racism – pastorsusan

You Are Not the Greatest: Jesus on White Supremacy

“I am not a racist!” That was my response when, many years ago, I was confronted by an African American man who had overheard something I had said. He wasn’t buying any of my impassioned denials. He also wasn’t buying the assurances of my two African American co-workers with whom I’d been having the conversation the man had overheard. I’ll never forget his dismissal of them: “some of us still wear the bandana” (meaning the bandana of slavery). He eventually stopped excoriating me and went on his way, but I was devastated. To this day, I remember the shame I felt that day and for a long time after.

Only in recent years have I understood how misguided my response was in that situation. First, I had to learn that it is nigh unto impossible for any human being to never make a mistake, be it a slip of the tongue, an unconscious faux pas, or even words said in jest or in the heat of an argument. We can – and do – certainly try to avoid these mistakes, but if we’re being completely honest, we must confess that at times we do fail – in all kinds of areas.

In 2015, I wrote a blog post called “I’m About to Offend Somebody” in response to the practice of calling out one another for our slip-ups. I wrote: “Let me just say from the start: I’m a white, Western, able-bodied, straight, cis-gender, Christian, middle-class person of privilege. So, in any expressions of thought or opinion, I’m bound to offend someone. Don’t get me wrong; I’m all for political correctness. But even in my most well-meaning attempts, I sometimes step on a land mine.

“Trouble is, a land mine to one person may not be one to another. Years ago, talking with a gay activist, I said that someone had “his head screwed on straight” and got roundly chastised. Years later, I was (half) jokingly telling some members of my congregation who are gay that I’d been worried about the scripture reading that day where St. Paul visits “a street called Straight.” They thought I was being pretty silly, so I told them the story of the “head on straight” debacle. They thought the activist’s reaction was silly, too. So – who’s right?”

Since then, it’s gotten even more complicated. Our political divide doesn’t help either. We snipe back and forth about “wokeness” and “cancel culture” and unfortunately the sniping isn’t limited to the political divide. It goes on within our own circles, in an oppression Olympics that privileges one’s own oppression over that of another. For example, in a discussion about racism, a friend who is lesbian chafed against being lumped into the category of “white privilege” without a recognition of her own history of marginalization. She’s not against accepting her place of white privilege but would like there to be a better way for us all to talk about these matters.

The second thing I’ve learned is what to do when I do mess up. Back on that day, I failed to admit that I had made an error in judgement. It didn’t matter that my heart was in the right place, or that friends came to my defense, or that I didn’t mean what the man thought I had meant. I have learned that my cry of “But I’m not a racist!” is the all-too-typical White defensive response to being called out for racist behavior, no matter how unintentional. I should have apologized. And not just the non-apology of “I’m sorry if something I said offended you,” but a true acknowledgement of my cluelessness and a heartfelt assurance to do better. Maybe that would have eased the man’s mind. Maybe not. But it would have been the right thing for me to do in any event – which is to learn from a mistake.

If you want to be first, you must be the last one of all and at the service of all

We hear a lot about racism and White privilege these days. We have anti-racism training in our synod, as well as in schools and workplaces. And yet, phrases like “Black Lives Matter,” “white fragility,” “systemic racism,” and “White privilege” continue to cause reactivity and resistance.

So, amidst all our national and personal angst over what some call America’s original sin, I came to our gospel text for this week. And for the first time read the words of Jesus as a word to those of us struggling with our legacy of privileging some groups over others – whether the discrimination against Irish immigrants in the 19^th century or Central American immigrants today. No oppression Olympics here. Jesus said, “”If any of you wants to be first, you must be the last one of all and at the service of all.” He said this because he had discovered the disciples arguing about who among them was the greatest.

And we can laugh at those clueless disciples who just didn’t get Jesus, until we start applying it to our own lives in our own time. I suspect that most of us don’t see ourselves as making claims of greatness, right? We’re the blessed ones in the Beatitudes: the meek, the pure in heart, the peacemakers. Having to recognize how and where we’re privileged puts us on the wrong side of the domination system – which explains our resistance to such language. But Jesus doesn’t let us off the hook. Following Jesus means becoming last. That means we have to search our selves to even recognize where we are first.

