Tag Archives: white supremacy

Guest Post at RevGalBlogPals: The Pastoral Is Political: End White Supremacy in the White House

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Today I am writing over at RevGalBlogPals:
“White Supremacy is in the White House. It runs deep and wide. And it must be shut down, dismantled, uprooted, and removed.
Many of us have been saying this for years. However, those who are spouting out and implementing white supremacist ideas and policies in the White House continue to be defended, and their policies “justified” by other national and religious leaders. Even after the emails were leaked last week, the White House is still backing Stephen Miller.
So let’s be loud and clear: it is incredibly dangerous and absolutely inexcusable for national or religious leaders to defend, downplay, or remain silent when our president and his advisors hold and enforce these white nationalist beliefs and policies. And it is incredibly dangerous and absolutely inexcusable for us to do so, as well…
This is not a partisan issue. This is not about a political party or a particular politician. This is about the evil and harmful sins of racism and white supremacy.
Because to be silent about such things is to be complicit.”
You can read the rest of the article here.

“White Supremacy, Systemic Racism, and Where We Fit within these Systems: It’s Confession Time” – Sermon on Luke 13:31-35

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“At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to him, “Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.” He said to them, “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.’ Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you. And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’” – Luke 13:31-35

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem,” we hear Jesus crying out this morning. “How often have I desired to gather your children – all your children – together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings. But you were not willing!”

You see, as a mother hen longs to gather together all her chicks so that they are equally taken care of, Jesus longs to gather all of God’s children so that we are equally taken care of, as well.

And yet, just as Jesus lived in a world full of inequalities, oppression, and persecution, here we are, in a world where 49 of God’s beloved children are murdered in their place of worship by an anti-Muslim and anti-immigrant white nationalist. And here we are, in a country that was built upon genocide and slavery due to white supremacy and where systemic racism continues to bleed throughout our society.

As I hear Jesus crying out in our Gospel this morning, I can’t help but wonder which cities and countries he is lamenting over today.

So let us join him in a time of lament as we take a moment of silence to lift up our Muslim siblings around the world as well as all our siblings who suffer at the hands of white supremacy.

*****

Many of you may be aware that during Lent, we – as a congregation – are taking this time to learn more about systemic racism that continues to prevail throughout our country and our world – and particularly to examine our own place and roles in these racist systems in order for us to work toward dismantling them. During this season of the church calendar, we are reading and discussing the book: “Waking Up White: Finding Myself in the Story of Race.”

Now, this past Thursday morning at our very first book discussion, our Vicar, Noah, had us reread the Invitation To Lent, which is read every year as we enter the season of Lent during our Ash Wednesday service. And this was a perfect reading to begin our Lenten journey of exploring the sin of systemic racism and how and where we fit into these racialized systems.

You see, the Invitation to Lent reminds us that since our “sinful rebellion separates us from God, our neighbors, and creation,” we must “acknowledge our need for repentance and for God’s mercy.” The invitation calls us: “as disciples of Jesus… to a discipline that contends against evil and resists whatever leads us away from love of God and neighbor.” And it invites us “therefore, to the discipline of Lent – self examination and repentance, prayer and fasting, sacrificial giving and works of love” as we “continue our journey through these forty days toward the great Three Days of Jesus’ death and resurrection.”

When we read this invitation during our Thursday morning book discussion, someone pointed out how scary and difficult this all sounds.

And he is not wrong. None of this is easy!

To name and call out systems of injustice that oppress some in order to uplift others is difficult. Because those who stand at the front of the line in these systems rarely like to give up their position in the line and the power that comes with it, even if it means allowing those who have been at the back of the line to move forward. And the same goes for those who stand in the middle of the line, as well.

You see, it is not easy to let go of our positions of power, our comfort, and our sense of safety and security, even if it means that others are being marginalized and harmed because of it. In fact, most of us do not even realize where we stand in the line, how we even got to that place, or how people who stand behind us are suffering because we stand in front of them. Because when you stand in a line, all you have to do is look forward. And the closer you are to the front of the line, the fewer the people you actually see.

