Christ - weep with those who weep, we stand with those who feel they have no voice and no power, and we speak peace.  Acting as disciples, we go out of our way to love our neighbors and work for their flourishing. 

We Christ followers who comprise the Body of Christ work for our society’s good when we see those in pain, sit with them in their pain, listen to their stories without judgment, and sitting together recognize that we are all broken.  We help each other. That’s how we see hope from here and help others see it.  We love with our presence, our ears, our arms offering embrace, our actions, and our hearts.  Just as God promised Shalom would return when it seemed impossible, His eternal Kingdom will one day come in full and all good will be restored.  Until that day, we Christian gives signs of the Kingdom and participate in its coming by being Christ to all people and especially to those who feel like they are being burned. 

It is hard, no question.  Jeremiah knew it was hard, but God spoke to the difficulty direct.  “See, I am the Lord, the God of all flesh; is anything too hard for me” (Jer. 32:27)?  Our society’s struggles are so massive and race relations are so broken, it seems the problems are utterly intractable and a solution seems impossible.  But we don’t look at the size of the problem.  We look and see God and we know nothing is impossible.   Nothing is too hard for God in Jeremiah’s time or ours.

We see hope because we know who God is.

We – the church – work for shalom in our community as we stand in a new and lasting covenant of love with each other and God.  We work for this because we know who God is.

We walk out of church arm-in-arm bonded together as brothers and sister, sons and daughter of God, determined to breathe life into our community by loving people and giving extra doses of blessing to those who hurt the most.  We go out to serve and love knowing God will bless our efforts. We able to do this because we know who God is.

Yes, hope can be hard to see, but we see it clearly. We see it because we know who God is and we know we are His. 

AMEN

Black and White at Play

            Last week, the week our country celebrated our independence and freedom, July 3-9, 2016, tragedy struck and enflamed America.  A black man was killed by police in Louisiana, and the next day in Minnesota.  In both the deaths appeared needless.  Thus both circumstance looked like they might be examples of lethal injustice inflicted upon black people by white systems of power.  A lot of people believe that if the person in each of the encounters were white, not black, they certainly would not have been killed by the police.  Many others do not believe race had anything to do with it.  These conflicting interpretations and the rising sense among black people that their lives are put in danger by the police has been a combustible mix.

            It blew up the next day in Dallas at a protest (protesting police violence against young black men).  A sniper, a black military veteran, picked off police officers, sniper styles.  He killed five and injured several others before he was killed by a police robot.  Those police officers were keeping the peace so the people could have a protest that was done appropriately.  And it all went to Hell as the sniper exacerbated the violence and the tension. 

            I agree with those interpreters who feel that African Americans are victims of systemic injustice.  That is clear to me.  That’s why I us the hashtag #blacklivesmatter.  I think the system was established (hundreds of years ago) by people do not regard Africans or African Americans.  Over time the American justice system has shifted, but is still tilted in favor of white people and against black people.  And black people (and many white including me) are sick of it.

            Sadly the shooting incidents continue.  This type of national crisis has happened so often (Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, etc) that I now have in myself a set of standard responses. This post is not intended to commend my own thinking nor to critique it.  I am sharing what goes through my head, the impulses I feel.  When highly public, racially-charged events happen, my first instinct is note every positive encounter I have had with black people.  Maybe this is self-preservation for my own soul.  I simply cannot swallow that it is all bad. 

            Philando Castile.  Alton Sterling.  Eric Garner.  Freddy Gray.  Lorne Ahrens.  Brent Thompson.  Patrick Zamarripa.  It is bad and it is evil.  But tragedy is not the only story playing out in America.  It is an important story to be faced and dealt with, not ignored.  We must walk in the tragedy, but not be overcome by it.  One way to overcome instead of being overcome is to make space in our brains for other, better stories.

            Another story playing out is one of harmony, peaceful coexistence, and even joyfully collaboration.  Here I offer two examples from just this past week.  The shootings were early in the week and then in Dallas, midweek.  Saturday, I was still thinking about things.  But for my kids, it was an extremely hot summer day.  For relief from the oppressive heat, I took my kids to a waterpark in Greensboro, NC where the first better story happened.

            Our group was my dad, my nephew, my sons, my daughter and me.  My younger son and my daughter, 9 and 7 respectively, are both adopted and both black.  My older son is adopted and white, and my nephew, also white, is also adopted (by my sister and her husband).  My dad is my biological father and we are white. The only reason I am being so specific about race and relations here is this post is about race relations.

