Lent 2013

Ever since becoming an Episcopalian, I have come to look forward to the season of Lent.  I don’t look forward to it in some liturgical-masochistic way of self-flagellation, punishing myself for my “manifold sins and wickedness” like it appears it used en vogue to do.  Neither do I don’t look forward to it as the season of the “Sanctified Diet,” using Jesus as an excuse to give up chocolate, or excess fried foods, with hopes of approaching Easter a thinner, more sexy me, like it has currently become en vogue to do.  Instead, I have come to look at Lent as a moment to pause as we hurdle headlong from Christmas to Easter, a season to truly pause and take stock of my life – a season of preparation, not punishment; a season of renewal, not of regret.

This year is no different.  Well, actually, that’s not exactly true.  It’s altogether different.  This is my first time participating in this holy season as an ordained person.  Though I have been ordained for two months, I am still awed by the responsibility God has entrusted to me.  And yet, the magnitude of my ordination presents an opportunity for liminality as I am something, but not yet something.  Being a transitional deacon is truly a confusing place, yet it presents such an opportunity to pause and renewal this season.  With that in mind, I am determined to observe “a holy Lent, self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word (Book of Common Prayer, p. 265).”  While most of the particulars of my Lenten practice aren’t important, what is important is my decision to pray the Anglican rosary daily this season (in addition to continued observance of the Daily Office).  In addition to praying the Anglican Rosary, I have also decided to journal through this season and to include certain entries on this blog.  I remember starting this blog years ago to help me process my own inner spiritual reformation and I want to engage in that process again this season.  I am actually not even sure that anyone reads this blog, but I am still going to journal in the hopes that the few hapless strangers who wander here may share this journey with me.  I hope to externally process parts of my internal conversation with God.  I am unsure where this journey leads, but I’m committed nonetheless.

“Our steps are directed by the LORD; he strengthens those in whose way he delights.” (Psalm 37:24 from the BCP)

In Pace,

The Reverend Marcus G. Halley (I still need to get used to seeing my name like this)

The “N-Word”

Seeing the deluge of tweets referring to President Barack Obama as a “Nigger” have revealed something about myself, something I struggle to admit: the word still has a sting for me. Some have moved beyond the power of the word, but I haven’t yet to achieve such a level of nirvana. The word still hurts because it stirs up the images of Black women and men being beaten, raped, maimed, burned, tortured, and killed while this very word polluted the air around them. It hurts because it goes beyond mere intolerance and ignorance and moves directly to hate at its most basic level. The word hurts because of the history to which it is connected: a history that is seldom discussed and never really dealt with. The word hurts because it reveals something about the fallenness of human nature: the capacity to hate and to do so vehemently and with such intentionality. But the word also hurts because, insomuch as it is easy to externalize hate, I realize that I have within me the capacity to hate just as much. It hurts because I too, if not constantly resting in the grace of God and leaning into the love of Christ, have the capacity to hate those who employ such a word equally as much as they may hate me. But thus hurt is not an end in itself; rather, it is a reminder that we all are called to rest in this grace and lean into this love.  The alternative to this is hate.  ”Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love…”

“For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name. I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.” – Ephesians 3:14-19 (NRSV)

Business Beyond Barriers

From there he set out and went away to the region of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there. Yet he could not escape notice, but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet. Now the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. He said to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” But she answered him, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” Then he said to her, “For saying that, you may go–the demon has left your daughter.” So she went home, found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.

Mark 7:24-30 (NRSV)

As a Preacher of the Gospel, there are some times during the Christian year where it is relatively easy, and even fun, to preach.  Seasons like Christmastide and Easter lend themselves to sermons that are typically easy to preach – “feel-good” scenes such as the Magi huddled around Jesus’ makeshift crib in Bethlehem or the inherent power and glory in the empty tomb of Easter lend themselves to relatively easy preaching.

Then there are times when preaching is not as easy, when texts lend themselves to struggle, when images become problematic, when words become dangerous and hurtful.  Today is one of those days.  Today we are invited into a discourse between Jesus and a woman that may lead us to a whole range of emotions – shock, anger, despair, hopelessness.  Today, we get a different, perhaps more troubling, side of Jesus.  So, I invite you with me as we briefly journey through the subject, “Business Beyond Barriers.”