And when we do eventually start to look backwards, it is not always easy to acknowledge what we do see when we are closer to the front of the line. It is not easy to come to terms with where we stand, how we benefit from being in that placement, or how that placement perpetuates harm, such as systemic racism and all the inequalities that come with it. And it is not easy to realize how holding onto our position in the line keeps those behind us in their place.

Acknowledging and challenging systemic racism and injustice is far from easy.

And we see this in our Gospel text this morning.

You see, throughout his ministry, Jesus has been proclaiming a Kingdom of God that is quite contrary to the exclusive Roman Empire of his day. This Kingdom of God includes not just those who hold power in society, but it also includes those who lack it the most.

And right before our passage, Jesus says that in this Kingdom of God, people will come from north and south, east and west and will all eat together at the very same table. And he even goes as far as saying that in this kingdom, those who have been last will be first and that those who have been first will be last.

This upside down Kingdom of God is radically different from the way the systems of Jesus’ day worked. And it threatens those who are in power, particularly King Herod. And so at that very hour, some Pharisees come to Jesus and warn him to leave, “for Herod wants to kill you,” they say to him.

No, this holy kingdom work is not easy.

But no matter how dangerous the situation is for him, Jesus is not going to stop proclaiming this Kingdom of God that flips the systems of injustice upside down and that calls those in power to move to the back of the line so that those in the back can move to the front and be fully included.

“Go,” Jesus says to the Pharisees, “And tell that fox, King Herod, that I have some holy kingdom work to do, and I will finish my work on the third day: on God’s time.”

And you see, the hardest thing about this is: we are commanded to follow Jesus in this holy work of dismantling systemic racism, no matter how dangerous or difficult it might be. Because systemic racism is a sin and it is evil. And it holds us back from loving God and loving others.

And as the Invitation to Lent reminds us: “as disciples of Jesus, (we are called) to a discipline that contends against evil and resists whatever leads us away from love of God and neighbor.”

Now how we go about doing this antiracism work is going to depend on where we stand in line.

And while there are systems that keep me from being in the very front of the line – such as my gender, my sexual orientation as someone who is bisexual, my economic class (since I don’t fit into the very top in this country), or anything else that may have held me back: as a person who is white, the color of my skin (as well as other privileges I have), still place me somewhere toward the front of the line.

*****

A few years ago, when I was in the midst of beginning this life-long journey of becoming anti-racist, I read a blog post by the Rev. Denise Anderson, a black pastor in the Presbyterian-USA denomination, who – at the time – was one of the co-moderators of the denomination. This post challenged and encouraged me to take a big difficult step in this antiracism work. Rev. Anderson wrote: “For those of you who ask ‘how many times [police shootings of unarmed black and brown individuals] must happen? I’ll tell you precisely when it will stop.

It will stop when people en masse are aware of the ways in which whiteness and white supremacy have shaped the way people of color are viewed, engaged, and treated in this world (even by other people of color).” To come to this realization, however, white people will then have to be self-aware and convicted of the ways in which they have benefitted from and promulgated the lie of whiteness…” She goes on: “White people, you have heard it said that you must talk to other white people about racism, and you must. But don’t talk to them about their racism. Talk to them about YOUR racism.

Talk to them about how you were socialized to view, talk to, and engage with people of color. Talk to them about the ways you’ve acted on that socialization. Talk to them about the lies you bought into. Talk about the struggles you continue to have in shedding the scales from your eyes. Don’t make it “their” problem. Understand it as your own problem, because it is… It’s confession time.”

After reading this, I sat down and made a very difficult and yet really important confession that I posted on Revgalblogpals, a blog I sometimes write for. And since antiracism work is a life-long journey, where I need to continuously confess and repent, I am making this difficult confession to you today:

I am racist.

I wish so much that I wasn’t. I try so hard not to be. But I am.

I think this is such a difficult confession to make because we often think people who are racist are “bad” and are intentionally hateful. Yes, there are many people who say and do overtly racist and hateful things. But the truth is, most people who are racist are good and well-meaning people, who don’t want to be racist, try their hardest not to be, and don’t even realize they are.

You see, I don’t belong to extremist groups like the KKK, call people racist names, or say things that are overtly racist. I even shut down jokes and call out comments that I recognize are racist. And yet, I am still racist.

I grew up in a diverse town and went to diverse schools. I currently live and work in Edgewater, which is an incredibly diverse community, and I have friends, neighbors, mentors and even a family member who are persons of color. And yet, I am still racist.

I follow people of color on facebook and twitter, read books and articles about racism and white privilege, attend anti-racism workshops, and participate in marches and rallies that address systemic racism.

But despite all of this: I am still racist.

Why?

Because my entire life I have been socialized to be. I have been conditioned to see the world through my eyes (the eyes that belong to a white body, which is the kind of body our society has supported, deemed the “norm,” and uplifted as superior for over 400 years.)

My school textbooks have been written from a white perspective. My television shows, movies, and books have been dominated by characters who look like me. The media I follow often perpetuates harmful racialized stereotypes and biases – no matter how progressive it might be.

Despite that my family taught me that all people were created in God’s image and deserve to be treated equally, I am still racist.  When I first see a person of color, I still sometimes fail to see her as an individual and instead see her as a stereotype. When I hear people of color share their stories of being racially profiled or denied upward mobility in their workplaces, I still sometimes question if their experiences are valid.

There are still times I say, think, or do things that I don’t even realize are racist and that perpetuate systemic racism. There are still times when I worry too much about ticking off my white friends or accidentally saying something that is offensive to my friends of color that I don’t speak up when I should. There are still times when I am in the virtual or physical spaces of my siblings of color and I end up wanting to center myself. And when people call me out on any of this, there are still times I feel defensive and focus more on my own discomfort than on the fact that black and brown lives matter more than my feelings.

You see, I am a white person who was raised in a country that was founded on white supremacy (the belief that white people are inherently superior to people who are not) and that throughout its history has continued to reinforce this white supremacy through social and political forces (the mass genocide of indigenous people living on this land, slavery, the Indian Removal Act, Jim Crow, redlining and blockbusting, the Urban Renewal Program, mass incarceration, school-to-prison pipeline, racial profiling, racialized policing – to name just a few)… As white person who has inherited all of this history and thus has been immersed in the culture that comes with it, it is extremely difficult to shed myself fully from my own racist views, biases, thoughts, and ways I believe the world should function… No matter how hard I try.

I am stuck in this 400 year old deeply engrained racialized system that not even the activists of the Civil Rights Movement in the 1960s could completely free us from.

And I benefit from this system. My whiteness is a privilege in it.

For example, as a white person, people look at me as an individual, not a stereotype. I will never be denied a loan, housing, or job interview because of my skin color. A store clerk will never follow me closely to ensure I don’t steal anything, and I will never be taken advantage of by a car salesperson because of my whiteness.

I have always had access to quality education and upward mobility. My white body is not seen as a threat. People will never look at me and think I could be a terrorist because of the color of my skin. People will not call the cops if they see me taking a walk in their neighborhood past sundown or quickly move to the other side of the road when they see me walking on the sidewalk where they are walking. I will not be pulled over in my car for no reason or on my bike because I look “suspicious.”

And if I do get pulled over, I will never have to worry that if I reach for my ID in my pocket, make a quick move, or even mouth back, I could get shot.

Among many things, racism denies the humanity in God’s beloved children and fails to see that God created all God’s children good, in God’s image, and beautifully and wonderfully just the way they are.

Racism is a painful and deadly sin.

And I am racist.

I live in a racialized society dominated by racist systems that were founded by white supremacy. And I benefit from and contribute to these systems.

*****

Now, this may sound incredibly hopeless. But it is not.

Because as Christians, we believe that when Jesus Christ died on the cross, he freed the world from its bondage to sin. Does this mean we are no longer sinners? Of course not. Because we are human.

But this does mean that we no longer have to be bound to sin. When we confess our sins in the presence of God and one another, our sin loses its power over us. Confession leads us toward repentance, where – by the grace of God – our hearts, minds, and thoughts begin to be transformed and we start to turn away from our sins.

 And whenever we turn away from something, we also turn toward something in the opposite direction. In this case, for those of us who are white: when we turn away from our sins of racism and white privilege, we turn toward a life of being anti-racists. But we cannot just turn away from our sin, turn toward a new way of life, and then pat ourselves on the back and go on our merry way. We must continuously and actively move toward this new way of life.

Since the sins of racism and white privilege are so deeply engrained in us and in the racialized systems we participate in and are conditioned by, we must actively check our privilege and racism, confess it, repent of it, and be moved to take action. We must do this over and over and over again.

While I am still racist, I choose to not let racism and white privilege dominate who I am.

 I choose to be actively anti-racist. I choose to learn about and become more aware of my white privilege and how I can work to dismantle it and the harmful racialized systems of which I am a part. I choose to listen to and learn from the voices and the cries of my siblings of color, to show up, and to grieve and stand with them in their pain and anger. I choose to speak with my white siblings about white privilege and interpersonal and systemic racism. I choose not to allow my discomfort, embarrassment, guilt, defensiveness, or the mistakes I have made (and will make) to take over me and hold me back from doing this important work.

While this new way of life is really difficult, in the Christian tradition, we believe that we do not pursue this way of life alone. We do this with the help of God and with one another.

 So, will you join me in this holy anti-racism work?

I need you. We all need each other. So let us do this holy work together.

And as we begin this journey of Lent and this holy work through confession, repentance, and action, let us hold onto the beautiful gift we have: that God, who is rich in mercy, loves us even when we were dead in sin, and made us alive together with Christ.

In Jesus Christ we are indeed forgiven! So now together let us act!

Amen.

“Jerkiness and a Persistent and Resistant faith” – Sermon on Matthew 15:21-28

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Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.” – Matthew 15:21-28

*****

Some of you might not like this… But I’m going to be quite frank…

Jesus is being a real jerk right now!

Now, before you immediately get up and storm out of the sanctuary… try to bare with me for a bit.

You see, in our Gospel this morning, there is this woman who approaches Jesus when he enters the district of Tyre and Sidon, the region where this woman is from. She cries out to Jesus: “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David. My daughter is tormented by a demon.”

But even though she’s distraught, Jesus just ignores her and says nothing.

You have to admit: that’s kind of a jerky thing to do.

But if you start to think that is not so bad… Jesus is probably just busy and overwhelmed from all the difficult ministry he’s been doing, just wait for what happens next.

After this woman continues to persist and the disciples approach Jesus and urge him to send her away, Jesus finally responds, saying: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” In other words, he’s saying: my good news and mercy is only for some, only for those who are a part of my flock. Since you are an outsider, it is not for you.

Seriously, Jesus!?

But if you think that is still not too terrible… Jesus must have had so much to do that he had to make some priorities in his ministry, just wait for what comes next.

Because when the woman hears this, she drops to her knees before Jesus’ feet and desperately pleads with Jesus: “Lord, help me.” And you know how Jesus replies to her? He says: “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

Yep, you heard that right. Jesus just called this woman a dog… which might as well have been that five-letter word your parents caught you saying as a middle schooler before they washed your mouth out with soap…

Now, our first reaction is probably to defend Jesus. Because… well, he’s Jesus, for heaven sakes! Jesus is our savior, our refuge, the one who came to protect us.

So how on earth could Jesus treat this woman in such a manner?!

And so when we can’t come up with any decent reasons for why Jesus would do such a thing, it seems that the only natural thing to do is to start blaming this woman. She must have deserved this treatment.

And so if we look at our text, we see that she was shouting… And this is actually the reason the disciples urged Jesus to send her away. Because: “She keeps shouting at us,” they tell Jesus.

Well, this seems to make a little more sense… This woman must be to blame. She was being too aggressive. She should have kept her tone down. She should have spoken nicer. She shouldn’t have been so angry.