            At this water park there was huge wave pool.  It was enormous and on this Saturday, it was packed with people.  The depth went from ankle deep down a gradual slope to six feet deep.  At a far end, it is deeper, but that’s where they shoot the waves at you, so no swimmers are permitted past the 6 feet deep section.  From where the waves come, they shoot from deeper to shallower, simulating the ways lap up on the ocean shore.  The wave origination point is about 50 yards across, and there’s a 50 yard buffer where it is deep and swimmers are not permitted.  In that space, the wave builds momentum.

            At the 6-ft depth, the pool widens on each side at a right angle.  In the shallow area where the masses swim, it is probably 100 yards by 200 yards – really big.  The huge crowd at the water park that day had people of all races, shapes, colors, and sizes.  It was true diversity. 

However, one group was by far a majority.  At least 60% of the people were African American.  The number was probably higher.  In that massive wave pool, body to body with people, I probably rubbed my pale flesh against more dark-skinned men and women in bathing suits than I can count.  There were no incidents.  Zero.  None.  No one said, “Hey a white person just brushed against me.”  No one gave me a sneer.  We all had the same mission.  Have fun, stay cool, and keep our kids safe.

            That keeping the kids safe part was complicated because of the crowds and the waves.  My older son, 14, was on his own.  The younger ones, including my 8-year-old nephews, want to follow the big kids to the deeper water, but the waves make that dicey.  My dad and I had our hands full keeping my younger children and my nephew where they needed to be.  However, it occurred to me after a while that I hadn’t seen my older son.  I wasn’t all that confident in the life guards, so I went to check on him. 

            I started to mildly worry as I couldn’t find him in the crowd.  But then I looked over to where the pool widened, right at the cusp of where swimming is permitted.  He looked like the white spot on a black cow.  He and a dozen other (non-white) teens discovered something very fun.  When the wave runs through if you hug the wall, a whirlpool is stirred up that whips you around the 90 angle where the pool widens.  What teenage boy, oblivious to risks to how own saftey, doesn’t want to be whipped around a corner out of control by a whirlpool?

            I marveled at this because when I was 14, I really didn’t hang out with anyone who didn’t look just like me.  It was white me and my white buddies.  My worldview was limited because my crowd was limited.  When I was 14, the black kids I encountered were on the football team and the basketball team.  It seemed like they were all faster than me, stronger, and more talented.  It never occurred to me that the uncoordinated, unathletic black kids didn’t go out for sports.  Even passing those black kids in the hall at school, I didn’t notice them.  The only ones I saw were the ones who were much better than me in the sports I loved.  Something inside me assumed they were better because they were black.  I didn’t assume the white kids who were better than were better because they were white.  I thought maybe they worked harder or something. 

            As I watched my 14-year-old white son freely play with a dozen black boys he had never met, I felt joy that he had something I had not.  He had freedom from the subtle racism that crept around the edges of my mind at age 14.  There was nothing to this.  Just a bunch of boys riding waves.  Color was in that place, at that moment, irrelevant.  How beautiful.

            I experienced this beauty a second time last night.  My wife had been taking our kids to a Vacation Bible School at another church.  Our VBS was last month.  What better way to fill the summer than to attend VBS at other churches.  Our kids get out of the house, hear the Gospel, and have fun.  My wife had taken them Sunday and Monday night.  Last night was my turn.

            I was amazed.  It is an Adventist Church in Durham and it is as diverse as any church as I have found in North Carolina.  I was surprised when my older son wanted to go to VBS with the younger ones.  They love VBS, but as a teenager, he sometimes thinks he is too cool for such things.  As a teenager he thinks he is too cool for a lot of things, including his parents.  But he went to this enthusiastically.  I was intrigued and wanted to see why.

            I saw it.  He was slotted in a class with other teens – all black (most born in Africa, now living in America).  At this church led by Africans (black and white; the lead pastor is a white South African), it felt like race was irrelevant.  My white 14-year-old son fit right in with his black groupmates with no problem.  After the final prayer, he ran up to me and said, “We don’t have to go yet, do we?”  I told him to take his time as long as he included his younger siblings in whatever game he was concocting. 

            He and the rest of the kids went outside where he organized a massive game of tag.  Aside from their flagrant disregard for their own safety as they played their game in a parking lot where people were driving cars to leave the place, it was beautiful.  A month ago, I had seen my son do the same thing, take over an entire campground by organizing a massive nocturnal game of tag.  In that case, all the kids were white and most were younger than him.  In this case at the VBS, the kids were many ages, a few older than him, and 60-70% were black.  My son didn’t really care about race or time or place.  It was a summer night with kids all around.  What do you do?  You play.