For example, no matter what your status is in this country, you are privileged. The current ethical dilemma is whether immunocompetent Americans should get booster shots against COVID, while in some places in the world, such as Ethiopia, the percentage of those vaccinated is under 1%. “If you want to be first, you must be last, and you must be at the service of all” says it pretty clearly. I am not advocating one way or another for getting booster shots; I have to admit that I’m torn myself. But it’s our responsibility to take the words of Jesus seriously and into account as we make our ethical decisions. And maybe taking it out to a global perspective in terms of our privilege as Americans, for example in our use of the world’s resources. According to the Sierra Club, “a child born in the United States will create 13 times as much ecological damage over the course of a lifetime than a child born in Brazil; the average American will drain as many resources as 35 natives of India and consume 53 times more goods and services than someone from China.” That’s privilege.

So, now we might be able to bring it closer to home and see the planks in our eyes when it comes to White privilege and then do something about it, starting from within ourselves. And in no way do I claim that this will be easy. I have been reading an incredibly wonderful book called Dear White Peacemaker: Dismantling Racism with Grit and Grace by Osheta Moore. Moore is an African American woman, pastor of Roots Covenant Church in St. Paul, MN. I love their website where they call themselves “Misfits on a Mission, Finding Identity in Jesus.” If I lived in St. Paul, I would definitely check it out.

What the heck am I supposed to do?
Pastor Moore gets me. I mean she gets White anxiety. She says, “This is not for the faint of heart, Beloved. And still, I believe in you. I know how you feel sometimes. The calls for action are varied and sometimes opposing:

Do your work, White people
Pray for unity, people of God
Defund the Police
Black Lives Matter
Blue Lives Matter
All Lives Matter to God
Show up
Stop centering yourself
Silence is complicity
Speaking up is exerting your privilege
Use this hashtag
Stop using that hash tag

“If there is one question I get with some regularity, it is, ‘What the heck am I supposed to do?'”

I don’t remember how I came across this book, but it’s been a game-changer for me. I confess that I’ve been pretty discouraged with the state of racial discourse, even within the Church. I’ve been reluctant to speak out in some places because I knew I’d be dismissed as a White woman, or worse, as a “Karen” and told to “check my privilege at the door.” And it breaks my heart because I truly have come a long way from that day when I didn’t get what “White privilege” means. But in Dear White Peacemaker, Osheta Moore picked me up, dusted me off, and set me back on the path. And I ‘ve been recommending the book to everybody, recently to a White colleague struggling with a board of directors tussling over racial issues, I commanded: Read this book – now!

Your Name Is Not Racist; It Is Beloved
I won’t read the book to you, although every page is brilliant. She doesn’t negate the pain of racism, nor her own times of anger. But the title of her second chapter tells us where she’s coming from: “Your Name Is Not Racist; It Is Beloved.” The basis of her thinking is the Sermon on the Mount, as she uses it to help us understand our anti-racism activism in light of two themes:
1) the ethics of the Beloved Community, beginning with Jesus’ proclamation of the upside-down social order in the Beatitudes; and 2) how those ethics help us actively dismantle White supremacy culture.

In other words, how we can turn ourselves upside-down, from being (no matter how much we think we’re not) greatest – into the last of all, at the service of all. In the midst of our struggles and strifes with one another, Jesus gives us everything we need to show us the way – together.

I’m listening to this book in the car on Audible, and when I came to her chapter “Confessions of a Judgmental Ally,” I almost had to pull over. Tears formed in my eyes as she read:
“I’ve made assumptions and perpetuated harm to other marginalized groups and individuals, and I’ve been lovingly corrected:

I’ve assumed my gay friends who just got married wanted kids.
I’ve called a person in their fifties a boomer.
I’ve talked about the joys of pregnancy in a room full of women, ignoring the reality that someone may be struggling with infertility.
I’ve asked my sons to help me move furniture and my daughter to clean the kitchen.
I’ve called a Puerto Rican man Mexican. I’ve called a Japanese woman Chinese.
I was surprised when a White-passing woman told me she identifies as Latina.
I’ve used the wrong pronouns when meeting a transgender person.
I’ve called my friend into environmentally safe cleaners, “crunchy.”
I’ve rolled my eyes when told we’re having dinner with vegetarian friends.
I’ve shared grammar memes just to prove I know how to use the word whom correctly.
I’ve celebrated when a prosperity pastor was found having a “moral failure.”

“I’ve been judgmental. I have biases I need to interrogate and undo. I want to be considered an ally to all these people, but I can’t see how their shalom has been violated with my own prejudices in the way.

