Nearly 30 years ago, I graduated from Union Theological Seminary, and through the years messages from the seminary have come my way to speak words I needed to hear at the time. That happened once again yesterday afternoon, when I received a statement from President Brian Blount, of now Union Presbyterian Seminary, with the accompanying challenge to share his message. I do so with thanksgiving for his wisdom, honesty and faithfulness.
(Note: The Book of Revelation, or the Apocalypse is a fitting close to the Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, for its final chapters depict the consummation toward which the whole biblical message of redemption is focused.”
Statement from President Blount on the death of George Floyd
RICHMOND, VA (May 31, 2020) -- The following statement was made by Union Presbyterian Seminary President Brian K. Blount on the death of George Floyd, a black man who died Monday after a white Minneapolis police officer pressed his knee on his neck until he stopped breathing and nationwide protests over police mistreatment of African Americans.
“And they conquered [evil] by the blood of the Lamb and the word of their witness.” The Apocalypse. 12:11.
If white Christians were to ask me, a black Christian, what they should do in response to the spiral of racially sparked violence into which we are rapidly and inevitably descending, I have pondered the response I would give. Strange, since no one has asked, that I nonetheless feel compelled to answer.
I feel compelled because I am afraid. I am afraid because I fear that my voice is too insignificant to matter. I am afraid because I fear that while what I say bears insufficient weight to make a difference, it carries just enough potency to get me in trouble. I am afraid because I fear bringing trouble on myself when my people are writhing in a perpetual abyss of systemic injustice. I am afraid because I fear that one day, long after I have died, my son and daughter will still weep at news about a black individual murdered while sitting in her home, running in his community, walking home from his corner store, driving in her car, standing in his front yard, exploring in his park, worshiping in her church, lying helpless on an American street, the full weight of a cavalier, almost casual, curiously disinterested, white anger crushing his throat beneath its self-righteous, imperious knee. I am afraid because I fear a reckoning on the streets if we cannot find justice in the courts, redress in our politics, realignment of our institutional policies, and reconsideration of our racial values. I am afraid because I fear that when I am called to my own final reckoning the record will show that I didn’t do my part. I didn’t witness. Not enough.
White Christians are not witnessing. Not enough.
In the Apocalypse, the world is possessed by systemic evil. That evil manifested itself in an imperial reign that demanded a fealty the Apocalypse’s author claimed belonged solely to Christ. Rome wanted to be worshiped. Christ believers could respond in one of two ways. They could patriotically idolize Rome or they could witness to the Lordship of Christ. Either. Or.
Rome promised to punish anyone who refused to render the reverence it believed it was due. Writing to seven churches located in the belly of this imperial, bestial declaration of religious and political supremacy, John of Patmos pleaded for a witness to an alternative truth. The only leader who deserved fidelity and worship was this Jesus who died on a Roman cross. It was not Rome’s empire but his resurrected Reign that should be revered and realized. He spilled his blood in an effort to inaugurate that Reign. He did his part. Our Christian part is to witness to that Reign in the way we speak our words and live our lives. That is our formula for reckoning with systemic evil that possesses institutions and drives individuals mad. The Blood of the Lamb. The Witness of the Lamb’s Followers. Us black and you white Christians.
What does a Reign under the Lordship of Christ look like? Before we can witness for it we must know what it is. If we could see into God’s future the way John saw through his open door into transcendence, perhaps we would know. We are not that farsighted. But our hindsight ought to be 20/20. Because it is written in a record for us. If Jesus of Nazareth is the Christ of the Apocalypse, then we have a glimpse of what a Reign under his rule would look like. We have something for which to witness. In the Gospel vision. There, lepers are touched. There are no Eric Garners who cannot breathe. There, the sick are unilaterally healed. There are no Ahmaud Arberys demonically hunted to death. There, codes and laws too legalistically and unjustly applied are broken. There are no Breonna Taylors, shot eight times, when their homes are broken into by law enforcement. There, men once incapacitated by paralysis walk. There are no George Floyds paralyzed beneath the weight of ruthless state agents. There, systems of ethnic segregation are broken open by the vision of a house of prayer for all the nations. There is no aspiration of a rule where one people structure society so that it perpetually privileges them and those like them.
We know from hindsight the promise of Jesus’ vision. We know what it intends. Our calling is to witness to it. No matter the cross.
I am afraid because I know I am not witnessing. Not enough.
I am afraid because I know that white Christians are not witnessing. Not enough.
Why does our country need white Christians to witness more than they are? More now even than black Christians and black people of every faith and of no faith?
Whether it’s individual acts of brutality or systemic oppression, it is hard to maneuver successfully for change when your hands are shackled, your legs are taken out from beneath you, and someone is kneeling on your neck. You need the people who wield economic, political, police, and military power to reign in the agents they have authorized to act on their behalf, to rain down change upon the systems their forebears have spent centuries erecting. To privilege themselves.
You need them to witness.