            These stories aren’t going to be in the news.  These stories are good and beautiful.  The news will be full of anger, grief, funerals, recriminations, and down the line trials and depending on how the trials turn out.  Those ominous, sad stories must be told.  Followers of Jesus cannot avoid them.  We must walk in them because Jesus is where hurting people are.  We have to see him there and join him.

            But today, I wanted to tell the story of black kids and white kids playing together in innocence and pure joy.  I thank God that my son will be able to see the world with eyes much different than mine.  I ask God to help me see it as he sees (“he” being my son; I also want to see as God sees).  If more of us prayed this prayer to see with such freedom, there would be fewer sad stories to tell and more time to play.

            

The Autobiography of Malcolm X as told to Alex Haley (my review)

America is incredibly fragile right now, July 12, 2016. There have been killings of black men by the police. There have been mass shootings at gay night clubs. There have been sniper-style ambushes that left 5 Dallas policemen dead. 

How do we respond? Attend community forums. 
How do we respond? Pray. 
How do we respond? Befriend police officer, and befriend people who race, ethnicity, religion, or orientation is different than yours. These friendships won't usually come naturally but must be sought, diligently pursued. It will take work, patience, and tremendous humility. 

How do we respond? Listen to black voices and gay voices and Muslim voices as they speak on NPR, in the TV media, in articles, and in public forums. Listen to Black conservatives and fundamentalists, and to black liberals and fundamentalists. I am not saying agree with all they say, but do listen and thoughtfully consider their perspective. 

Another response is to listen to voices from the past. Two giants to consider are Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr. I had read many books by or about King, but this was my first reading about Malcolm. It was so rewarding. The only reason I did not give this book 5 stars is the questionable reliability of the ghost writer, Alex Haley. 

He has been widely accused of plagiarism in his book "Roots," and I have read suggestions that the material in this autobiography is embellished by either him or by Malcolm. I cannot verify the book. But, if it were false, it would to be a wide conspiracy involving many to completely falsify the material. Actor Ossie Davis contributes 4 pages of his own feelings about Malcolm at the end of the book. So, if it were all completely conjured up, he's have to be in on it too. And there is no doubt, Malcolm was killed in a spectacular and public fashion and at a young age. Alex Haley did not make that up.

So, I accept that maybe some of it is embellishment while believing that most is pretty close to what happened. And what happened is an amazing spirit of courage and defiance by a man who insisted on being regarded as a man in a time when many whites arrogantly called black men "boy" or worse. Malcolm X contributed to the strength of black men in our country and he should be appreciated for that.

Weep with those Who Weep (Romans 12:9-21)

This is my message the Sunday after the shootings in Louisiana, Minnesota, and Dallas.

Sunday, July 10, 2016

            Earlier this week, I was walking from my home to the church office as I often do.   It’s a little over a .5 mile walk.  A married couple walking their large, strong dog came toward me.  I have walked past these folks and their dog hundreds of times.  Sometimes we exchange smiles but we’ve never talked.  On this day, as I walked past they greeted me and asked about my family.  Clearly they have noticed me walking or riding bikes with my kids just as I have noticed them.  I gave friendly response and then reached to pet the dog.  He decided to jump and sink his teeth into my hand.

            The bite hurt a little bit but did not break the skin.  That dog could snap my finger if he bit hard enough.  I don’t know if he was playing and just plays rough or would have really gotten me if the husband didn’t quickly move to discipline him. 

As I said, it didn’t hurt much, but it surprised me in a most unpleasant way.  They were friendly.  I was friendly.  We didn’t really know each other, but I was feeling good like maybe next time I see them we’d speak a little more.  They and I were inching toward each other in hopeful friendliness and then the dog jump and bit me.

I feel like that might happen again this morning as I preach because this is an unpopular topic full of unseen snares. 

We Americans are weary of the violence in our country, but I have to address what occurred in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, St. Paul Minnesota, and Dallas, Texas.  We don’t want to have to face the reality of violence.  Part of the reason we don’t want to face it is we don’t all agree on what causes it or what to do about it or what it means.  Within this room, we have different opinions.  Another reason we’d rather talk about something else is it so painful and disheartening. 

However, even when we disagree about causes, and we disagree about politics of race and politics of guns; even when we disagree about all that, we can agree that it is sad when people in their 30’s die. 