Each of us, by nature of our Baptism has been invited into discipleship with Christ – a discipleship that calls us to “Go therefore and makes disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and of the Holy Spirit…”[1]  This Great Commission given by Jesus to his disciples at the end of Matthew’s Gospel, and a commission that we are invited into as well, calls us to go into “all nations.”  This ministry of God in which we share and take part will sometimes lead us to some barriers – internal or external.  How we engage these barriers can make the difference between the enlarging of the Reign of God, or the continued path of “smallness” that we see around us

We encounter Jesus at one of these barriers in our Gospel today.  Before we meet Jesus in Tyre, we find that Jesus has had run-in with his old friends, the Pharisees, in Gennersaret.  In this exchange, Jesus is challenged by pious Pharisees around the laws of purity, particularly in regards to food.  Jesus’ response is, “Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile.”[2]  Immediately after having said these words, Jesus departs to the region of Tyre, deep within Gentile country.

The first thing we notice about Jesus is his willingness to encounter the barrier.  Jesus was Bold.  In Jesus’ time, although the Jews themselves were suffering under the oppressive yoke of the Roman Empire, their sense of national pride often caused them to not only think and view themselves as higher than others ethnic groups, but this often caused them to segregate their own society so that they would have little interaction with the Gentile population.  Thus, areas where the population was predominantly Gentile were considered inherently unclean.  Therefore, Jesus’ rendezvous into Gentile territory was a blatant attempt to engage this barrier, to illustrate firmly that it is not what is on the outside that makes one unclean; rather, it is what comes from the heart that defiles.

We too, called to follow in the way of Christ, in the way of the Cross, are also called to some barriers.   We too are called to be bold.  This boldness means stepping out of our comfort zone, out of own realms of safety, into areas of the God’s vineyard ripe for harvest.  Before coming up to Sewanee, I was completing my Clinical Pastoral Education Residency at Emory University Hospital-Midtown in Atlanta, Georgia.  Part of my daily responsibilities mandated a “Holy Ghost Boldness,” a willingness to enter into patient’s rooms, who may have been sick with cancer, HIV/AIDS, tuberculosis, or any number of illnesses, but more importantly to enter into patient’s lives, lives that were complete with cultural and ethnic differences, often contentious family dynamics, personal struggles, and more.  It required boldness to go into the rooms, and these lives, unaware of what you would encounter.  Yet, this boldness of which I speak is not a human boldness.  This is not a confidence that is couched in what I could humanly do.  Rather, the boldness of which I speak is couched in what I could not do, but what God could do, or as God said to Paul, “my strength is made perfect in weakness.”[3]  This is the power with which we run this Christian race, the power of God that works in us that “is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or imagine…”[4]  We too are called to be bold.

Jesus’ boldness led him into a barrier that revealed something else in which we are invited to share.  Not only was Jesus bold, but Jesus was Human.  Jesus not only walks into Gentile country, but encounters someone with three strikes against them – a woman, a Gentile, and a Syropheonecian.  According to Jewish custom, this woman couldn’t get any more unclean (unless she walked in with a Bacon, Lettuce, and Tomato sandwich).  In light of this woman’s status, Jesus’ response to this woman’s request is difficult to hear, but it reveals the often forgotten truth that while Jesus was fully divine, he was also fully human.  His response was rooted in racism, in sexism, and in ethnocentrism.  In the face of this barrier, Jesus defaulted to what his culture taught him about “those people.”  “Those people” are unclean… “Those people” aren’t worthy… “Those people” aren’t like we are… “Those people” don’t worship like we do… “Those people were born on the wrong side of the tracks… “Those people…” “Those people…” “Those people…”  Yet it was “those people” who would challenge Jesus to beyond this barrier.

So what’s the good news about being human, after all, aren’t we susceptible to all the human frailties and shortcomings?  While it is true that in our human-ness we are susceptible to all the human frailties and shortcomings, we also have the propensity for growth – to become more fully human.  In this exchange with this woman, Jesus is invited to grow – to grow beyond the barriers of her sex, of her ethnicity, of her nationality – and grow into relating to her on a human-to-human level.  Dr. King once remarked that

Too seldom do we see people in their true humanness.  A spiritual myopia limits our vision to external accidents.  We see men as Jews or Gentiles, Catholics or Protestants, Chinese or American, Negroes or Whites.  We fail to think of them as fellow human beings made from the same basic stuff as we, molded in the same divine image.[5]

We too are invited to be human.  Not only are invited to be human in its negative sense of being susceptible to the frailties and shortcomings of the human condition; but, we are invited to grow, to learn, to develop, to blossom, to increase, and stretch, and to enlarge – to become more fully human.  Life as a disciple of Jesus Christ is all about this growth.  Paul echoes this notion when he writes, “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.”[6]  What the world needs now, are mature Christians, Christians who have had an experience with the risen Lord in the fellowship and in the breaking of bread and are not afraid or ashamed to go out into the world and to proclaim this Great Gospel – that Love came, that Love died, that Love rose again, and that Love lives in each of our hearts.  We too are invited to be human.

