Month: June 2020

May the Force…uh…Not be with You?

From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and the violent take it by force – Matthew 11:12 NRSV

I love Star Wars.  It’s been a part of my life since I was nine.  As a kid, I loved it for the light sabers, lasers, and quirky space characters.  As the years have rolled by, I’ve loved it for its decades’ long exposition of the battle between light and darkness, the downright biblical struggle of ordinary people fighting the forces of empire.  Star Wars has made more than a few appearances in my sermons over the years, and I have often compared the Way of Jesus to the Rebel Alliance. 

But I’m starting to realize I need to be careful there.  The comparison is a good one insofar as it reminds us that in a world full of imperialists, we need rebels to stand up for what’s right and present the option of another way.  But it’s not so good in terms of the way the rebels of Star Wars do that.  The rebels in Star Wars, you see, are violent.  You might say they are ‘forceful.’  The ‘god’ of the Star Wars universe is called, appropriately enough, ‘the Force.’  The rebels use ‘the Force,’ violently, just as they instinctively use other less mystical forms of violence to achieve their ends.  In doing so, they wind up fighting, at least to some degree, on the empire’s terms. 

That seems to work in the Star Wars universe.  But I’m beginning to see that it doesn’t work so well in the real world. 

Let me explain.

The forceful tend to have their way in our world.  Selfish men and women have used their power to construct a society that preserves their interests at the expense of the interests of others.  This typically means that the wealthy, the powerful, and the privileged are the ones who benefit from the way a society is organized.  This is true in all societies, even in supposedly democratic ones.  As a friend commented the other day, when we rail against the violence, corruption, and injustice inherent in our systems, we need to bear in mind that the problem with those systems isn’t that they are broken.  The problem is that they are working fine.  They are achieving exactly what they were designed to do. 

Take the present political scene as an example.  For years, many, myself included, have railed against an administration straight out of the Star Wars universe.  Our Palpatine may have orange hair, and his apprentice may not wear a black helmet, but the similarities are nonetheless present.  Day after day, we ‘rebels’ have imagined ourselves following in the footsteps of our Star Wars heroes, battling an administration that is undermining democratic principles and thrusting the nation in the direction of dictatorship.  Our tactics don’t involve lasers and light sabers, but we are fighting the battle on the enemy’s terms, that is, by means of power politics. 

And it isn’t working. 

Our enemies are simply too good at what they do.  They know how to use the systems they created.  And so, as we fight against them on their own turf, using their own means, we find ourselves losing.  I would go so far as to say that in the present crisis, we may have already lost.  Many of us have pinned our hopes on the 2020 election in the effort to rid the ‘galaxy’ of its current emperor. But I have become convinced that for all the rightness of our cause, we may in the end still come out on the losing side. The emperor, despite our best efforts and current polling, stands a good chance of being re-elected.  Indeed I believe that’s likely. Why?  Because the system has been rigged by the violent, and violent men and women know how win by force. Sure, I hope I’m wrong. But you have to admit, it’s at least a distinct possibility.

Which leads me to believe there must be a better way.

And that takes me to Jesus. 

Jesus had a different approach.  Instead of battling the kingdoms of the forceful by using their means, he wrote a new script for insurrection.  He eschewed, not just violence, but all tactics of the imperialists.  He created an alternative community and called it to live at the heart of the empire.  His followers, he envisioned, would follow in his steps.  They would not seek political power.  Their movement would be ‘political‘ in the sense that it would challenge the current order, but it would not be political in the sense the imperialists used that word. They would not fight on the enemy’s terms.  They would love, sacrifice, and serve.  They would do these things even as the empire attacked them, even as it killed them.  Living this way, God’s way, they would offer the world another path.  This would be the way to bring in God’s Kingdom.  This, in fact, would be God’s Kingdom.

A movie series about such a rebellion taking place a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away probably wouldn’t sell as many tickets as the Skywalker saga.  But here’s the thing: in the real world, this form of rebellion actually works.  We know this because God’s word tells us so.  One day, when history draws to a close, it will be those who participated in this rebellion who will be hailed, alongside of Jesus, as the world’s true heroes (see, e.g., Revelation 7:9-17). 

I’ve been thinking about this kind of thing a lot lately.  In a time when evil politicians plot and scheme, my forty plus years of immersion in the Star Wars universe makes me want to fight.  I read the news.  I see the cruel, foolish, life-endangering acts of the imperialists, and my heart and soul cries to unite with Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Leia Organa, and Rey Skywalker (nee Palpatine).  And while I do not turn to physical violence, the alignment of my heart to fight on the empire’s terms does spiritual violence to my soul.  I become angry, to the point of coming close to forsaking the call to love my enemies and follow Jesus’ path of downward mobility.  I am tempted to align myself with those who can take power and change the world from the top down, instead of from the bottom up.  And while I convince myself that I am fighting the good fight, I neglect the subtle danger that comes with aligning oneself with another, more benign version of empire, another attempt to establish a kingdom by force. 