Some of the people who died this week are almost 1o years younger than me.  I wasn’t ready to die 10 years ago.  I am not ready to die now.  So, we as followers of Jesus have to face what’s happening.  When I say we have to, I mean we are commanded.  We don’t have the option to ignore it.  For those living in “white privilege,” as Christ followers, we must relinquish our privilege for the sake of love.  Love is more important than our comfort.  In this church family, we are not all white.  We have a debt of love to be paid to our brothers and sisters, and so all of us must face the growing crisis of race and violence in America.

We hold the Bible to be authoritative.  The word of God guided by the Spirit of God is how God speaks to us.  Under the influence of the Holy Spirit, we open the Bible and our lives are shaped by what we read.  In the book of Romans, a bedrock text for Christian theology, we read, “Weep with those who Weep.”

In Baton Rouge, Alton Sterling, a 37-year-old black man, died when he was shot in an altercation with the police.  Can we weep with Quinyetta McMillon, the mother of Sterling’s 15-year-old son?  Can we weep with that 15-year-old son and his other children?  I know Christians, not necessarily in this church but Christians nonetheless, who will find reasons to judge him.  Instead of pity, they offer contempt.  Let be as blunt as possible.  Swallow that kind of judgment right now.  It is not to be hear here.  We don’t have room for it.  This room where the church gathers is to be filled with love and compassion.  Romans – the word of God – tells us to weep with those who weep, to share their pain. 

Psalm 102:1-2, “Hear my prayer, O Lord; let me cry to you.  Do not hide your face from me in the day of my distress.”

Can we weep for Philando Castile and his daughter and his fiancé Diamond Reynolds who watched as he was shot during a routine traffic stop?  I have been stopped for the same violation – a taillight not working.  The police did not approach me with guns drawn.  They did not panic when I reached in my pocket to get my license.   That’s privilege, by the way.  When you’re white, a traffic stop is an annoyance.  When you’re black, a traffic stop means your life is on the line depending on how you act.  Can we agree that what happened in Minnesota is terribly sad and can we heed the word of the Apostle Paul and weep for this man?

Ezekiel 2:9-10 (paraphrased).  “I looked and a hand was stretched out to me; it had writing on the front and on the back, and written on it were words of lamentation and mourning and woe.”   Lord, we lament the sorrow of the loss of Philando Castile and of Alton Sterling.

And we lament for the police officers in Dallas and for their families.

Patrick Zamarripa was a father of two children.

Brent Thompson of the Dallas Area Rapid Transit Agency was newly married.

The names of the others who died are Michael Krol, Lorne Ahrens, and Michael Smith.  In addition, several others has gun shots wounds that were not fatal.

These officers are the heroes.  We can go downtown to a concert or a movie or a big game or a protest and we can feel safe because these men and women are on the job.  When I go to work, I open a Bible, my notebook, and a computer.  When these officers go to work, they put on a flak jacket, holster weapons, and then get into their cars willing to face the danger so you and I can live in peace and safety. 

This week it didn’t work.  For a moment, let’s just align our hearts with God’s heart and grieve. 

Lamentations 5:1, 15 “Remember, O Lord, what has befallen us; look and see our disgrace.  … The joy of our hearts has ceased; our dancing has been turned to mourning.”

           

            I am humbled that God has called me to preach His word.  I am grateful to be able to do it in this church.  I love you and I love the role I get to play.  Most Sundays, we gather in happiness and embrace to be together.  Some have told me that Sunday morning at church is the happiest time of the week.  In the warmth of the atmosphere we reach to each other in brother love, and the dog jumps up and bites!  Violence rips into our serenity once again.  Just a few weeks after the evil insanity in the Orlando night club, more comes along. 

In addition to weeping in lament, we raise our voices in anger at injustice and death.  But to whom do we direct our anger?  Think about this year in our country and the world.  Are we to rage against Muslims?  During Ramadan in Saudi Arabia, there were terrorist attacks.  Muslims were the victims the way police and black individuals were this past week.  Last month in Orlando, gay people were the victims.  And this past week, police officers were caught in the crosshairs.  In past years, mass shootings have happened on army bases, in elementary schools, on campuses, at white churches, at African American churches, and in Wisconsin a few years ago, it was a Sikh worship gathering.  Everyone is vulnerable in the path of the bullet. 

It reminds of an old political cartoon, one I cut from the newspaper in college.  In the cartoon, there are two skulls which sit in a field of scatter bones and bomb craters.  Each skeleton has a bullet hole.   One says to the other, “Man, I can’t tell if you used to be man or woman, Jew or Arab, black or white, gay or straight, old or young.”  The second skeleton says back, “Man, I used to be alive.”

Jesus got angry.  There is the familiar story of him toppling the money changers’ tables in the temple’s outer court.  That’s an account many recognize.  But also read his testy exchanges with the legalists in Jerusalem.  Read of his exasperation when his disciples acted just like those legalists.  He got mad.  And he wept.  Again, the familiar story; he wept for Lazarus –John 11:35.  Oh it’s the shortest verse in the New Testament: Jesus wept!  He was weeping at the sorrow of Mary and Marth, Lazarus’ sisters.  But it is not the only time.  The one that sticks with me is Luke 19.  Jesus wept as he rode into Jerusalem because he could see just how blind and lost the people were. 

In lament and in anger, we walk in our master’s footsteps.  We should do this here as the body of Christ gathered together.  And we should do this in our times of private, individual prayer.  And we should seek out persons different from ourselves.  This week, pray and weep with someone in law enforcement.  Appreciate them and help them carry their emotional burdens. 

Reach out to a black person if you aren’t black.  Or extend yourself in love and compassionate mercy to gay person or to a Muslim.  Obviously we have some of these persons present.  So if you are black, Muslim, or gay, reach to someone different than you in order to embrace and pray and weep together.  This isn’t easy.  It could be awkward.  The dog will inevitably jump and bite you.  But get past that.  In Romans 12, Paul does not say, “weep with those who weep if it is easy and convenient to do so.”  He actually says, “Bless those who persecute you.”

Lament.  Anger.  Prayer.  There is one more critical response to weeks like this for followers of Jesus.  This one is the most important for pointing the world toward the Kingdom of our Savior God.

Followers of Jesus must tell another story than the ones that are dominating public consciousness right now.  We have to make sure that the story of life in Christ gets told and told in love and compassion.

Our story involves grace, mercy, and love. Our story requires us to compassionately sit with others in their pain and not try to explain away their pain or negate their pain with logic. Pain doesn't abate with a well-reasoned argument. Jesus people are to affirm others' pain and comfort them.

Followers of Jesus must tell a hopeful story.

Followers of Jesus must hold wrongdoers accountable.

Followers of Jesus must sit with others in their pain.

Followers of Jesus must also model the kingdom of God. We do this through grace-filled collaboration in which we work with different group – black churches, Hispanic churches, community groups, and other organizations.  We join and work together, and in this effort, we discover God-inspired creativity. The Holy Spirit helps us create contexts in which people can freely love across racial and ethnic divides. We open our arms to embrace people different from ourselves.  And we do not balk when it gets sticky and testy. We do not quit on potential relationship if the other comes from a hostile perspective. We love past the hostility. How?  Sometimes, we just stay until the other realizes that no matter how much pain he vents, we’re not leaving. 

He has to unload that crushing burden.  To relieve himself, he casts his hurt onto us.  He does this by being aggressive, by hurling insults, and by refusing to enjoy our overtures of peace and embrace.  But we don’t run away when the ‘other’ is unwelcoming.  With grace and persistence, we stick with it.  We care too much to bail. 

Our calling is to tell and live a better story than the one the world is believing right now.

Paul concludes Romans 12 by writing, “If your enemies are hungry, feed them.  If they are thirsty, give them something to drink; for by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads. Do not overcome evil by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

I don’t know about burning coals and I suggest we don’t see anyone as our enemies.  I suggest, as followers of Christ, we set our chins in resolve to be agents of God’s love no matter the cost.  In all the noise of the violence, the racism, the hatred, and the fear, oh the mounting fear … in that dread cacophony of chaos that is building to a frightful crescendo, I pray we will raise our voices with a competing narrative: the story of God’s love expressed in Jesus Christ. 

I pray we will tell that story and we will live it.  Swallow any words of judgment we might feel creeping into our throat.  I have them sometimes.  We all do.  We all harbor our own prejudice.  Swallow it.  Beat it down.  Stifle any impulse to defend cops or defend white people or defend the #blacklivesmatter hashtag.  People defend when they feel attacked, but as followers Jesus the Holy Spirit conditions us to respond differently. 

As followers of Jesus, when we are attacked, we respond with God’s love.  We heap his love on people.  A good place to start is in prayer, in lament, and in compassionate weeping with someone who has lost everything.  No explanations.  No judgments.  No opinions asserted.  Just sit with the one heartbroken and with the love of Christ share her burden.

AMEN