“The first act of peacemaking is paying attention to my own privilege that often comes in the form of a plank in my eye. I cannot see the suffering of others well as long as it’s securely lodged in there. So I offer myself grace and receive forgiveness. I remember to accept help and guidance from people – even people I would judge, for they have insights and wisdom I will never have. I invite people in to hold me accountable, and I let the Holy Spirit check me when I am tempted to use my privilege to judge instead of seek justice.”

I’m telling you, I would gladly attend an anti-racism training led by this woman! I would say to her, “Challenge me as much as I need to be challenged. Don’t hold back.” I think of the program we tried back in my Buffalo days, when we got folks from white congregations in the suburbs to visit black churches in the city, not just for worship but also to sit down and talk with one another. At the start of the conversation time, a pastor of a suburban church shared his anxiety with me. He said he was afraid he was going to say something that would come out sounding racist.

Well, I would tell that colleague today to come to this anti-racism training because, even if (more like even when) he said something that could be taken as offensive, it would be alright – not that it would get swept under the rug, but that we’d deal with together as members of the Beloved Community. We would each become last in service to the other. And in that way, we would become first in saving our lives and healing our world.

I’m serious about the transformative power of Osheta Moore’s book. I don’t think I’ve ever told the story of my experience back in the day of being called a racist. Until this last week. Being called Beloved by a person of color who has been affected by White supremacy, being called out for things that until I read the book I hadn’t even thought about and being called in to partner in the kin-dom of God, was huge.

I am reminded of one of my favorite bible verses, when in John’s gospel Jesus says, “I am the Vine; you are the branches. Without me, you can do nothing.” The work we do in the world is hard, arguably harder than ever before, with the very life of our planet at stake. Sometimes it feels too overwhelming, and we get discouraged. And then someone comes along and leads us back to Jesus, with whom we can do everything with, as James calls it, wisdom from above: “Wisdom from above has purity as its essence. It shows humility; it works for peace; it’s kind and considerate. It’s full of compassion and shows itself by doing good. Nor is there any trace of partiality or hypocrisy in it. Peacemakers, when they work for peace, sow the seeds which will bear fruit in holiness.”

I found a YouTube video of an interview with Osheta Moore. I love that the interviewer started out by saying, “I’m trying to restrain myself from gushing about this book” and then proceeded to gush about it.

“I totally get it,” I whispered to her. “I totally get it.”

Amen

Mark 9:30-37

According to Jesus, the greatest among us are those committed to service and honoring the least of these. Greatness involves welcoming the children in our midst and giving hospitality to the “nuisances and nobodies” (John Dominic Crossan). It is written . . .

They left that district and began a journey through Galilee, but Jesus did not want anyone to know about it. He was teaching the disciples along these lines: “The Promised One is going to be delivered into the hands of others and will be put to death, but three days later will rise again.” Though they failed to understand these words, they were afraid to question him. They returned home to Capernaum. Once they were inside the house, Jesus began to ask them, “What were you discussing on the way home?”

At this they fell silent, for on the way they had been arguing about who among them was the greatest. So Jesus sat down and called the Twelve over and said, “If any of you wants to be first, you must be the last one of all and at the service of all.”

Then Jesus brought a little child into their midst and, putting his arm around the child, said to them, ”Whoever welcomes a child such as this for my sake welcomes me. And whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the One who sent me.”

A Purple Zone Pastor Sings the Blues in the Green Season of Discipleship

The Yoke of Discipleship
Well, I’m glad to be back in church, at least to lead worship on Zoom from here. One reason I’m happy is that I can wear a stole again. One of the first things I did after you voted to call me as your pastor was haul my box of clergy stoles over here – where, of course, they’ve been languishing for the past three months. Not that I have to have a stole around my shoulders to perform my pastoral duties.

There’s no magic in the strip of cloth pastors receive in ordination. But it is a reminder of the vows I took at ordination, the stole symbolizing the yoke (like you put on a team of animals) that Jesus talked about when he said,
Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

‘Tis the Season – to Be Green
So the stole is a symbol of discipleship. But it doesn’t make me more special than anyone else. In fact, I know a congregation where all the members wear stoles as a sign of each one’s calling as disciples of Jesus. And you know what; I like that idea, especially today as we enter into the very long green season of the Church year. If we were all here in the sanctuary, we would have changed the colors on the altar and lectern to green. The ink on our bulletin inserts would be green. The folder I use for my bulletin and other papers would be green. If we all had stoles, I’d be looking out into a sea of green. But we’re still on Zoom, so this stole is it – on this day when we begin a long stretch of time that focuses on what it means to be a disciple.