Not just spiritually. Tangibly. Not just with well-intentioned prayer. With concrete action. Not just from the pulpit and in the sanctuary. Out in the world, on the streets of their cities, in the corridors of their power.
No, this evil of enduring American racism is not just a Christian problem. But for a people who claim to follow a Jesus who died on a cross for all people, and whom we claim reigns in heaven interceding with God for all people, it is an evil we must especially engage. We cannot claim to witness to this risen Christ and simultaneously allow our country’s descent into this racial abyss. We Christian people can make a difference. We must help defeat this draconian, systemic evil. By our witness. Before it is too late.
Giving thanks for this message and messenger and praying these words find a place in our hearts and move us to faithful response … before it’s too late.
Elizabeth
This morning my youngest daughter called, saying they were wanting to tell their teen-age sons our family’s military history. I shared that my father was a Marine in the Pacific in World War II, fighting on Iwo Jima and several other islands. Her other grandfather was taken a prisoner of war in the invasion of Anzio Beach in Italy. I shared service pictures, pictures of medals and dog tags; I found a copy of the picture of my mother he kept inside his helmet all during the war.
I told her the story of meeting my brother in Asheville years ago, to see the movie “Flags of Our Fathers.” We set our father’s military items and pictures on the dresser of our hotel room and celebrated his part in keeping our nation free. I shared a book one of his buddies wrote that I received at a reunion of his Marine Division in the late 90s, and read the inscription: “…a veteran of Roi-Nam, Saipan, and Iwo Jima – one hell of a fine Marine and leader of men. Be extremely proud of what your father did for our country.” I’m very proud, and grateful for the sacrifices of the “greatest generation”- those Americans who grew up during the Great Depression and fought in World War II, or those whose labor helped win the war.
A prayer for Memorial Day from the Presbyterian Peacemaking Program
Eternal God,
from whom all life comes, to whom all life returns,
we give thanks for all who served our country in the military.
We give thanks for sacrifices made and for those who gave the full measure of devotion.
We give thanks for their lives, their goodness, and their love. This day we give special thanks for Name/s. We are grateful that for a season you allowed us to share life with him/her/them. We commend him/her/them to your keeping, knowing that he/she/they are held forever in your love. Still our loss wounds us and we mourn. We pray for families and friends and all who grieve for loved ones lost in this war. Meet them in the valley of death's shadow. Embrace them in the healing warmth of your comfort, grace, and love. Grant them and all of us the assurance that nothing in life or in death can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord, in whose name we pray. Amen.
“God bless America, land that I love
Stand beside her and guide her
Through the night with the light from above.”
Giving thanks for the blessing of living in America, “my home sweet home.”
Elizabeth
Growing up in my home church, we sat in the same pew from year to year – Daddy, Grandmother, my brother and me. (Mama was in the choir!) The family in the pew behind us also held parents and a brother and sister, with grandparents filling the pew behind them. It was good to know that they would always be right behind us each Sunday, and they always were!
That brother in the pew behind us became a marvelous teacher, and a dedicated administrator and Superintendent of Schools. For many years now he has served as church organist, and he is a gifted composer as well. He also prepares the weekly church newsletter, and this week, shared a special Psalm, giving voice to concerns arising from the struggles we face in these uncertain days, and with his blessing, it is shared with all of us.
A PSALM IN THE TIME OF CORONAVIRUS
Inspired in part by Psalm 31
“In you, O Lord, I put my trust,
To you I commit my life for safekeeping.
For you will be a safe haven for me in time of trouble;
You will be my rock and strong fortress.
You will not allow fear to trap me in its net,
You will soothe my anxious soul.
Like a mother who cares for her child, you will enfold me with your love;
Like a shepherd for tends his flock, you will guide me on a safe path.
When I shelter in place to be healthy at home, you are there.
When I venture out in a mask social distancing, you walk beside me.
When I panic in a crowded place, you calm me.
When I question why all these precautions are necessary, you reassure me.
Your faithful love never fails.
Flowers bloom and fade,
Even rocks crumble into dust,
But your love is always fresh like the dawn of a new morning.
Your love has no depths, heights, or bounds:
You show me the wonders of your love in the midst of the pandemic
The beauties of your creation surround me,
I lift my eyes to the mountains dressed for spring
And I offer up my prayer of thanksgiving.
Be strong, People of God; let your hearts be unafraid,
Wait for the Lord.”
In scripture, the psalms give voice to our hopes and fears, our anger and grief, our faith and God’s faithfulness – they are words of the heart. Often in life, when we can find no words to cry out to God, in reading from the book of Psalms, we find our voice. This “Psalm in the Time of Coronavirus” gives us words to speak our heart to God about these uncertain days through which we’re passing.
I give thanks for the opportunity to reconnect with a dear friend who has blessed me again and again on life’s journey, and for his honest words of faith and faithfulness; and for those streams of mercy, never ceasing, carrying us through this life into all that is to come.
Elizabeth