And that is not Jesus’ way.

Don’t get me wrong.  It’s not that those who follow Jesus’ way need to be silent doormats who say nothing while the imperialists cause them harm, or worse, say nothing while they hurt and harm others.  And it isn’t that we should refrain from taking sides in the struggle for justice (a tactic only the privileged can afford to take). That isn’t Jesus’ way either.  It is incumbent upon us to speak truth to power, challenge the empire, and present alternative ways of living.  It is incumbent upon us to demonstrate, in word and deed, the truth of Jesus’ Kingdom. 

But I, we, need to be careful of what we allow into our hearts.  We need to be careful lest we begin a journey that employs force instead of love, plays into the enemy’s hands, and forsakes the winning way of Jesus. 

And so, today, I’m committing myself anew to the rebellion of Jesus.  The rebellion of love.  And I’m praying and thinking hard about how to best do that.  If you are interested in making the same commitment, I’d love to hear from you.  Perhaps together we can find our way, which is and always must be the way of Jesus.    

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

White America – This is on Us

‘I can’t breathe.  And you still can’t hear me’ – Nick Cannon

‘A riot is the language of the unheard’ – The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

The riots.  They started because of what happened to George Floyd.  A 46-year-old African American man murdered facedown with a white police officer’s knee on his neck. 

No.  That’s wrong.  They didn’t begin there.  That was just the most recent catalyst.  The riots began, perhaps, with Ahmaud Arbery, gunned down by two white vigilantes guarding a construction site. 

Or did it begin with Michael Brown?  Or Freddie Gray.  Or maybe Eric Garner.  Or Trayvon Martin.  Or maybe we need to go back even further.  Maybe it was Rodney King. 

Or maybe it was even before that. 

Just when did the violence begin?

It began with America. 

Despite what you may have been indoctrinated to believe, our conception as a nation was steeped as much in violence, racism, and genocide as it was in liberty.  Liberty was for the property-owning white man.  Brutality, slavery, and slaughter were the lot of African Americans, Native Americans, and other people of color.    This is how our nation began.  You might say that was a long time ago, but here’s the problem: this is how we began, and we have never come to terms with it as a nation.

Instead, we have re-imagined violence and racism against people of color in every generation.  We could talk about how this has affected various peoples, but for our present purposes we will focus on the effect on Black lives.  Slavery ends.  The Black Codes come into being.  Then Sharecropping.  Lynching.  Segregation.  White flight.  Mass Incarceration.  Unequal School funding.  Police brutality.  Each, along with thousands of others, an act of mass violence against people of color.  And all the while, the African American community has cried out.  They have marched peaceably.  They have shouted for our attention.  They have begged us to listen to their pain.  They have cried, over and over, that their lives matter.  That they can’t breathe.  That they need us to stop putting our knees on their necks. 

And how have we responded?  Well, some have listened.  Even acted.  But most have not.  And even those who have acted have not done enough.  Overall, the response has been one of dismissal, outrage, or perhaps worst of all, silence.  When African Americans cry, ‘Black Lives Matter,’ we dismissively say, ‘All Lives Matter,’ which is of course a lie unless and until Black Lives Matter.  When Colin Kaepernick peacefully took a knee on the sideline during the playing of the national anthem to protest the lack of value for Black Life, the response of white America was largely one of outrage.  How dare he?  He and the others he inspired were told to ‘shut up and play football.’  The President of the United States called him a ‘son of a bitch’ and demanded that the NFL stop the protests, which they did.  And worst of all, as story after story of brutality committed against unarmed blacks mounted, what did most of white America do?  Nothing.  We were silent.  Either because we didn’t care, or we were too afraid to disturb the serenity of our privileged lives and relationships.  Don’t say anything in church; we wouldn’t want to offend anyone.  Don’t confront your racist family members; we need to maintain harmony.  Don’t speak up in mixed political company; we need to avoid uncomfortable conversations.  Better to keep your mouth shut.  Better to turn off the sounds and cries of the hurting Black community and pretend that everything is OK. 