Matthew’s gospel names the first twelve to be called. I just read their names. But now, over 2000 years later, we can add each of our names to the list. You (fill in the blank with your name) are a disciple of Jesus, called into ministry with an explicit task. Jesus made it very simple: “Go and tell everyone: the reign of heaven is here.”

Now that might sound easy; it’s only six words. But I’m guessing we’d all feel pretty uncomfortable going up to people and saying, “Hey, guess what; the reign of heaven is here!” Even if you’d use the more traditional ‘kingdom of heaven’ or an even more contemporary version like the ‘commonwealth of heaven’ (my favorite is the Beloved Community), my guess is it wouldn’t make it any easier. Nor should it. I don’t think Jesus ever meant the task of discipleship to be reduced to the recitation of six words. As St. Francis said, “Preach the gospel at all times, and when necessary, use words.” In other words, discipleship is about both walking the walk as well as talking the talk.

Preach the Gospel at All Times,
and When Necessary, Use Words

During this long green season we’ll be hearing teachings from Jesus and pondering how they might apply to us in a very different world than that of the original twelve. Some of these teachings will be very challenging. Easy answers won’t always immediately be in evidence. They are meant to be wrestled with and allowed to seep into our consciousness and into engrained ways of thinking or believing and bringing about some kind of transformation – a shifting in awareness, or thinking, or behavior, or all of the above.

As we enter into the green season, the time of growth in discipleship, we do so at an incredibly challenging time. As if living in a country severely divided by political and cultural identities wasn’t enough, a global pandemic has forced us to rethink how to do work, school, church, and everything else. And if months of that wasn’t enough, we’ve been thrust into a debate on race and the role of police in our communities. On this day when we remember the Emanuel Nine, murdered by an avowed white supremacist, we’re faced with an ever-growing list of people of color killed while in police custody. And if that’s not even enough, just two weeks into Pride Month and on the anniversary of the Pulse nightclub shooting in Orlando, the Department of Health and Human Services announced it would eliminate health care protections for people who are transgender.

Now, if you’re getting either excited or worried that this is going to be a political sermon, it is not – at least not in the sense of taking a position on one side or another. But it is about wrestling with how to be a disciple of Jesus during trying times. You may recall that I’ve been part of an initiative called Hearts Across the Divide: Restoring Civil Discourse in the Bay Area. We’ve had to postpone our first event and have been lying low during the pandemic, that is until the protests after the death of George Floyd. Our planning team decided to have a Zoom meeting to check in on how we’re doing.

The Meltdown
OK, I’m just going to admit it; I had a bit of a meltdown. I reacted to a video clip and a couple of podcasts that one of our members of a different political persuasion than mine had sent to us all. The best way I can describe my reaction is a state of high dudgeon. I looked it up to be sure. Yep, that was it: feeling and usually showing that one is angry or offended. I emailed Judy, my Hearts co-founder a few days later to say I was struggling and we agreed to talk the next day.

In the meantime, I’m reading opinions, articles, blogs, Facebook posts from people on my side of the political spectrum. And I’m getting upset with them! Frankly, I felt like my head was spinning from the rhetoric coming at me from both sides. I could understand why for some people just opting out of the public arena is the only option for staying sane. But then I remembered that discipleship doesn’t offer any outs for proclaiming the Beloved Community – even when it’s hard.

As Judy and I talked on Friday, there was a growing awareness of how language was pushing the divide even further apart. This is the good thing about reading and listening to opinions from the other side. You discover how we define words in completely different ways. I’ll give you an example. When I was working on critiquing the draft of the ELCA social statement on women and justice, our group (and evidently others) recommended that the statement should define and promote the concept of intersectionality, which refers to the ways in which race, class, gender, and other individual characteristics ‘intersect’ with one another and overlap.

For example, I have a friend who was struggling with the concept of white privilege. She is white; she’s also a lesbian. Her argument was that she’d been oppressed, too, for being both female and gay. And she was right. The fact is that we can be privileged in one aspect of our identities and not in another. There is no hierarchy of oppression. Intersectionality can help us avoid that kind of trap.

Imagine my surprise when I read that this is a huge hot button word for conservatives. It’s seen as a new hierarchical system that places non-white, non-heterosexual people at the top, and as a form of feminism that puts a label on you, tells you how oppressed you are, tells you what you’re allowed to say, what you’re allowed to think.