Finally we see that after his encounter with the Syropheonician Woman, Jesus showed compassion to her. Not only was Jesus bold, not only was Jesus human, but Jesus was Compassionate.  Jesus, having grown to see that his ministry was not just to the Israelites, but to all of God’s children, responds to this woman’s request.  The Ministry of Jesus was one of compassion.  It was a ministry that involved meeting people at the point of their need.  It was a ministry that called Jesus to look with compassion upon all who turned to him for help.

I am so glad that Jesus was Compassionate.  I am so glad that Jesus, “looked beyond my fault and saw my need.”  I am so glad that

I was sinking deep in sin,

Far from the peaceful shore,

Very deeply stained within,

Sinking to rise no more,

But the Master of the Sea,

Heard my despairing cry,

And from the waters lifted me,

Now safe am I.

I am so glad that when I was walking in darkness, Christ was my light.  I am so glad that when I was at the end of my rope, Christ helped me to run on just a little while longer.  I am so glad that when I was shackled by a heavy burden, he touched me and Oh the Joy that floods my soul!  I am so glad that Christ had compassion on me!

And having received such a depth of love, such a wealth of compassion, We too are called to be Compassionate.  We are called to be the Body of Christ – called to be God’s eyes in a world where too often people are invisible because of their race, or their creed, or their nationality; called to be God’s ears in a world where people are crying out for help and need to be heard; called to be God’s hands in a world where some need to feel a touch of love; called to be God’s feet in world where too often we talk to the talk, but don’t walk the walk; called to be God’s voice in world that needs to hear the good news, this Gospel – That Love Came, Love Conquered, and Love Lives!

September 9, 2012

First Presbyterian Church – Manchester, TN

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     [1] Matthew 28:19 (NRSV)

     [2] Mark 7:14b-15

     [3] 2 Corinthians 12:9b (KJV)

     [4] Ephesians 3:20 (KJV)

     [5] Martin Luther King, Jr. “On Being a Good Neighbor” in Strength to Love (pp. 24)

     [6] 1 Corinthians 13:11 (NRSV)

We Real Incomplete: Interrogating the Lack of Queer Voices in Black Masculinity

Book Review on “We Real Cool: Black Men and Masculinity” by bell hooks

Ever since my formative days in undergrad, I have long been enamored by the clout associated with the name bell hooks, particularly in my Political Science classes which sought to reframe the political dialogue of African Americans to include voices present within the Black Liberation, Feminist, and Womanist movements.  We Real Cool: Black Men and Masculinity has long been on my list of books to read.  The title in conjunction with my limited knowledge of bell hooks promised to render a fresh assessment of the state of black manhood and ways in which black men can move from woundedness to wholeness.

hooks offers ten chapters that systematically expose the ways in which “imperialist white-supremacist capitalist patriarchal culture” have attacked the life possibilities of black men and boys and prevented from being able to construct more holistic and healthy expressions of black masculinity.  Specifically, in this treatise, hooks discusses the ways in which current notions of black masculinity affect the way black men relate to each other (often through a “gangsta culture” that requires violence to assert control), to black women (too often in violent and abusive relationships out of a fear of a loss of status), in sexual relationships (where hooks describes the ways in which black men have internalized the sexualization placed upon during slavery and associate sexual dominance as a sign of masculinity), to their families (who are often the recipients of the lack of emotional connection and aloofness commonly associated with popular notion of manhood), and to the larger society (often internalizing the own hate placed upon them by society.

In the end, hooks seeks to offer ways through which black men can move from woundedness to wholeness through a commitment to “being real.”  hooks frames being real as a complete reframing of notions of manhood the commonly associated such as a lack of emotion, disproportionate relationality between one’s body-self and mind where the body is valued more than the mind, and a lack of desire to be a nurturing parental figure along with other “suspect” behaviors.  She issues a challenge for black men to reimagine was of expressing black masculinity in broad terms that allow black men and boys to be themselves within a culture that currently attempts to stamp out the nuances of “self” in favor of a homogenous and stifling definition of black manhood.  She advises that black men externally process and speak to their hurts, broken dreams, and the “intense loneliness” in order to facilitate the first steps of “being real” and moving towards healing.