And as a Canaanite – who is considered unclean by the Israelites – she shouldn’t even be around the Israelites. And as a woman, it was absolutely uncalled for for her to have approached a man, let alone a rabbi!

I think that finding reasons to blame this woman for Jesus’ words and actions seems to be our natural response… because this kind of victim blaming happens so often today.

“They wouldn’t be jobless and homeless if they were not so lazy.”

“They wouldn’t have been shot by the police if they just didn’t run the other direction.”

“They shouldn’t have protested so loudly. They shouldn’t be so angry. They should be more kind, more gentle, more calm…”

They should do things the way we would have done them.

But the thing is, if we are honest with ourselves, would we do things differently if we really were in the other person’s shoes? Would we obey all the laws, even if the laws were oppressive to us and to our families? Would we be less angry and would we respond more calmly if we were actually up against systems that dehumanize and harm us and that ignore and blame us when we call out this injustice?

If we are honest with ourselves, wouldn’t we – like the Canaanite woman – start shouting if our daughter was possessed by a demon? Wouldn’t we do everything in our power to find a way to heal her – even if that meant doing some things that broke the socially accepted “norms?” And when the world around us ignores or blames us – because – we are “doubly marginalized” as the Canaanite woman – wouldn’t we raise our voices in order to make sure SOMEONE actually begins to listen to us? Wouldn’t we do whatever we could to protect our child, whose life is being threatened by violence, evil, and injustice?

Wouldn’t we persist and resist?

As jerky as Jesus might have been in this situation, I think Jesus must have understood where the Canaanite woman was coming from. Because despite all the reasons why it was culturally inappropriate for her to be doing what she was doing and despite that she was distracting Jesus and the disciples while they were trying to do their ministry, Jesus doesn’t start victim blaming and shaming her. And he doesn’t even send her away when the disciples urge him to do so.

… So … maybe Jesus is not being a complete jerk.

But that still doesn’t take away from him ignoring her and then calling her a dog. So there must be another reason the woman deserved this treatment.

She was – after all – a Canaanite woman. And Canaanites were not only considered unclean to Jews, but they were also considered enemies.

In fact, it was actually quite common for Jews to call Canaanites dogs.

And so, while this was a misogynistic and racial slur, it would not have been a shock for the disciples or even for the Canaanite woman to hear Jesus say it.

So I guess that Jesus must not have been trying to be a jerk. Jesus was just a product of his culture, using language that was common and normal for his time.

But… that still just does not sit too well with me. To me, it feels like Jesus is still being… kind of a jerk.  (Just unintentionally.)

However – this – I believe – is where the good news comes in.

Because honestly, I can be kind of a jerk sometimes, too… And – not always – but most of the time my jerkiness is unintentional.

Because – like Jesus – I am a product of my culture.

I still unintentionally think, say, and do things that are racist or homophobic or transphobic or ablest. Or anti-Semitic or Islamophobic or classist or ethnocentric… and the list goes on. Not because I’m a terrible person. Not because I wish to be these things. It’s actually quite the opposite. I don’t want to be this way. But I do these things because I live in a country where these isms and phobias have been deeply engrained in our culture and in our systems for hundreds of years. And while we have made a lot of progress over those several hundred years, we still have a very long way to go. Because those isms and phobias don’t just go away at the drop of a hat.

And as a white, cis-gender, able bodied, middle class, Christian, who is in an other-gender marriage and who is a citizen of this country, I have so much privilege that enables me to benefit from our country’s systems… systems that actually marginalize, harm, and oppress people without these privileges. And my privilege often blinds me from seeing this reality and often keeps me from fully understanding and even at times believing the experiences of those who don’t have these privileges. Because it’s hard to be aware of and understand experiences of others that are very different from our own. To do so takes a lot of intentionality and a lot of hard work. And it is a life-long process that we must work at every day. Because even when I do this hard anti-racism and anti-hate work, I still live with privilege and still look at the world through a privileged lens.

But this is where Jesus being kind of a jerk in our Gospel today is good news. It is through Jesus’ jerkiness where we see a part of Jesus’ humanity. Because yes, we proclaim that Jesus was fully divine. But we also proclaim that he was fully human. And aren’t humans products of our culture? And isn’t it human to say and do things that are racist, misogynist and ethnocentric without meaning to be? Especially when our culture and systems shape us this way?

This does not – by any means – mean it’s okay and excusable to think, say and do these things.

But it does mean that if Jesus – our Lord and Savior – the Son of the Living God – was a product of his culture and unintentionally said and did things that are kind of jerky: racist, misogynistic and ethnocentric, then it means that maybe I can recognize, admit, and confess that as a human – particularly one with a lot of privilege – I still do these things, too, even when I try so hard not to.

And this is good news because recognizing and confessing this about ourselves is our first step in being able to free ourselves from the bondage that privilege and all the isms and phobias have on us. And it is also the first step we need to take in order to dismantle hate. We have to first look at ourselves and recognize and confess how we are participating in and contributing to oppressive systems or how we are enabling any form of hate.

Because dismantling racism and homophobia and transphobia and ableism and anti-Semitism and Islamophobia and nationalism does not only involve calling out extremist groups that march in the streets with tiki torches chanting hateful chants.

Now, don’t get me wrong. We absolutely do need to call out that kind of hate for what it is and denounce it. What happened in Charlottesville last weekend (which quite honestly happens much more often than we’d like to admit in our country) is – in fact – evil. There absolutely were two sides in Charlottesville last weekend. There was the side of the KKK, Neo-Nazis, and other white supremacists who were chanting “blood and soil,” “Jews will not replace us,” and other horrific anti-LGBTQIA chants that I won’t repeat. And then there was the side of those who were resisting that hate. It’s very clear which side is demonic, hateful, and wrong.

But our work of dismantling hate cannot just end after we call out these extremists and denounce their actions. Because another danger that comes with this territory is when we just point our fingers at “those racists” and “those anti-Semites” and those “homophobics” and say that those extremist “fringe” groups are wrong… and then at the same time say “but I’m not like them so I’m not racist or anti-Semitic or homophobic or fill-in-the-blank.”

Because we will never be able to dismantle hate if we deny our own part in it.

Another danger that comes with this territory is when we point our fingers at these extremists and then just ignore our uncle’s racist jokes or our friend’s transphobic facebook posts because our uncle and our friend are “not like those extremists” and their jokes and posts seem to be “harmless.” Because the truth is: no racist or transphobic post or stereotype is harmless – no matter one’s intensions. It is those unchecked jokes and stereotypes and unintentionally harmful things we say, think, and do that lead to the kind of “othering” that hurts our siblings and that enables and normalizes extremist acts and other forms of systemic injustice.

So let us choose to not be silent. Let us choose to call out all forms of isms and phobias – including those within ourselves. Let us choose to not allow our own isms and phobias to hold us captive and dominate who we are.

*****

And so this is where I would like us to look back at Jesus in our Gospel text for today. For I think if we continue to look at what happens in our story and throughout the rest of Matthew, we will see Jesus modeling for us how we might go about doing this anti-hate work.

You see, even though Jesus starts off this morning being a bit of a jerk, we can learn a lot from what happens next. When Jesus tells the Canaanite woman: “it’s not fair to take food from the children’s table and feed it to the dogs,” she responds strongly:

“Yes, Lord. Yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”

In other words, this Canaanite woman is saying to Jesus that there is room at the table for her, too.

In other words, nevertheless, she persisted and is reclaiming her time.

And in doing so, as she demands that Jesus’ good news and mercy is not just for some, but is for all, guess how Jesus responds…

He doesn’t victim blame her or shun her for breaking the cultural and religious rules and norms. He doesn’t just send her away as the disciples urged him to do or continue to ignore her as he had once done. He doesn’t get defensive and try to explain how he wasn’t being exclusive or racist or misogynist.

Instead, he listens to her. He learns from her. And he changes because of her.

He allows her to open his eyes to his own privilege in that space and to his own participation in oppressive and exclusive systems. He praises her great faith for her holy persistence and resistance. And then he joins her in it: first by healing this Canaanite woman’s daughter and then – as we see throughout the rest of Matthew – by proclaiming a more inclusive Kingdom. One that is not just for the lost sheep of Israel, but that is also for the Canaanites, the Gentiles, the women, the outsiders, the marginalized… A Kingdom that is full of good news and mercy for not just some, but for ALL.

Yes, Jesus was being a bit of a jerk this morning. But he also shows us what it is like to be human. And that – as humans – we don’t have to be bound by our own jerkiness and allow it to keep us from dismantling hate.

We have so much to learn from this event in Matthew. So may we learn from Jesus, his jerkiness, and his conversion. May we learn from the Canaanite woman and her bold persistence and resistance. And may we learn from all those who are persisting and resisting around us as we join them in this holy work.

*****

There is a voice I think we can learn from that I’d like to leave you this morning with the words spoken this week by the mother of Heather Heyer, the woman who was murdered in Charlottesville last weekend for resisting hate.

“Here’s what I want to happen,” she says during her speech at Heather’s funeral. “You ask me what can I do? So many caring people, pages of pages of pages of stuff I’m going through… how [Heather’s] touching the world. I want this to spread. I don’t want this to die. This is just the beginning of Heather’s legacy. This is not the end of Heather’s legacy. You need to find in your heart that small spark of accountability. What is there that I can do to make the world a better place? What injustice do I see? I don’t want you to turn away [and say]: “I don’t really want to get involved in that. I don’t really want to speak up, they’ll be annoyed with me. My boss might think less of me….” I don’t care. You poke that finger at yourself like Heather would have done and you make it happen. You take that extra step. You find a way to make a difference in the world…

Let’s have the uncomfortable dialog. It ain’t easy sitting down and saying “why are you upset?” It ain’t easy sitting down and going: yeah, well I think this way and I don’t agree with you but I’m going to respectfully listen to what you have to say. We’re not all going to sit around shaking hands and singing kumbaya. I’m sorry, it’s not all about forgiveness, I know that is not a popular trend. But the truth is we are going to have our differences, we are going to be angry with each other. But let’s channel that anger not into hate. Not into violence, not into fear.

But let’s channel that anger into righteous action…. Remember in your heart (as Heather liked to say): if you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention. And I want you to pay attention, find what’s wrong. Don’t ignore it. Don’t look the other way. You make a point to look at it and say to yourself: what can I do to make a difference? And that is how you’re going to make my child’s death worthwhile.”

May Our Prayers Move Us To Action: Grieving in Solidarity with Mother Emanuel AME Church:

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Today I have a heavy heavy heart. Today I am grieving in solidarity with the loved ones of the nine beautiful lives that were so hatefully taken from them. Today I am grieving with Mother Emanuel AME Church and the surrounding community of Charleston, my friends and colleagues in the AME Church, and all of my black and brown brothers and sisters who continue to experience hateful violence because deeply ingrained racism still exists.

I am grieving, I am praying, I am repenting.

There is much needed prayer today.

But our prayers must not end with an “Amen.” They must also lead us to action.

This is not just an isolated incident. We must recognize the horrifying sin that America was founded on: white supremacy. And we must acknowledge that the deep forms of racism and white supremacy continue to pervade our country today. We must repent of our participation in and our benefiting from the unjust systems that continue to privilege white people and deem people of color as “less than.” We must speak out and work hard to expose, denounce, and tear down all forms of racism – whether the shooting at Mother Emanuel AME Church or the police brutality in Baltimore, Ferguson, Cleveland, Chicago…, whether they are actions that we believe to be “harmless” like racist jokes and stereotyping, or whether they are acts of denying and ignoring white privilege and racism.

We must recognize that silence is complicity.

Because hateful acts like these continue to occur when we remain silent.

Because hateful acts like these continue to occur when we don’t work to end all forms of racism and hate until there are none.

Because black lives do in fact matter. They matter to God and they should matter to us.

St. Theresa of Avila’s words come to mind today:

Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.