#blacklivesmatter – Salvaged Faith

The Breath of the Spirit (2.0)

Posted on May 31, 2020Leave a comment

note… the original sermon for Pentecost was written over 10 days ago because of staff vacations and our own pre-recording for worship in the age of Covid-19. But I couldn’t rest with this sermon and felt the Spirit keep nudging me to talk about how breath this past week has been stolen from so many… so here is the update God put on my heart this morning.

Text: John 3:1-8

Most of us are familiar with the story of Pentecost from Acts.

As the crowds gather in Jerusalem for the Feast of Weeks, fifty days after Passover, the disciples of Jesus were also in town. Suddenly, the Holy Spirit rushes in, sounding like a violent wind and appearing as tongues of fire.

And then, the Holy Spirit empowers the disciples to reach out and speak to all who gather around, each able to hear in their own native language.

Three thousand people give their lives to Christ that day, receive the Holy Spirit, and the church is born.

Just six weeks before, those disciples had been gathered together behind locked doors. We heard this message right after Easter and also last week from Bishop Deb. Jesus is resurrected and shows these frightened disciples his hands and side and then he breathes on them, giving them the Holy Spirit. He offers them peace and sends them into the world.

This wasn’t the first appearance of the rushing, flowing, creative, breath of God.

In the first verses of our scripture, God’s breath, wind, Ru’ach, sweeps across the waters as the world is being shaped.

And in the second chapter of Genesis, God scoops up a handful of topsoil and forms it into a human being. Then, God breathes life, Spirit, into its nostrils.

Birth and creation and the Spirit go hand in hand.

And wherever the Spirit shows up, the finite and the infinite are closer together.

Our very first stop on our summer road trip is Wind Cave National Park in South Dakota.

For the Lakota people, their story of emergence into this world is connected with this sacred place. Emergence in this tradition is not creation per se, but when their people came to the surface and emerged from the spirit realm.

Their story begins in a time when the plants and animals were being brought into existence, but there were no people or bison living on the earth.

The cave itself, is known as Oniya Oshoka, the place where the earth breathes. This cave is believed to be a passageway between the spirit world and the surface.

The Creator instructed their ancestor Tokahe to lead the people through the passage when the earth was ready for them. When they emerged, they saw the hoof print of a bison who had come before and were told by the Creator, “follow the buffalo track and you will have what you need.”

Then the Creator shrunk down the entrance to the passageway, leaving it as a reminder of where they had come from.

As a child, my family traveled through the Black Hills in South Dakota for our family vacation one summer.

Yes, in this picture my brother and I ARE handcuffed together. You see, we made a stop at Wall Drug and got some of those novelty handcuffs… and when we got out to take this picture we couldn’t find the key!

However, we never found our way to Wind Caves.

In fact, it most people traveling through the area probably would have been unaware of the intricate network of caves just below the surface. The opening from the Lakota Emergence Story is just a small hole where the wind moves in and out.

In 1881, the Bingham brothers were traveling by and heard the sound of a blowing wind, even though it was an incredibly calm day. They sought out the source and the wind blew one of the brother’s hats right off!

Many came to see the sight and explore the caves and in 1903 it was officially designated as a National Park. It is one of the largest cave systems in the entire world and still has not been fully mapped!

Scientifically, changing barometric pressure causes the air to move through this the small natural entrance to Wind Cave.

Yet that unseen force, that natural in and out, reminds us of the breath of life blown into Adam’s nostrils.

It reminds us of the wind hovering over the waters.

It reminds us of Jesus breathing the Spirit of peace upon the disciples.

It reminds us of the birth of the church!

And as fundamentally as our own life depends on every breath in… and breath out… our life in God depends upon the flowing of that Rua’ch, Pneuma, Spirit in our own lives as well.

Think about your own breath.

Inhale.

Exhale.

That breath sustains you every minute of every day.

But how often do you really notice it?

The air entering your lungs.

The muscles moving as it leaves again.

The oxygen moving to every red blood cell.

I must admit I’ve been thinking a lot more about my breath this week.

I’ve been thinking about it after seeing those images of George Floyd struggling to breathe on the ground.

