|
The events of the past week in Charleston, SC have shocked all of us. How could it happen? How could it happen in a church? Will there ever be an end to the hate some people have for others? It’s appalling, distressing, numbing. And it begs the question, what can we do?
We can mourn Cynthia Hurd and Susie Jackson and Ethel Lance and the Rev. DePayne Middleton-Doctor and the Honorable Rev. Clementa Pinckney and Tywanza Sanders and the Rev. Daniel Simmons Sr and the Rev. Sharonda Singleton and Myra Thompson. God be with their families and friends and our country as we all walk through the valley of the shadow of death.
But there needs to be more. As President Obama said, “I’ve had to make statements like this too many times. Communities like this have had to endure tragedies like this too many times…” He invoked Martin Luther King’s words when four little girls were killed in a Birmingham, AL church over 50 years ago.
““They say to each of us,” Dr. King said, “black and white alike, that we must substitute courage for caution. They say to us that we must be concerned not merely with [about] who murdered them, but about the system, the way of life, the philosophy which produced the murderers. Their death says to us that we must work passionately and unrelentingly for the realization of the American Dream.
“And if [we] will hold on, [we] will discover that God walks with [us], and that God is able to lift [us] from the fatigue of despair to the buoyancy of hope, and transform dark and desolate valleys into sunlit paths of inner peace.”
King was right then. And unfortunately, his words are just as appropriate today as well. You see, the young man who shot all those people wasn’t born hating. He had to be taught. Someone, somewhere, fed him lines of hate. Nurtured them. And they grew. Those voices outweighed the voices of acceptance, of love, in his mind. And that, I think, makes us all culpable. We can’t say, “Oh, it’s the south.” We can’t just say, “It would never happen here.” We, the collective we, don’t speak loud enough. We allow systems and ways of life and philosophies to insidiously undergird prejudicial thinking. We have not as a country put our foot down, and said “enough.” How sad that we have to have a movement stating that “black lives matter.” Shouldn’t it be a given?
So where do we turn? What do we do? I turn to scripture, to the story of God with us. And the selected readings for the day are amazingly relevant. The story of David and Goliath is a favorite children’s story. The small boy defeats the huge man. The shepherd armed only with a sling kills the great warrior. In a world where might usually wins, where the biggest and badest usually get their way, where faith and trust and naïve are often mocked and scorned, the story of David and Goliath makes us feel good. It gives us hope that in the end, right wins, size doesn’t matter, and a passion for God can conquer all.
As Susan Burt crystalizes this passage for Seasons of the Spirit, “David shows up, risks, and unapologetically stands in his confidence of his relationship with God.” And better yet, he is the victor!
Today I see Goliath as racial hatred. He’s had a lot of years to grow big and strong. He has armed himself heavily and can even disguise who he is. He laughs at how disorganized the rest of us are. He delights in our fear to meet him face to face. He becomes bold in his derision. “Who will fight me? Who can possibly defeat me? Who even dares?” He roars.
We are called to be David. To show up on the battlefield to see the situation for ourselves. To be incensed by Goliath’s foul words and actions. To fight with our own strengths—not weighed down by what others say we need. Doing all this because of our passion for God, and our love for God.
I know the reality is that we are less often like David, and more often like those disciples in the boat, frightened, unsure of what to do, waking up Jesus in a panic. “Save us, Lord.” And maybe only the grace of God can save us from ourselves. Maybe only when “Peace, Be Still” comes from the heavens will people stop trying to climb over one another, oppress one another, kill one another. But Jesus’ exasperated question, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” makes me think we are not to wait until God fixes problems of our own making.
Last week we spoke about the Kingdom of God being like mustard, a weed—that once planted it’s hard to root out, and will eventually spread everywhere. I love that image. And it was reassuring, all we need to do is spread the seed, and God will do the rest. Today I want to rethink what spreading the seed might look like.
When we talk about the Good News of the Gospel, we often talk about God’s love for everyone. For God so loved the world… That we all are God’s children. And we talk about following the Golden Rule, and being a good person in our own circle, our own private, little, space. I’m not sure what Jesus would say about this “tame faith.” Yes, we here at United help fed the hungry, and house the homeless, and send money to support those in distress, and try to provide help to those closer to home—all good things. But how often does our faith ask us to step out of our comfort zone? To risk something? How often do we follow in David’s footsteps in acting out our passion for God.
Let’s start in the personal arena. David talks to those in the Israelite camp, including his brothers, saying “Don’t you hear what Goliath is saying? No one can make fun of our God like that?” David engages those around him. He doesn’t stay silent. We too need to be courageous enough to stamp on hatred wherever it rears its ugly head. We could take the MTA motto for our own, “If you see/hear something, say something!” This may make those who we know uncomfortable, even angry. Are we willing to be like David?
And more publically? What is the equivalent of David’s going out to battle? I’m not sure, but we need not go alone. We can band together. Whether it be in a vigil. Or holding hands and singing “we shall overcome.” Or lighting candles of hope and defiance. Or marching together. Or insisting on changes to patterns long held. Or being vigilant—for the news will move on to other things, and this Goliath will remain.
David was able to slay Goliath. With a single shot to the head. Maybe that’s one reason we like the story so much. It has a nice, neat ending. Our story is more complicated. Our Goliath is more difficult to spot, and more numerous. The battle has been going on for many years, and will continue for many more. But that is where faith comes in.
--For we believe that the Kingdom of God is near. ---We believe that there will be a day when “God will wipe every tear from our eyes. Death will be no more. Mourning and crying and pain will be no more” (Rev. 21:4)
--We believe that Resurrection power will triumph over every evil.
--We believe that one day “justice will roll down like waters, and righteousness like an everflowing stream.” (Amos 5:24)
--We hold onto the hope, in the words spoken first by Theodore Parker, a Unitarian minister and abolitionist, and made unforgettable by the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. more than a century later: “the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”
May this horrible tragedy, along with the weight of all the others before it, spur us to greater action.
May we show up in the battlefields of our political arenas, of our community settings, of our daily lives—ready to listen, ready to do what needs to be done, ready to be in it for the long haul.
May we be willing to stand up and speak out publically for our personal ideals, and for God’s vision for our world.
May we be unapologetic in our defense of our God and what that God has taught us about life and love.
And may we never forget that the God we know as Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer will be on our right and our left, before and behind, around and within, leading us and our world toward a time when perfect love shall reign.
Until that time,
May we remain faithful, together
May it be so
Alleluia, Amen.
|