While I can applaud hooks’ desire to speak to a broad spectrum of black masculinity, I am appalled at the way she engages the queer community.  Throughout much of this book, the queer community is non-existent.  The few times that she mentioned queer men, it seems to be in her references to “suspect” behavior found in black boys and in the few black queer scholars that she uses to buttress her own argument.  The culmination of her superficial engagement of the black queer voice occurs when she quotes James Beam, author of In the Life, an anthology of black queer men.  Beam writes

I dare myself to dream… I dare myself to dream of a time when I will pass a group of brothers on the corner, and the words “fucking faggot” will not move the air around my ears, and when my gay brother approaches me on the street we can embrace if we choose.

There does not seem to be an intentional engagement of the queer voice within black masculinity which ostensibly reifies the notion that somehow black queer men are not really men at all.  Although hooks claims to speak from a liberated black feminist point of view, her refusal to engage the queer black male voice only speaks to her collusion with current heterosexist and heteronormative hegemony.

While this book offers a critique of “imperialist white-supremacist capitalist patriarchal culture” and strategies for black men and boys to overcome the nihilistic threat this culture produces, the lack of black queer male voices leaves this book incomplete not only in its scope of black masculinity, but also in its strategic engagement of “soul murdering” culture.  The reader should engage this book knowing that this is an incomplete analysis of black masculine culture and reflect on ways to broaden this discussion to include more voices and experiences.  She ends this book discussing the Egyptian myth of Isis reassembling the dismembered body of her brother/lover Osiris in order to facilitate his resurrection and posits that this is the way in which black man and boys and those who love them should engage in the task of reassembling black masculinity; however, by negating to include the voices of black queer men, the body of black masculinity can never be fully reassembled.

The Strange Fruit of Christianity and the Nuances of Inclusive Discourse

Book Review of Kelly Brown Douglas’s What’s Faith Got to Do with It?: Black Bodies/Christian Souls

I have long been a fan of Kelly Brown Douglas ever since my introduction to her while reading her seminal treatise against the hegemonic discourse in the Heterosexist Black Christian tradition entitled, Sexuality and the Black Church: A Womanist Perspective.  After reading this first academic work, I noted to a professor that “this book has freed me.  I feel more confidence in my ability and commitment to being fully and intentionally myself.”  With this in mind, I was excited when I walked into the bookstore and found a new book with her name on it.  This book, entitled, What’s Faith Got to Do with It?: Black Bodies/Christian Souls was written as Douglas sought to wrestle with the question presented by one of her students, “How can you, a black [sic] woman, possibly be Christian… when Christianity as often contributes to your oppression as a black [sic] and as a female.”[1]

As she engages this question, Douglas does so by broadening the discourse beyond simply gender and racial terms and is intentional about being inclusive of sexuate realities within this dialog.  Per her characteristic, methodical nature, Douglas systematically and meticulously builds her case about the realities of a platonic Christian tradition that seems to be an affront to authentic Christian religious expression and she indicts this tradition as a main culprit for the ways in which the Christian faith colludes with hegemonic power and resulted in the historic oppression of bodies, particularly Black bodies.  Specifically, Douglas illumines the ways in which the American Christian tradition ostensibly condoned, if not actively participated in the lynching of Black bodies.  According to Douglas, this is done because of the flesh versus spiritual dualism that is present within the platonic Christian faith tradition (as expressed in the Pauline epistles) that offers sacred canopy for the attacks on the bodies of a sexualized people.

As she begins to conclude her argument, Douglas does so offering solutions that she proposes will help reframe the flesh/spirit paradox and help the Black Christian faith tradition speak about their faith in more inclusive, egalitarian, and communal terms.  The problem arises as Kelly Brown Douglas seeks to discuss Black(ness) in more inclusive, liberative terms.  As a student of James Cone, Douglas struggles to discuss Blackness as something other than a racialized reality.  Douglas does attempt to discuss the notion of ontological Blackness, that is, Blackness that is a state of being opposed to the hegemonic and oppressive forces of whiteness; however, her fluidity between these definitions exposes a lingering truth about the liberative theological discourse – the difficulty of engaging in liberative theological discourse that is inclusive while still maintaining the images, language, and concepts that are important to maintaining and affirming the agency of selfhood an oppressed community.  Furthermore, as currently constructed, Blackness is framed in opposition to whiteness, which still utilizes racialized \

gtlanguage to discuss the complexities of oppression.  This relationship precludes the other manifestation of oppression and serves to limit our discussion of oppression to chiefly, if not solely, racial terms.  Douglas herself says, “It is important to move beyond the boundaries of race and gender to confront the issues that involve the life, dignity, and freedom of black [sic] women and men in particular and other humans in general.”[2]  Despite her willingness to do so, she unwittingly found herself mired in problematic language that has the possibility of reifying the oppressive, hegemonic delineations that we seek to overcome.