Even more confusing was learning that what’s upsetting them isn’t the theory itself. They largely agree that it accurately describes the way people from different backgrounds encounter the world. But they object to its implications, uses, and, most importantly, its consequences: the upending of racial and cultural hierarchies to create a new one. There’s a perfect example of how two groups of people will hear the same word, even agreeing with some aspects of it, and remain in their divided camps.

When Talking to ________, Don’t Say _____________.
So I went back into my ‘civil discourse’ file to find two publications from the news outlet All Sides:

When Talking to Liberals, Conservatives May Want to Avoid These Terms
When Talking to Conservatives, Liberals, May Want to Avoid These Terms

In each one, they list a word or phrase, then how the other side will hear it, and then other options for what to say. For example:

What is said: “White Privilege”
What is heard: insensitivity to issues white people face
Suggestion: also acknowledge struggling white communities (e.g., opioid crisis, lack of manufacturing jobs and opportunity)

What is said: “All Lives Matter”
What is heard: ignoring of problems people of color face
Suggestion: focus on the basic values of caring for shared basic values of caring for children, communities, and country, without use of any slogans

This has been an education for me. I would not have known that words like communities of color, diversity, environmental justice, being woke, multiculturalism, safe spaces, trigger warnings can be heard in ways that I don’t intend and only stop the conversation and thwart any relationship-building across the divide. On the other hand, I can readily agree that I would have trouble with words like Culture War, War on Christmas, Second Amendment, States’ rights, Climate hoax, deep state.

What Do You Mean When You Say Racism?
One word that Judy and I personally learned has different meanings is racism. We went around and around on this with one of our conservative colleagues for quite a while until we realized we weren’t talking about the same thing. One side sees racism as a systemic reality in which we’re all complicit, while for the other side, it’s a matter of an individual’s behavior. The point of all this is to ask ourselves, if we’re serious about creating the Beloved Community, if we’re serious about All Are Welcome, then how can we avoid stepping on verbal landmines and instead use words that better reach out to those with different political views?

But wait, there’s more! There is also the challenge of maintaining civility with those of the same political views as mine. In some ways, this is harder. For example, the word civility itself has come under attack because it’s defined as ‘being nice.’ I’ve been told that civility is the tool of the oppressor; civility is white supremacy in sheep’s clothing. Yes, it can be, if it means telling the oppressed to ‘be nice.’ But that’s not what we’re talking about. Even the Golden Rule is under attack as a tool of the oppressor. And it’s not cool to be in the ‘purple zone’ (some of you know I’m a fan of Leah Schade’s book, Preaching in the Purple Zone: Ministry in the Red-Blue Divide).

So I find myself in the unenviable position of being at odds with people I don’t agree with politically and with people I do agree with politically. For a while I thought about moving to an ashram on a mountaintop somewhere to spend my days in prayer and meditation. But both Moses and Jesus had to come down from the mountain and get back to the business at hand. For me, that’s the call of discipleship to bring the Beloved Community as near as possible, to the best of my ability. And I tell you all of this, not as a way to continue last week’s meltdown or to air out my dirty laundry or as a plea for sympathy. I tell you because when I read the gospel, the call of the original twelve, I can only fulfill my call in the midst of my daily reality. Same for you.

I was listening to a recording from a Sufi meditation workshop. The teacher spent quite a bit of time at the beginning of the session talking about current events and what our response could be as mystics in the world. One thing he said really landed. He said that justice alone will not create peace in the world. There must also be transformation within us. That’s exactly what Jesus is calling us into. Even with these hard teachings.

Some of them will be very challenging to us. But they are meant to be wrestled with and allowed to seep into our consciousness and into our engrained ways of thinking, being, or believing – as they bring about some kind of transformation within us, a shifting in awareness, or thinking, or behavior, or all of the above. As we find peace within ourselves, we naturally will bring the Beloved Community near to all we meet – even those with whom we disagree.

So put on your seat belts. It could be a bumpy summer. But remember, the color is green – for growth. And we will grow together in discipleship and faithful service to the world.

Amen!

MATTHEW 9:35‑10:8
Jesus continued touring all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, telling the Good News of God’s reign and curing all kinds of diseases and sicknesses. At the sight of the crowds, Jesus’ heart was moved with pity because they were distressed and dejected, like sheep without a shepherd. Jesus said to the disciples, ”The harvest is bountiful but the laborers are few. Beg the overseer of the harvest to send laborers out to bring in the crops.”

Jesus summoned the Twelve, and gave them authority to expel unclean spirits and heal sickness and diseases of all kinds. These are the names of the twelve apostles: the first were Simon, nicknamed Peter – that is, ‘Rock’ – and his brother Andrew; then James, ben-Zebedee, and his brother John; Philip and Bartholomew; Thomas; Matthew, the tax collector; James, ben-Alphaeus; Thaddaeus; Simon the Zealot; and Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Jesus. Jesus sent them out after giving them the following instructions: “Don’t visit Gentile regions, and don’t enter a Samaritan town. Go instead to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. As you go, make this proclamation: ‘The reign of heaven has drawn near.’
“Heal the sick, raise the dead, cure leprosy, expel demons. You received freely – now freely give.”

A Pandemic Pentecost

Pentecost Sunday

On Tuesday September 11, 2001, I was on vacation at the New Jersey shore. With my friend Sissy from New York City, I watched the towers fall and then watched as fighter planes and helicopters flew up the coast. On Friday the 14^th, we watched Billy Graham preach at the memorial service at the National Cathedral. In between, I was on the phone to my administrative assistant and organist back in Buffalo, because I knew the service we’d planned for Sunday the 16^th just wouldn’t be adequate.

And then there was the sermon. I used to have the habit of squeezing out every possible second of shore time, so I wouldn’t leave until Saturday afternoon. I used to joke about the PA Turnpike sermon I’d write in my head on the 8-hour drive back to Buffalo. But 9/11 upset my usual way of planning worship, thinking about scripture readings, and sermon themes. And frankly my own emotions and my own attempts to process what had happened were churning in my head and heart. After driving several hours, I came to the beginning of an outline. I recognized that there were at least three parts to what I believed needed to be said. The first was our need to mourn. I don’t even remember what the order of service ended up being, but I imagine it would have included a psalm of lament.

I also believed there had to be a component of self-reflection and repentance – in no way excusing the actions of terrorists, but trying to understand how policies and actions by our own country could have negatively affected others. It’s a risky thing to do when emotions are running so high. Patriotism can be defined by a “my country right or wrong” stance. But I knew that as people of faith, we had to go beyond pure emotion into courageous soul-searching. Again, I don’t remember what I did. But thinking about it now, I might have taken the story of the prophet Nathan who confronted King David about his misdeeds with Bathsheba and her husband, Uriah and called him to repentance.

I’m a little fuzzy on the third theme, but I believe it was about our response and our actions going forward. Anti-Muslim attacks had already begun. Racist slurs were being bandied about unchallenged. The question arose: how would we, the Church, be a witness to Love in the midst of a national crisis? I know that we attended the open house held by our neighborhood mosque.

And, of course, it was not long after that the congregation and I began our odyssey into interfaith dialogue, which ended up leading me to the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley. And now to here, the Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd in Burlingame, where we find ourselves in another national crisis (actually multiple crises) and questions of how the Church can be a faithful witness in the midst of it all.

. . . this week has felt like the week after 9/11

I’ll be honest, for me this week has felt like the week after 9/11. I’ve run the gamut of discouraged, disheartened, resolved, shocked, resigned, angry, afraid, overwhelmed – as I’m sure as many of you have, too. We’ve been experiencing one crisis piled on top of another. We continue to try to negotiate terms with a deadly coronavirus; there are now over 105,000 deaths in the US alone; mask-wearing has become a politicized hot potato. Leaders struggle to deal with both life-threatening health issues and economy-tanking unemployment. Then another Black man dies in police custody, and cities are burning. We knew the pandemic disproportionately affected people of color, and now the ugly scab of racism has been violently ripped off to further expose what has been called “America’s original sin.”

Protests, riots, looting have broken out in cities across the country. Evidence of white outside agitators is making a bad situation worse. And let’s not even mention climate change. The biggest threat we’ve ever faced as a species has been put on the back burner, so to speak.

And it’s Pentecost. It’s one of my favorite holy days because it’s supposed to be very upbeat, giddy almost, celebrating diversity, envisioning the future. symbolized by tongues of fire coming down on the disciples, as the Holy Spirit empowered them for ministry. Someone described the Acts Pentecost story as the one for extroverts, while the one from John’s gospel, with gentle breath rather than wind and tongues of fire and multiple languages, is Pentecost for introverts.