As a white woman, I confess that when Eric Garner cried out that he couldn’t breathe and died in police custody in 2014, I was upset for a little bit.

But my life went back to normal.

Lord have mercy.

Hear my confession that nothing in my life changed, when I could have breathed in your Spirit and could have spent these last six years building capacity and standing up against racism in our community.

The anger and frustration we see spilling out on the streets is a direct result of the fact that nothing has changed.

That what is normal is the systemic racism embedded in the fabric of our country.

I’ve been thinking about my breath every time I check the daily numbers of coronavirus cases and deaths here in Iowa.

Because of the essential nature of their work, the virus is disproportionately impacting our black and brown neighbors here in Iowa.

But I also think about the stories of children in the documentary “The Human Element” who couldn’t breathe because of asthma. The film explored a school in a neighborhood with a lot of industrial pollution where so many of its children have this disease they have an entire asthma protocol.

We are so busy prioritizing livlihoods over lives we can’t hear the people in our community telling us that they can’t breathe.

My insides are just twisted from grief and anguish.

It is Pentecost and it is 2020 and it feels like the world is on fire.

Maybe you feel the same.

Our gospel lesson for this morning comes from very early in the gospel of John.

Enter Nicodemus.

He was part of the ruling class in Jerusalem.

He had done everything in his life right.

He was the epitome of privilege and power.

And I think he felt like his world was on fire.

He knew that something had to give, something had to change, knew that there was something he wasn’t seeing.

And he was scared.

He was scared for others to know what he was wrestling with or how he felt…

In some ways, he was waiting to emerge…

So he goes to Jesus under the cover of night to have a conversation.

What he hears surprises him.

Jesus tells him that unless he is born anew, born from above, re-created… Nicodemus will not be able to see the Kingdom of God.

It’s as if he is telling him, as long as you remain hidden, in the dark, under cover…

As long as you are comfortable with things as they way they are…

If you refuse to let go and leave behind what you know…

Then you’ll never really experience God’s Kingdom.

Nicodemus takes Jesus literally and tries to figure out what it means to re-enter his mother’s womb…

And that is when Jesus brings the Spirit back into the conversation.

We emerge…

We are recreated…

We are born again…

We wake up…

We are able to see and know and participate in the Kingdom of God only by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Jesus invites Nicodemus to set aside his privilege and power and to let the power of God fill his life and guide his actions instead.

And just like that very first breath in Adam’s nostrils brought him to life, when the Holy Spirit moves into our bodies and minds and souls, we come to experience a life that we couldn’t even comprehend before.

God breathes into our lives and changes everything.

All around us, our neighbors can’t breathe.

They can’t breathe because systemic racism is holding them down.

They can’t breathe because of pollution.

They can’t breathe because of an uncontrolled virus.

They can’t breathe because of hatred and frustration.

And I am taking a good long look at my own life today and thinking about all of the ways that I have directly or indirectly contributed.

How have I stifled the breath of God?

How have I kept that life-giving breath from entering their lives?

Where do I need to emerge, wake up, be born again?

As Tim Nafziger writes, “Jesus understand that power warps the way you view the world. The more power, the greater the warp. Being born again is what it takes to start seeing things again in their proper light.”

It all feels so impossible.

It feels overwhelming.

The grief, the division, the anguish is palpable.

But you know what… it was for the disciples, too.

When I initially wrote this sermon, I said that on the day of Pentecost they were in Jerusalem celebrating.

But how can you celebrate when your leader has been executed by the empire?

How can you celebrate when you are still angry and frustrated and grieving?

It had to have felt impossible and overwhelming and they had to have still been afraid.

And that is when the Holy Spirit showed up.

Showed up with fire and with wind.

Turned the world upside down.

No doubt, some in that crowd had just fifty-three days before been crying out “Crucify Him!”

But the Holy Spirit showed up and they could see now what they couldn’t see then.

Three thousand people were born again that day.

Three thousand people woke up to a new way of life and living in the Kingdom of God where you put your neighbors first and love is the greatest command and you share what you have and make sure no one is in need.

I think again about Nicodemus.

If we follow his story through the gospel of John, we find him again at the end.

No longer is he hanging out in the night.

He emerges into public view, in broad daylight, after the crucifixion of Jesus.

In a time when it would have been the riskiest for him to do so, the Spirit pushes him to the seat of power to ask for the body of Jesus.

He puts his own life on the line for the sake of the Kingdom of God.

In the midst of all that seems impossible, Come Holy Spirit!

Come and blow your life-giving breath among our communities once again!

Come and breathe into our lives so that we might see Your Kingdom.

Come Holy Spirit!

Cleanse us of all within us that keeps others from breathing.

Cleanse us of all that has kept us from experiencing your life.

Burn away the sins of racism.

Melt away our tendency to put profits over people.

Come Spirit and help us to see things in their proper light.

Help us to see ourselves in our proper light.

Help us to see our neighbors in their proper light.

Your light.

Your life-giving, life-sustaining, cup-runneth-over, abundant love for all light.

Empower us to be your church.

Not in a building, but right where we are… in our homes, our neighborhood, our work, our world.

Come Holy Spirit and help us to set this world on fire once again with love and grace and mercy and kindness and forgiveness.

Let’s pray…

Spirit of God may we breathe in and hold your love within us.

May we breathe out and share it with the world.

Spirit of God may we breathe in and hold your peace within us.

May we breathe out and share it with the world.

Spirit of God may we breathe in and hold your life within us.

May we breathe out and share it with the world. (Christine Sine)

Lamentations and Investments

Posted on July 10, 2016Leave a comment

I must confess it was difficult to pick just one passage from Jeremiah and in the light of the events of this week, I wasn’t sure that I picked the right one.

I wondered if I should have chosen from Jeremiah 8 and 9:

Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there? Why then are my people not been not been restored to health? If only my head were a spring of water and my eyes a fountain of tears, I would weep day and night for the wounds of my people.

Or maybe Jeremiah 31:

A voice is heard in Ramah, weeping and waiting. It’s Rachel crying for her children; she refuses to be consoled, because her children are no more.

And I find it so hard to get back up in this pulpit every week with some new tragedy or terror that must be addressed. But we have to do so.

We have to speak about the pain and suffering and loss of this world. To not turn to our scriptures and prayer and ask where God is in the midst of what is happening would be irresponsible. It is what we should do every moment of every day… and if I can’t model that for you on Sunday mornings, then I’m not doing my job.

It pains me that a world that is so connected… 24/7… on every device at our fingertips… can be so divided and at war with itself.

I look around and see so much anger and hurt. Here in the United States and all across this world.

#bluelives #blacklives #Muslimlives friends, they all matter. We all matter. It’s not an either/or. It’s a both/and.

And yet we take the pain and hurt and anger we feel and turn it back against one another for not being “on our side.”

There is only one side for us to be on. The side of life and hope and peace.

It often feels like we are living in the worst times of human history. Like things have never been this bad.

I could quote statistics about how violence… especially deadly violence is down in many different categories across this world. That seems hard to believe, but its true. But you know what… that seems to trivialize the pain that every death, every particular death carries in this day and age where we collectively witness and experience them.

I am in grateful to be preaching from Jeremiah this week because he lived in what the Jewish Study Bible calls “the most crucial and terrifying periods in the history of the Jewish people in biblical times: the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple of Solomon… [he] grappled with the theological problems posed by the destruction of the nation, and who laid the foundations for the restoration of Jerusalem and the Temple in the years following the end of the exile. In the course of his struggles to understand the tragic events of his lifetime, he tells the reader more about himself than any other prophet, including his anguish and empathy at the suffering of his people, his outrage at God for forcing him to speak such terrible words of judgment against his own nation, and his firm belief that the people of Israel would return to their land and rebuild Jerusalem once the period of punishment was over.” (p917)

It is strange to say that I feel like I’m living the lives of these prophets this summer, but maybe that’s what happens when you spend time in the scriptures.

So I’m feeling Jeremiah’s anguish and empathy when I look out at you… when I scroll through my facebook feed… when I turn on the news and see the heartbreak and frustration and hopelessness of so many people… in Baghdad, in Medina, in Baton Rouge, in St. Paul, in Dallas…

And I, too, have been crying out to God asking “How long… how long will you let us turn against one another before you come and do something to fix this?”

Jeremiah turned all of the grief of his people into laments to God… he cried out to God and I think it is appropriate on a day like this, in a time like this for us to do so. For us to lament and grieve…

And so I want to invite you into a time of lament with me. And together we will sing a response that is familiar to many… Oh – Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.

O Holy God, we have come here this morning from many places,

From east and west, north and south,

From pain and disillusionment,

From anger and confusion,

From grief and sadness,

Looking for hope.

We come together for one thing only:

To raise our hearts and voices and very bodies to God,

In the hope that the very act of raising them in lament yet in faith,

We might know the transforming and surpassing power of your love.

Oh Holy God, hear us as we cry out to you. Our pain is more than we can bear alone.

Response: Oh— Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.

Unable to forget the violence and the loss of this past week, we cry…

Mourning the loss of the innocent, we cry…

Looking for justice where none seems possible, we cry…

Outraged by the actions of those who should have known better, we cry…

Lost, looking for your guidance and direction, we cry…

Weeping with families whose loved ones will never return home, we cry…

Standing with all of those who have sworn to protect us and who gave their lives, we cry…

Desperate for the courage to speak out against racism, injustice, and oppression, we cry…

Wanting to put all this behind us and live in wholeness, we cry…

Looking for the peacemakers, we cry…

( Liturgy of Lament for the Broken Body of Christ, adapted https://www.futurechurch.org/sites/default/files/Liturgy-plan.pdf)

O God, in mystery and silence you are present in our lives,

Bringing new life out of destruction, hope out of despair, growth out of difficulty.

We thank you that you do not leave us alone but labor to make us whole.

Help us to perceive your unseen hand in the unfolding of our lives,

And to attend to the gentle guidance of your Spirit,

That we may know the joy you give your people. Amen. (Ruth Duck, BOW 464)

Friends, we cry out “How Long…”

But I think the reminder of our scripture for this morning is that God turns that “how long” back on us.

And God is asking… what are you going to do, today, to be the answer?

How are you going to be a witness, an example, a living testimony of the firm belief that though this time is painful and brutal that YOU are on the side of life and hope and peace?

How are you going to personally invest in the future you pray for?

Jeremiah found himself in precisely that situation. As he was proclaiming the destruction of the land he loved… even as he was imprisoned by the very king he was trying to get to act differently… God asked him from his jail cell to buy a plot of land as an investment in the future of the land. As a reminder that “houses, fields, and vineyards will again be bought in this land.”

The armies are at literally at the gates of the city. The siege has started. And Jeremiah is buying property.

He was investing in the future he so fervently prayed for and so firmly believed in.

I’m tired of the loss of life in our world.

Thoughts and prayers are not enough.

We have to start investing in the future we long for.

We have to figure out what it means to “buy a plot of land” today.

And I think there are a few concrete things we can do, today, to invest in God’s future.

First, we have to invest in relationships with people who don’t look like us.

My friend, Jim, and his wife, Lori, have a son who is seven years old. His name is Teddy. And because he is adopted, his skin doesn’t look the same as that of his parents.

Jim wrote to me, “I’m keenly aware that I didn’t really ‘get it’ until I was invested in the life of my son; and all of the fear and trepidation I feel for him as he starts growing up to be a young black man in America. So I know that compassion and grace towards those who don’t ‘get it’ is necessary because I was one of them in the past.”

The only way that we can ever start to live into a future of peace is to actually cross the street and talk with our neighbors who are people of color or Muslim or police officers or elderly or of a different political party.

We have to invest in personal relationships with people who are not the same as us.

Second, we have to practice humility.

We are not better than anyone else. We are not perfect. We don’t have all of the answers. And we need to create space for others to teach us, for others to lead us, for others to speak.

And part of that means that we need to look at all of the ways in which dominate conversations or perspectives and we need to step back and listen.

This past week, as the holy month of Ramadan was ending for our Muslim brothers and sisters, a bomb went off in the heart of one of their holy cities. And we barely noticed.

We can be so focused on our own lives and our own experiences that we do not stop to let go of ourselves and make room for the pain and grief of others.

Third, we need to speak the truth in love.

The first part of that is that we have to tell the truth.

We have to stop spreading rumors or hyperbole. And we need to take a moment and pause and ask about the source and if it is trustworthy. We have to take a breath.

But, we cannot be afraid to speak the truth when it is in front of us. We have to name injustice. The only way that evil is overcome is when it is brought into the light for all to see. So we cannot be afraid to name it. To speak it. To see it.

And we can do so in love.

We can disagree.

We can speak the truth and invite conversation and dialogue.

We can do so with our feet in protest non-violently.

But we should never resort to demonizing or attacking other people because of what they believe.

We have to start investing in the future we long for.

We have to invest in living differently in this world.

Just a few minutes ago, in the prayer I prayed that:

We come together for one thing only:

To raise our hearts and voices and very bodies to God,

In the hope that the very act of raising them in lament yet in faith,

We might know the transforming and surpassing power of your love.

And so I want to invite you in to a prayer with your whole body as we invest in the future God hopes for us:

Touch your forehead:

Put on the mind of Christ, a spirit of humility, encouragement, unity, and love.

Touch your ears:

That in the cries of the oppressed and grieving you may hear God calling you to another way.

Touch your eyes:

Darkened by tears, unable to see past privilege and power, blinded by hatred, that they may be brightened in the light of Christ.

Touch your lips:

Silenced by fear and the shock of news, that you might respond to the word of God and speak justice and truth in love.

Touch your heart:

Broken in pain and uncertainty, disappointment and grief, that Christ may dwell there by faith.

Touch your shoulder:

Weighted and heavy with sadness and sorrow, that your burden be eased in the gentle yoke of Jesus.

Touch your hands:

Wrung in anger and despair, that Christ may be known in the lives you touch.

Touch your feet:

That you may stand firm in faith and hope, and walk in the way of Christ.

( Liturgy of Lament for the Broken Body of Christ, adapted https://www.futurechurch.org/sites/default/files/Liturgy-plan.pdf)

Untitled

Posted on May 17, 2016Leave a comment

Some highlights from today…

Let your light shine: Four Areas of Focus

Celebrating 150 years of United Methodist Women

#blacklivesmatter, intersectionality, protest

Gender Justice! Such an important amendment ehen so many places where our church exists do not value the lives of women and girls.

Creating a culture of call: start asking at a young age... What are you called to?

Two Texts: Privilege and the Beloved Community

Posted on August 30, 20152 Comments

In my life, I have been pulled over by a police officer perhaps half a dozen times. One was for a broken taillight and the rest were for speeding.

Every single time, my heart rate rose and my palms got sweaty. I was nervous. I felt guilty. I knew I was in trouble.

But never, ever, did I fear for my life during a traffic stop.

Never have I ever felt unsafe in the presence of an authority figure.

And never, after one of those stops, have I received a ticket.

Contrast my story with that of a woman named Sandra Bland, who was pulled over for failing to signal a lane change on July 10 this summer.

Maybe her palms got sweaty. Maybe her heart rate started to rise. Maybe she was nervous or had feelings of guilt. Maybe she knew she was in trouble.

Maybe she feared for her life.

Maybe she felt unsafe in the presence of an authority figure.

Maybe her fight or flight instinct kicked in.

As the conversation between her and the officer escalated, Sandra Bland was arrested.

Will you pray with me.

Gracious God, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts and minds be holy and pleasing to you, O God, our Rock and our Redeemer.

Three days after Sandra Bland was pulled over for failing to signal when she changed lanes, she was found dead in her jail cell.

It was my first day back in the office after my renewal leave, and I decided that morning that I wanted to do this series in worship.

Because we live in world where I, a white woman, am pulled over for speeding and I am sent on my way without a ticket, and where another person, an African-American woman, is pulled over and ends up dead.

Maybe she took her own life. Maybe she was murdered.

I honestly have no idea. And I’m not sure that it matters, because either way, the result is the loss of her life.

And to be honest, I can’t know the heart of the arresting officer to know if he treated her differently based on the color of her skin.

The problem is, I have heard her story too many times.

In November of last year, Bishop Julius Calvin Trimble, our bishop, shared his story as part of lecture at Cornell College:

In 1974, when I was a second year college student, I, along with my younger brother James, went to visit our older brother in California. He lived near Palo Alto, California and was working for Hewlett Packard as a computer engineer. While traveling to his apartment in his Volkswagen Beetle we were stopped by police who questioned my brother and asked for license and registration. Even though he produced his license, registration and work identification we were still told to exit the car with hands up. Additional squad cars arrived and with guns drawn on them, three young African American men were handcuffed and taken to jail. We remained handcuffed for about 45 minutes and were then released after being told that my brother’s car was not stolen but we looked out of place and suspicious driving in that community. My older brother, John, now a college professor, was, at the time of the incident, a graduate of Northwestern University and Stanford University. 1974 was a long time ago, but thousands of African Americans have similar stories. A recent CNN special highlighted one college student in New York who had been stooped and frisked over 100 times. (http://iowabeencouraged.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2015-01-06T11:01:00-06:00&max-results=1&start=6&by-date=false)

What I do know is that this is not the regular experience of my white brothers and sisters.

What I do know is that this is not about conflict between African Americans and police officers. That might be one facet or symptom of what is going on, but that’s not what this is about.

We, all of us, have stopped seeing the image of God in the eyes of another person.

We have become comfortable in our own stories and situations, in our own class or race or gender, and we have stopped reaching beyond them to be in real relationship with other people.

We have started to believe that their lives don’t matter to us.

Perhaps Jesus saw this happening around him when he told a story to a man who would have been his disciple:

There was once a man traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. On the way he was attacked by robbers. They took his clothes, beat him up, and went off leaving him half-dead. Luckily, a priest was on his way down the same road, but when he saw him he angled across to the other side. Then a Levite religious man showed up; he also avoided the injured man.

A Samaritan traveling the road came on him. When he saw the man’s condition, his heart went out to him. He gave him first aid, disinfecting and bandaging his wounds. Then he lifted him onto his donkey, led him to an inn, and made him comfortable. In the morning he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take good care of him. If it costs any more, put it on my bill—I’ll pay you on my way back.’ (Luke 10:30-35, MSG)

The priest decided that the life of this man didn’t matter.

He responsibilities to attend to and couldn’t defile himself.

The Levite decided that the life of this man didn’t matter.

He had an image to maintain.

They had other things to worry about.

They were special.

They were different.

And that man didn’t matter.

The Samaritans were mixed race people who were often thought of as lesser than their Jewish cousins. He would have been bound by the same rules as the priest and Levite when it came to touching a bleeding, dying man.

Yet the Samaritan stopped.

The Samaritan believed that this life… that every life… holds the image of God and is of sacred worth.

The Samaritan went out of their way to show love and care and mercy towards this person.

Privilege can be defined as a right, immunity or benefit enjoyed by someone beyond the advantages of most.

It can be defined as the position someone holds that exempts them from burdens or problems.

Privilege is always social. It describes our relationship to other people and how we are either the beneficiaries of that position, or we are the group that privileged status is being compared to.

Religious Privilege is being a Priest or a Levite instead of a Samaritan and feeling like you are immune from having to stop and check on the welfare of another human being.

Male Privilege is making 17% more money working the same job than your female counterparts.

Class Privilege is being able to choose to eat healthy food if you want, because you live in a neighborhood with grocery stores or you own transportation to get you there and back.

Ability Privilege means that as a healthy person, you don’t have to think about your daily pain level when planning activities and events.

Racial Privilege is getting a cut, opening the first aid kit, and the flesh-colored band-aid matches your skin tone.

And what we discover in this world is that we are never simply one of these things.

Some of us experience multiple advantages and privileges based upon who we are.

Some of us experience a mixture of them all.

Some of us find ourselves at the intersection of multiple social disadvantages and burdens.

Our world today is not the Beloved Community envisioned by Dr. King or the Kingdom of God lifted up by Jesus and described by Paul.

It is not a place where Jewish and Palestinian kids can go to school in peace.

It is not a world where transgender women and straight women experience the same judicial system.

This is not a country where black boys and white girls will grow up with the same opportunities.

And the biggest problem is that we who experience the advantages often don’t even realize the privileges we hold.

We are so caught up in our own experiences that we don’t see that of others.

Just this last week, I got an email from our Commission on Persons with Disabilities in our annual conference. In the process of planning annual conference worship, I tried hard to include people who spoke various languages, genders, ages, ethnicities… and the email was a gentle reminder that no one who led worship had a physical disability.

Privilege is looking up at the stage at annual conference or up in the front during worship and knowing that the person who is there looks or talks like you.

I know how important that is, because I remember when I looked up at the stage and saw a woman preaching and I thought… I could do this.

Yet, because of my social location, providing that same opportunity to someone who was differently abled didn’t even cross my mind.

But it does now.

In our video this morning, Bishop Warner Brown, the President of our Council of Bishops tells us that:

Hope occurs in the places where we meet people. It involves where people live, where they work, where they face the challenges of life.

Hope occurs in the places where we meet people who don’t look or talk or move like us.

Hope occurs when we let love and not fear rule our actions.

Hope occurs when we cross over the road to where we see someone who is at a disadvantage – whether they have been injured or oppressed or are struggling or are behind – and we stop to see the image of God in them.

Hope occurs when we shed our own privilege and step out of our comfort zones to meet someone where they are.

Hope occurs when we listen more than we speak about our life experiences.

As we hear in 1 John, chapter 4:

This is love… not that we loved God, but that God loved us and sent his son to sacrifice his life for us.

And if God loves us in this way… so we should love one another in this way.

Love without fear.

Love without privilege.

Love without question.

Love.

How long?

Posted on July 2, 2015Leave a comment

As I have sat each morning with my daily devotions it is wonderful to be immersed in one psalm for the entire week.

What I find is that each day as I read it, a different verse or sentiment speaks to my soul.

These past two weeks have included hopeful laments… the cries of the psalmist that are answered by the end of the lines with trust, joy, and the promises of God. They are the cries of people who have been broken down but refuse to give in. The cries of people holding on to their faith in spite of everything that would take it away.

Today, after learning that yet another black church has been destroyed by arson, I read Psalm 4, hearing the pleas of my brothers and sisters in faith who are under attack.

Some are citing statistics that show this might not be a new pattern at all… that we are simply paying attention in a targeted way.

But such explaining away does not eliminate the need to ask the question #whoisburningblackchurches ?

I read the psalm this morning and imagined the brick and mortar of churches crying out for people like me to pay attention.

Answer us when we cry out, our righteous God!

Set our churches free from those who set fire to our sanctuaries!

Have mercy on us!

Listen to our prayers!

How long, fellow brothers and sisters in Christ…

How long, national media…

How long, people everywhere…

How long, will our reputation be insulted and our cries go unnoticed?

How long, society, will you continue to love what has no worth and go after lies, with trending hashtags about our age and sports figures and facebook and pinterest posts about the most amazing diet smoothie recipe and how you, too, can make money at home.

Know this: the Lord takes personal care of the faithful.

The Lord hears our churches crying out!

So be afraid. Be afraid next time you decide it would be funny to play with matches next to that old church building. Be afraid next time you let your hatred spill over to action. Be afraid next time you stand by and do nothing while the churches burn. Stop destroying the sanctuaries of our people!

Think hard about it while you sleep and weep over the hatred or indifference or foolishness in your heart.

Confess. Repent. The sacrifice acceptable to God is a contrite heart. Trust the Lord!

All around, people are saying,

“We can’t find a drop of goodness in this world.

God is dead.

There is no justice or hope or life to be found.”

But in spite of the persecution… even as our buildings smolder, even as we lay our dead into the ground, we find strength and joy in the Lord.

As our sister, Bree Newsome reflects, “I refuse to be ruled by fear.”

So we will welcome people to our prayer meetings and worship and we will close the buildings for the evening with peaceful hearts, because you alone, O Lord, are the source of safety. By your grace, we live.

Lord, have mercy.