The first reading, which I also relied on, is Job 38:1-11.
The holy gospel according to Mark (4:35-41).
35On
that day,
when
evening had come,
Jesus
said to the disciples,
“Let
us go across to the other side.”
36And
leaving the crowd behind,
they
took him with them in the boat,
just
as he was.
Other
boats were with him.
37A great windstorm arose,
and
the waves beat into the boat,
so
that the boat was already being swamped.
38But
Jesus was in the stern,
asleep on the cushion;
and
they woke him up and said to him,
“Teacher,
do you not care that we are perishing?”
39Jesus
woke up and rebuked the wind,
and
said to the sea,
“Peace!
Be still!”
Then
the wind ceased,
and
there was a dead calm.
40He
said to them,
“Why
are you afraid?
Have
you still no faith?”
41And
they were filled with great awe
and
said to one another,
“Who
then is this,
that
even the wind and the sea obey him?”
The gospel of the lord.
-----
On Monday and Tuesday, and even Wednesday as I worked on and
planned for my sermon, I wanted to talk about the storm we are in as a
community of faith. The storm of
emotions inside us, the storm of uncertainty about what is on the other side of
August 31st, of closure.
I could still do this, and we could have a sermon on that, and it would
be important and meaningful, and it would be easier than tackling what has been
going on this week.
Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, 45 years old, was a beloved
track coach and a minister at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church.
Clementa Pinckney, 41 years old, was the lead pastor at the AME church, a state
senator, and a graduate of one of our ELCA seminaries. Cynthia Hurd, 54 years
old, was a librarian, whose birthday would have been today (Sunday). Tywanza
Sanders, 26 years old, was a recent graduate of Allen University’s Division of
Business Administration, and he died trying to shield his 87-year-old aunt from
the shooter.
Myra Thompson, 59 years old, was reverend Anthony Thompson’s
wife, Ethel Lee Lance, 70 years old, was the church sexton, Daniel L. Simmons,
74 years old, was a ministerial staff member, a father and a grandfather and a
veteran of war. Depaynoe Middleton-Doctor, 49 years old, sang in the choir and
preached at her church. Susie Jackon, 87 years old, sheltered young people who
needed a place to live after her son moved away from home.
The wind and storm that rages around us here in this
community as we struggle with the reality of Christ the King’s closure can
block from view all that is happening in the world. In light of our anxiety and sorrow at leaving this faith
community, the struggle we have with the God who is in the whirlwind, what does
anything else matter?
And yet this week I spent time with church leaders from
around the country—siblings in the ELCA and siblings in Christ. While we were together, talking about
the church, our struggles, what it’s like to be women and men, racially diverse
in the church and the country, a white ELCA Lutheran man went into a
historically black church, engaged with the people gathered in Bible study, and
then opened fire, as he murdered 9 beloved children of God.
Welcomed into the body of Christ at Mother Emmanuel African
Methodist Episcopal Church, he created a storm around his fellow followers of
Christ. I could not help but
remember the four girls killed in Birmingham, Alabama during the Civil Rights
movement when a bomb went off in their church. This is not the first time that African Americans have asked
Jesus, “Do you not care that we are perishing?” And this is not the first time even in the last year, that
they have asked us as well. What
we must ask ourselves, then, is: in the midst of our storms and worries, do we
not care that they are perishing?
Jesus calms the storm that threatens the disciples’ lives
and yet the storm of racism, as evidenced by the hate crime of this week,
continues to rage on.
As I think about that white man who entered and was welcomed
into community by those he would later murder, I can’t help remember the privilege I have had in my life to be
welcomed into Black congregations, Latin@ congregations, as well as white
ones. Communities that constantly
battle against racism have often been the most warmly welcoming to me.
This week I could lift Emanuel AME up in our prayers and
continue with the sermon I wanted to preach, but that betrays the trust and
hospitality I have received in my life from people of color. It is also a mark of privilege that
African American pastors and preachers who are also facing the kinds of storms
we are do not have. They cannot
lift Emanuel AME up in their prayers and keep on the way they were, because
their congregations are receiving bomb threats, their sanctuary has been
violated, their people are being killed by the sin of racism.
And it’s not just their
people. It’s our people. A member
of our church body committed that terrorist attack and graduates of one of our
ELCA seminaries were killed.
Siblings in Christ were on both sides. Fellow humans are dead today. Grief and sorrow, suffering and anger. Our people are hurting. Our siblings in Christ. Our fellow humans.
Charleston, South Carolina may feel far away, but it is only
the most recent, most evident example of the devastation that racism causes in
our country. It happens here in
Utah as well. We know what it is
like here to not be part of the dominant culture. We know the exclusion, especially that of our children, who
are left out at school because of who they are—or rather, who they aren’t.
Even so, we have the benefit of visibly fitting in—of
looking like the dominant culture, of being judged positively by the color of
our skin.
And yet even here, children of God like Darien Hunt are
killed and children of God are told they are not worth as much because of who
they are, the color of their skin.
All the while, many of us are not willing to cross to the other side for
fear of the storm. Many of
us are scared of the water that will crash over the side of the boat, the whirlwind
that swirls around, the lack of control that comes with boats and storms, and
comes with deep caring and pain.
It can be scary and it is hard to know what to do in the
storm, what we will encounter on the other side, but that is where Jesus
goes. Jesus is in the storm, Jesus
is in the storm of racism that rages around us, Jesus is with those who ask “Do
you not care that we are perishing?”
Jesus leads us to the other side—through the storm, Jesus calls us into
engagement on the other side.
Jesus is unperturbed by the storm we think will do us in.
Jesus knows the way.
He knows that there are demons waiting. He also knows that those demons will remain if we don’t
cross to the other side. What does
that look like? How do we as
individuals tackle the monsters of terror? How do we tackle racism? What can we possibly do?
We are not alone.
We are not in this fight alone.
People of color have been fighting this fight their whole lives. As we engage in the struggle against
racism, we journey with each other.
We journey with congregations across Utah and across the country.
There are steps we can take.
This week, try to listen and read only news and information
about the domestic terrorism attack on Emanuel AME from Black people. Listen to them. Read their words. And
believe them. Too often we encounter white people talking about people of color. Or when people of color do speak, we dismiss them and their very real emotions. Resist this. Listen to people of color. Read their words. Believe them.
Focus not on the terrorist who attacked, but on those who
were killed, the community of Emanuel AME Church—Mother Emanuel as it is called. Honor them by learning about their
lives and their faith community. Support
their congregation financially as well as in prayer.
Learn about privilege and racism. There are articles and books that open space for
understanding, like Unpacking the
Invisible Knapsack by Peggy McIntosh.
I know some more and am happy to recommend them.
Jesus calls us to follow him. We don’t have to know the whole way. We don’t have to know what awaits us on
the other side. We don’t even have
to be excited or calm or confident.
We just follow. Get in the
boat, and see where Jesus leads. It
won’t be easy. He ended up on the
cross, after all.
But our God is a God who brings life out of death. If the life that he brings out of this
week’s deaths is awareness of the pain of racism, the impact of the color of
our skin on us, a commitment to learn more, to care more, to avoid the pain a
little less. If God brings this life out of these deaths, then God is good. All
the time.
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