But this Pentecost day, it’s impossible to hear a story about breath without hearing a man begging for his life: “I can’t breathe.” Or to read of tongues of flame and all the fire language in the liturgy without seeing a police station burned to the ground. Today, these symbols of Divine presence and power collide with horrifying human sin. And what are we to do with that?

I didn’t have a long drive on the PA Turnpike to work it all out, but sheltering in place has brought me to the same conclusions. As people of faith, as followers of Jesus, we are called to lament, repent, and act. But this time around I turned to a tradition I first learned through priest, theologian, writer Matthew Fox. Maybe it will help you, too.

Via Positiva
This spiritual process consists of four paths. The first is called the Via Positiva – the experience of awe, wonder and delight. It might sound strange that I begin here given the dire circumstances we’re in. But Pentecost is the ultimate Via Positiva experience. Listen to Fox’s description: “The experience of divinity is light. Awe is what triggers our intuition and wakes us up; it ignites and surprises us—like falling in love with another person or with music, science, flowers, poetry, and the earth.”

The presence of the Holy Spirit in our lives should be such an awesome, illuminating encounter that we are set on fire with love – for God, for ourselves, for others, and for the world. So even in the midst of tragedy, we can’t neglect to celebrate this amazing Spirit. We need a little awe and wonder right now.

Via Negativa
The second path of our spiritual process is the Via Negativa, the path of darkness, emptiness, silence, and suffering. Via Negativa recognizes that grief is a trigger for waking us up to truths within ourselves. When we don’t deny ourselves the opportunity to feel, and express, and lament our griefs, we can recognize how powerful they are – and also how connected we are to one another, to the earth, to God. It can be painful, yes, but it can also be powerfully cathartic. In a worship service created by Matthew Fox, the Via Negativa is experienced by literally weeping and wailing, expressing through the body the suffering of the world. And not for just a few seconds, either. You do it long enough to get over your self-consciousness and allow yourself to go deep and wrestle with those truths you’re willing to find. This can be where repentance begins.

I was recently very moved by a book called White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism because it helped me see some of the ways that my defensiveness as a person who considers herself ‘woke’ has prevented me from doing the work I needed – and continue to need – to do. The Via Negativa took me into lamentation for my part in a system of oppression that is baked into the DNA of our nation. And even the Church.

Dear Church: A Love Letter from a Black Preacher to the Whitest Denomination in the US was writtenby Lenny Duncan, an ELCA pastor. It’s a really good book. One of the things I like about it is that he calls it a love letter. He’s critical of the church, yet he’s in love with the church. He calls us out, but he also calls us in – into a bold new vision for the ELCA and the broader Christian community. He urges us to follow on the path of Jesus to turn the values of the world upside down and inside out. But it takes willingness on our part to do the work.

In an article today, Michelle Obama lamented, “I’m exhausted by a heartbreak that never seems to stop . . . But if we ever hope to move past it, it can’t just be on people of color to deal with it. It’s up to all of us — Black, white, everyone — no matter how well-meaning we think we might be, to do the honest, uncomfortable work of rooting it out . . . it starts with self-examination and listening to those whose lives are different from our own and ends with justice, compassion, and empathy that manifests in our lives and on our streets.”

Via Creativa
Through lamentation and soul-searching, we are able to move on into the Via Creativa, the most elemental, innermost and deeply spiritual aspect of our beings. This is where we begin to imagine a better way.

Fox says, “Imagination brings about not just intimacy but a big intimacy, a sense of union with the cosmos, a sense of belonging and being at home, of our knowing we have not only a right to be here but a task to do as well while we are here.” Through our creativity – whether that is nurturing children, making art, gardening, writing, teaching, building houses – we connect to the Divine in us and bring the Divine back to the community.

Our imagination, our ability to tap into our creative spirit, is what moves us to the second part of repentance. We don’t just feel sorry for our actions; we turn and go a different way, the way back to God. And that leads us to the fourth path where we bring all of our grief, love, and creativity.

Via Transformativa
Via Transformativa provides a way for our creativity to move into areas of compassion and justice. Creativity by itself isn’t enough. Obviously, we humans can take our creativity to negative places. Creativity can make bombs, for example. So creativity needs direction. That’s where our spiritual teachings come in: to channel our imagination into ways of compassion, healing, justice, and gratitude. That’s the purpose of being Church, to move into these ways together – honestly wrestling and confessing, grieving and letting go, visioning together how to channel our corporate creativity for the sake of the world.