And then, when we have thoroughly ignored those cries, when we have expressed outrage or otherwise dismissed the concerns of hurting people, when we have allowed the collective weight of four hundred years of oppression to bear down on people’s necks until they can’t breathe any longer, and when SOME protestors (and please note that – MOST of the protests have been peaceful) decide that peaceful protest is not enough to make people pay attention, and resort to violence and rioting, what do we do?  We act surprised.  Quite frankly, the only thing we should be surprised about is the remarkable level of restraint exercised by the African American community throughout our history.  I bet you anything that if white people were treated a hundredth as bad for a mere three weeks, we would be rioting en masse. 

The rioting we see on the news right now is the inevitable result of our history, our hatred, our callousness, and our silence.  The riots, my white American friends, are on us.  Martin Luther King, who denounced riots that were taking place in his day, said this:

‘It is not enough for me to stand before you tonight and condemn riots.  It would be morally irresponsible for me to do that without, at the same time, condemning the contingent, intolerable conditions that exist in our society.  These conditions are the things that cause individuals to feel they have no alternative than to engage in violent rebellions to get attention.  And I must say tonight that a riot is the language of the unheard.  And what is it America has failed to hear?  It has failed to hear that the plight of the Negro poor has worsened…It has failed to hear that the promises of freedom and justice have not been met.  And it has failed to hear that large segments of white society are more concerned with tranquility and the status quo than about justice and humanity.’

Amen.

I sit at my desk today, typing, and feel those words in my very marrow.  I, like Dr. King, condemn the violence we see in the riots.  Violence is simply not the answer.  As a follower of Jesus, I say with Dr. King that the answers to the problems we face will not be found by employing the tactics of our enemies.   Violence will not cure the violence that has been perpetrated against African Americans and other people of color.  Only love can do that.  That may sound naïve, but I believe it to my core.  I believe it, first, because it is the way of Jesus.  But I also believe it because history has shown that where violence fails, love wins.  Love has the capacity to change the world.  I have written enough of this in other blogs, books, and sermons not to belabor the point, but it is true.  Love works.  Love prevails.  From Calvary to Gandhi to the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s to the present day.  Love advances the Kingdom of Love and Light.  But violence only begets more violence.

Which takes me to last night.  Monday.  June 1, 2020.  A day that one can only hope will represent the low point of this present crisis.  Most of us saw it on the news.  The President, eager for a photo op in front of an historic church, set in motion an event that should shock the collective conscience of the nation, as tear gas and rubber bullets were launched against a group of peaceful protestors outside of the White House.  Worse, he is presently threatening to unleash military hell on protestors throughout the nation.  That the President would do this should come as no surprise.  For one thing, no one in our time serves as a better representative of the hate, callousness, and dismissiveness of the value of Black and Brown life.  This is the man who called Colin Kaepernick a son of a bitch.  This is the man who has sown seeds of hate and violence throughout his presidency (and before that, his candidacy).  This is the man who praised white supremacist protestors as ‘good people,’ who championed armed white fanatics who opposed stay at home orders during the current pandemic, yet immediately labeled those protesting in the wake of George Floyd’s death as ‘thugs.’  But beyond this man’s personal penchant for racial divisiveness, this is what power does.  The power that created this nation in violence is still using violence to maintain its privilege and position.  And, I fear, will continue to do so, using the violence of the oppressed to justify further oppression.  It is a vicious cycle we have seen too many times in this nation.  The white dominant society perpetrates violence (including the violence of silence) against a minority group.  The minority group’s cries go unheard.  Their unheard cries erupt in acts of violence.  The ‘system’ responds brutally.  And then there is a lull.  Until the next time.  Lather.  Rinse.  Repeat.  On and on it goes, and when it will stop, nobody knows. 

But it can stop.  It can stop if we pledge right now to end the violence.  And by this, I mean of course, in part, that those who have resorted to violence to express their pain refrain from further acts of violence.  I know that’s hard and may sound like the voice of a privileged white man, but I say it out of love, as the father of an African American son, and from a sincere desire to make things better – for him and for everyone.  But even more, I mean that those of us who have for too long done nothing to address the violence experienced by the African American community and other communities of color, those of us who have, by our dismissiveness and silence become perpetrators of violence ourselves, do violence no more. 

It is time to end the violence of our history. It is time to end the violence perpetrated against black and brown bodies.  It is time to end the violence of racist, authoritarian leaders at every level of government by voting them out of office.  It is time to work tenaciously for change.  It is time to end the violence of our silence. 

White America, this is on us.  It is up to us to speak up.  To value black life more than our neighborhood tranquility.  To let those we have hurt know that we are sorry, and that we are ready to do something about it.

It is time for all of us to stand up and by our words and actions let everyone know that Black Lives Matter.

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent