This past Sunday I stood with 500 people under a bright sun at the rally for Social Justice in Charles Town. I didn’t expect a fiery sermon to kick it off. But that’s what happened. The preacher led a call and response.
God is great!
ALL THE TIME
All the time!
GOD IS GREAT
The crowd cheered. I cringed.
Maybe I think too much, but I can’t get certain things out of my head. The Crusades. The Black Death. Auschwitz. My Lai. The Killing Fields. Biafra. Rwanda. Lynching trees.
Are you sure God is great? All the time?
I’ve known this preacher for a long time. We’re friends. I know he knows all I know about horrific evils. Still, he’s counting on God to pull us through.
The preacher touted the bloody crucifixion of God’s only begotten son as the cure for sin. And that triggered a chant.
Racism!
SIN
Sexism!
SIN
Homophobia!
SIN
Xenophobia!
SIN
Racism!
SIN
Jesus died for our sins!
The crowd cheered. I cringed.
Maybe I think too much, but I don’t see the crucifixion that way. I don’t believe in magic. I think remorse, repentance, reform, and redirecting public funds toward reparations and revamping policing are cures for racism.
I know the preacher knows that too. But he’s also counting on Jesus to pull us through.
I thought he was done, but then—as an afterthought—the preacher scolded hypocritical white Christians. (A mask can’t hide everything!)
How can you claim to love God (whom you haven’t seen) when you fail to love your neighbor (whom you have seen)?
That, he told us, is in the Bible!
The crowd cheered. I cringed.
Maybe I think too much, but there’s a lot in the Bible that’s downright abhorrent. (Damn homosexuals. Slay the wicked. Wives, submit to your husbands. Slaves, obey your masters!)
That’s your moral authority? The Bible?
The sermon ended. Speeches followed. And then we knelt for 8 minutes and 46 seconds to honor the life of George Floyd.
I put my right knee on the brick sidewalk. It hurt. It got worse, minute by minute by minute.
A black man, just in front of me, was sobbing, trembling, sweating. Strangers laced arms around him. Someone handed him a bottle of water and mopped his brow.
Maybe I think too much, but I thought I saw the face of Jesus. Just in front of me.
_______________________
Check out Paula’s photographic montage on the home page.
Thank you for identifying the cringe-worthy moments you suffered through. Sometimes it feels like one step forward and 2 steps back. Thankfully you could also share an incident of heartful poignancy without an accompanying refrain.
Thank you! For cringing… for questions… for seeing!!
The Devil’s Gift on racism lies buried in the dark recesses of white hearts that tout exception, and will remain so until even the smallest spark of “a Jesus within” demands humble reckoning and cleansing. Until Jesus’ eyes look outward from within these hearts, the Jesus who kneels and weeps in front of us will continue grieving on worn out knees. How much longer can comforting arms and bottled water compensate?
You remind us that the face of Jesus of Nazareth not only sobs, trembles, and sweats, it also cringes in the fringes of movement coalitions. Especially his own.