So how does all this relate to the chaos that is all around us on this Pentecost Day?

It gives us permission to celebrate – even with symbols of breath and fire. I call on each of you to take in as much awe and wonder as you possibly can. Stare into your child’s beautiful face. Marvel at a cat’s paw or the perfect symmetry of a flower. Or how about this – look at your own face with delight. Ignore the imperfections; we all have them. See the unique masterpiece that is you. Say “Wow!” out loud.
It gives us permission to grieve. We have so much to lament; it can indeed feel over-whelming. One place we can go is the Psalms. Like Psalm 44:Rouse yourself! Why do you sleep, O God? Awake, do not cast us off forever!
Why do you hide your face? Why do you forget our affliction and oppression?
For we sink down to the dust; our bodies cling to the ground.
Rise up, come to our help. Redeem us for the sake of your steadfast love.

And don’t be afraid to express all your feelings in your prayers. Surely God’s heard it all, and knows how you’re feeling anyway. Allow yourself to be immersed in the Via Negativa. Cry and scream for George Floyd, for all the others on a list far too long, for our ‘original sin,’ and for everything else that weighs heavily upon us in this time of crisis. People in biblical times would cover themselves in sackcloth and ashes. We’re too civilized for something like that – or so we think. Maybe a good collective, national cry or scream is what we all need about now.
Here’s where it gets pretty radical. I choose to believe that by following this path, we’re opening up some space for a new thing to be born. I’m going to trust in the creative power of God to bring it into being. And I’m going to trust that we can do the same thing as a congregation – even in lockdown. Our collective imagination, fueled by the Holy Spirit, knows no limits.

We might adopt this “Prayer of Good Courage” as our mantra:
O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us, through Christ our Savior.
The Via Transformativa is the promise of Easter and the reality of Pentecost. It is real. It is ours. It is what will channel us into those paths as yet untrodden, into ways of mission and ministry that will contribute to the healing of the world. This is no pie-in-the-sky naiveté. God has done it before and will do it again and again, despite how the powers of this world conspire against us. I’m under no illusion that things will suddenly get better. As they say, it’s a marathon not a sprint. But that’s no reason to give up.

Even though I am – and maybe you are, too – still in Via Negativa, I can see the mountaintop. So let’s take our red balloons, flowers, shoes, shirts, whatever we’ve got and march on, defiant in the face of adversity, confident that God – Creator, Christ, and Spirit – goes with us.

Amen!

ACTS 2:1-21
When the day of Pentecost arrived, they all met in one room. Suddenly they heard what sounded like a violent, rushing wind from heaven; the noise filled the entire house in which they were sitting. Something appeared to them that seemed like tongues of fire; these separated and came to rest on the head of each one. They were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages as she enabled them.

Now there were devout people living in Jerusalem from every nation under heaven, and at this sound they all assembled. But they were bewildered to hear their native languages being spoken. They were amazed and astonished: “Surely all of these people speaking are Galileans! How does it happen that each of us hears these words in our native tongue? We are Parthians, Medes and Elamites, people from Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya around Cyrene, as well as visitors from Rome – all Jews or converts to Judaism – Cretans and Arabs, too; we hear them preaching, each in our own language, about the marvels of God!”

All were amazed and disturbed. They asked each other, “What does this mean?” But others said mockingly, “They’ve drunk too much new wine.”

Then Peter stood up with the Eleven and addressed the crowd: “People of Judea, and all you who live in Jerusalem! Listen to what I have to say! These people are not drunk as you think—it’s only nine o’clock in the morning! No, it is what the prophet Joel spoke of:

‘In the days to come – it is our God who speaks – I will pour out my spirit on all humankind. Your daughters and sons will prophesy, your young people will see visions, and your elders will dream dreams. Even on the most insignificant of my people, both women and men, I will pour out my Spirit in those days, and they will prophesy. And I will display wonders in the heavens above and signs on the earth below: blood, fire and billowing smoke. The sun will be turned into darkness and the moon will become blood before the coming of the great and sublime day of our God. And all who call upon the name of our God will be saved.’”

JOHN 20:19-22
In the evening of that same day, the first day of the week, the doors were locked in the room where the disciples were, for fear of the Temple authorities. Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Having said this, he showed them the marks of crucifixion. The disciples were filled with joy when they saw Jesus, who said to them again, “Peace be with you. As Abba God sent me, so I am sending you.” After saying this, Jesus breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”