Black Lives Matter    

 

Reading: Psalm 4 Redux

I claim my righteousness in the face of those
who would deny me my right,
who would disparage and dismiss me,
who refuse to see the goodness
in my words and in my being.

 

I turn to you, good God,
you who plant the seeds of insight,
who shape the heart for justice,
who gift the vision of a renewed humanity
and a redeemed earth.

 

Be my strength!
Renew my courage!
Restore my dignity among the people,
that they may listen and believe,
that your purposes may be fulfilled.

 

Keep a guard on my mouth.
Let not my hurt and anger
destroy the possibility
of peace to come.
Wrap me in a wise and thoughtful silence,
that I may discern the right and the true.

 

Illumine our shadows,
and make our lives
and our life together
radiant with your light.

 

You are our joy;
nothing compares,
not the riches of the ages
or the accolades of our neighbours.

 

We rest in you
our trust secure,
our peace assured.

 

©Carla A. Grosch-Miller 2014

 

 

Paintings by a 9-year-old girl in Trallwn who has been the victim of racism and who is working for a fairer world. Used with permission.

 

 

Reflection

It’s fair to say that I’ve spent more nights losing sleep and more days thinking long and hard about today’s…let’s call it a reflection…than I have over any other sermon or reflection I’ve given whilst in Pontypridd. I’ve read tough articles, listened to a wide range of friends, church members and neighbours, ordered books and even indulged in a fascinating philosophical debate with a university lecturer about knowledge (is it ever separate from the knower?). Even after all this, I approach the subject with a great deal of hesitation for I – a white, middle-class, English man – am going to touch on the subject of race and racism – an area that we have certainly not ignored in the past as Church but that is particularly charged with heightened passion today.

 

Over the last couple of weeks, one cannot fail to have been appalled by the murder of George Floyd by a white policeman in Minnesota, USA or moved by the outpouring of anger and grief that have flowed from it. I say appalled and moved but not shocked because, if I’m honest, I didn’t find it shocking. My life-long fascination with America – which, for me, encapsulates the best and worst of humanity – has meant that I’m sadly very aware that George Floyd’s murder was no isolated case. In March of this year, Breonna Taylor was killed by plainclothes police officers who entered her house as she slept. In February, Ahmaud Arbery was fatally shot by two white men whilst out jogging. In recent years the names Paul Castaway, Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice and so many more have been added to the tragically ever-increasing list of those from the black, indigenous and people of colour[1] community whose lives have been taken by systemic prejudice. And whilst much of the backdrop for such atrocities is unique to the US – such as the unaccountability of police unions and the insidious obsession with guns in the country – one cannot deny that their underlying cause is pervasive here too. If anything, Britain pioneered and exported racism across the globe and our relationship with it is by no means in the past tense. The disproportionate use of stop and search powers, the increase in racist rhetoric used by many media commentators and significant Government figures during the Brexit debate, the Windrush Scandal…in the words of Dave, the British musician who gave a powerful performance at the Brit Awards in February of this year;

 

They say – ‘You should be grateful, we’re the least racist’. I say the least racist is still racist.

 

So, how do we, as almost exclusively white Christians living in South Wales speak about this issue without inadvertently affronting someone or making a mistake? My experience suggests to me that perhaps we can’t. There are so many wildly diverse opinions on how to approach the issue – on whether I, as a white, middle class English man should speak at all about this –  that in saying anything, it is possible that some offence will be caused. However, the one thing that all commentators agree upon is that the worse thing to do is to be silent on this so all we can do is to actively listen to often unheard voices and offer our own thoughts with humility, an acknowledgement of speaking from a position of white privilege and a hope that any errors made will be met with grace. It’s also so significant an issue that we clearly can’t address all of it in one 15 minute sermon…especially when I’m spending half of it on all these caveats! Rather, I’ll be reflecting on different aspects of it on the remaining Sundays in June and then in July, those who feel encouraged to explore the issue further will be given the opportunity to take part in a 28 day reading reflection which might help us consider our inheritance – both positive and otherwise – regarding the issue. More details in next week’s news sheet.

 

So, are you sitting uncomfortably? Then I’ll begin! We start with some words from the Epistle of James –

 

You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak….

James 1:19

 

Listening is central to our faith. From the Shema to Jesus’ parables; the work of the prophets to the teaching of the early Church; our scriptures consistently remind us of the need to listen to God’s voice in the groans of creation, the stillness of solitude, the words of neighbours. To listen is to love and we are called once again to listen to the experiences, feelings, stories of those within our community who have suffered racist prejudice and discrimination. This week I have been saddened and angered by the stories I have heard. The mother who was encouraged to move on when looking for a baptism dress for her daughter in the Ponty market. The support worker who gets abused whilst trying to care for others. The church members who have been called the n-word at school. As one woman from Trallwn, whose family have been subject to racist abuse, put it –

 

Racism exists here, in Wales, in Pontypridd… I’ve seen the Facebook posts.

I’ve heard the stories.

This is here.

 

Whilst much of the recent protesting in the UK has been righteous, passionate and prophetic, there has been some fair criticism of well-intentioned white people who have taken the mic, led the charge and applauded themselves whilst the overwhelming call from the black community is to listen and learn. One BIPOC friend explained to me that racism is like toothache. If you’ve never been subject to it, you don’t know what it feels like; don’t know how painful it can be. We need to listen to even begin to understand. We need to learn about the everyday experiences of discrimination that our sisters and brothers face. We need to be followers of Jesus, the BIPOC man from Palestine, who listened to often unheard voices; who asked searching questions; who encouraged challenging conversations.

One consequence of such listening will be to learn more of the white privilege that is inherent in our social systems, institutions, even Church.

 

I wonder if any of us tensed up when I spoke the phrase ‘white privilege’ there. It’s a term which garners a lot of emotion and misunderstanding. I’m trying to educate myself more about it myself and am one of the thousands of consumers who have bought Reni Eddo-Lodge’s ‘Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race’ this week, making her the first black British author to top the paperback nonfiction chart…a fact which speaks loudly in itself.

 

For now though, it might be helpful to acknowledge that white privilege isn’t something to feel guilty about. It is no updated original sin or reason to self-flagellate…which would of course make it about white people again! Rather it is something to acknowledge, learn about and challenge. Let me just give you one stark example that I encountered this week. I was lucky enough to be brought up by two loving parents who assured me that I was loved for who I was, not what I did. Their mantra, if there was one, was ‘just do your best’. As a white male, that’s all I had to do and all would be well. This week, two BIPOC friends of mine who are staggeringly inspiring people said to me, quite casually, that they have told their daughters that the system works against them; that if they are competing with an equally qualified white person for a job, the white person will get it; that they will have to try twice as hard, work twice as hard, love twice as hard to succeed and make a difference. When I asked if they or their daughters were upset or angered by this injustice, they smiled and replied that this is just the way it is. There’s the white privilege. The privilege of growing up within a society that will silently favour you simply because of your skin colour and you get to be largely unaware of it. It’s not so very different from the prejudiced Temple system that Jesus railed against. A system that dictated how close to God you could get dependent upon your ethnicity and religion; your gender and sexuality; your tribe and physical ableness. A system that God turned upside down in an outrageous act of sacred solidarity  – by becoming one of us; by sanctifying all human flesh; by touching lepers, welcoming women, telling stories about good Samaritans and privileged fools.

 

Within the conversations I’ve had this week, I’ve asked if there’s more the Church can do to challenge the injustice of systemic racism at this time. One answer I was given reiterated the call to listen. Not just to the current experiences, hopes, fears and reflections of our BIPOC sisters and brothers but to the history of colonialism. To listen to how the oppressed, the marginalized, the ‘loser’ understands our history. To listen also to the stories we treasure in The Bible which is, as Revd Dr Liz Theoharris puts it, ‘a book by, about, and for poor and marginalized people. It not only says that God blesses and loves the poor, but also that the poor are God’s agents and leaders in rejecting and dismantling kingdoms built upon oppression and inequality’[2]. In our scriptures, then, we are invited to listen to God’s voice in the stories of a people who well knew the pain of prejudice, the oppression of Empires, the horror of legalized brutality. And so we listen to God’s voice in the songs of slaves, the anger of exiles, the protests of the powerless. We listen to God’s voice in the cry of a baby born in poverty, the shouts of a table-turning radical, the desperate cries of an innocent man who gasped for breath as state officials watched him die. We listen to God’s voice in words of lament, fury, desperation and, ultimately, of hope. For we hear of a coming kingdom where everyone is welcomed, valued and loved. We hear of a God who demands that justice roll on like a river and righteousness a mighty stream. We hear of a promise that one day death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more; for God will dwell amongst us and wipe away every tear from our eyes.

 

God is still speaking in the ways and through the people that God always has done.

 

The question is: are we listening?

 

Those watching this online will be encouraged to keep listening as The Adventist Vocal Assemble sing the African American spiritual ‘There is a balm in Gilead’. For those who don’t watch the videos, the lyrics are:

 

There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole. There is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin-sick soul.

If you can’t preach like Peter, if you can’t pray like Paul, just tell the love of Jesus and say, ‘He died for all.’

There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole. There is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin-sick soul.

Sometimes I feel discouraged and think my work’s in vain but then the Holy Spirit revives my soul again.

There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole. There is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin-sick soul.

 

[1] It can be difficult to keep up to date with the latest and most widely recommended terms which might best communicate the ethnicities of those of us to whom we are referring regarding the victims of racism. After some research, for the remainder of this reflection, I will use the initials BIPOC which refers to Black, Indigenous and People of Colour.

[2] Solidarity: A Movement of the Rejected – https://cac.org/a-movement-of-the-rejected-2020-05-29/#gsc.tab=0