Future and current theologians must then grapple with the task of framing liberative discourse in ways that both affirm the lived experiences and historical realities of persons and communities while offering an inclusive framework and language.  How can God be exclusively Black in a world where oppression is being framed along gender, sex, socio-economic, and sexuate terms.  Are we to reframe Black(ness) as the sum total of all oppression, and if so what does this say to all the other ways in which persons are oppressed?  What other language becomes possible in addressing the overarching principles and precepts of oppression while still acknowledging the particular nuances of oppression situated within specific contexts?  One should read Douglas’s What’s Faith Got to Do with It? with these questions in mind, and take seriously Douglas’s challenge to “move beyond the boundaries of race and gender.” One should also read this treatise mindful that this seeks not to be a final volume in the ever-increasing liberative anthology; rather, this work simply seeks to add more questions in order to help move the dialogue forward.

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     [1] Kelly Brown Douglas. What’s Faith Got to Do with It?: Black Bodies/Christian Souls (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2005), xi.

     [2] Ibid., 210.

Go! Tell It!

19 When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.”

20 After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord.

21 Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

22 When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”

John 20:19-22

 Fear is a powerful weapon.  Not all fear is bad or detrimental to the human existence.  Appropriate and managed fear is necessary for survival.  In his sermon “Antidotes for Fear,” Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. asserts, “If man were to lose his capacity to fear, he would be deprived of his capacity to grow, invent, and create.  So in a sense fear is normal, necessary, and creative.”[1]  However, unchecked fear can cause noble and valiant women and men to shrink to the smallest form of themselves, away from their innate greatness towards a more acceptable, more palatable, self.  Fear can stifle the voices of the oppressed and erode the zeal of the most zealous women and men.  Fear, if left unchecked, can cause a people to settle for the crumbs that fall from the masters table, instead of dismantling the table and demanding equality, freedom, and liberation.  Fear is a power weapon.

Crucifixion was just this – an instrument of fear.  The Romans would crucify criminals along busy roads, near busy cities, always in the view of the populace in order to insure their loyalty, or at least their obedience and compliance.  The crucifixion of Jesus was no different.  It was a signal to any other would-be revolutionaries – Caesar is in charge.  It’s amazing that as much as things change, they stay the same because it was with this same motivation that White Americans undertook the diabolical task of lynching Black men and women.  The very word lynch or the presumption that a lynch mob was coming was enough to keep the population of newly emancipated Blacks subservient and oppressed.  Fear is a powerful weapon.

It is here that we meet the disciples.  Even after Simon Peter and the other disciple had come back and reported that Jesus’ had risen, they were still locked in the room, the Bible says, for “fear of the Jews.”  Even after Mary of Magdala had come back to the place where the disciples were and reported on the miraculous sight that she had seen, the disciples still remained locked in the room, the Bible says, for “fear of the Jews.”  Surely the image of a lynched Jesus was still seared on the retina’s of their collective and individual consciousness.  Even after experiencing Easter, the disciples were still stuck on the horror of Good Friday and the silence of Holy Saturday.  Even after experiencing Jesus changed, that is resurrected, the disciples still refused to spread the Gospel for “fear of the Jews.”

Three years ago, many of us began this seminary journey holding on a miniscule theology, a myopic cosmology, and a crippling Christology.  The process of seminary systematically, and sometimes not so systematically, stripped many of us of these toxic theologies and gave us the tools to begin building a sustaining faith, a more unified community, and a more whole self.  I have spoken with many members of the senior class who can testify that Jesus has been transformed for them.  Personally, I have been invited into a deeper, more authentic relationship with the Son of God who invites all of me into a relationship with God.  We have experienced the liberative and transformative Gospel of God at work in our lives and the lives around us.  Why then are we locked in the room?  Why are we not out sharing this liberating Gospel?  Why are we only reifying the current cycles of oppression within our churches?

The Disciples had witnessed Jesus’ actions for three long years.  As they sojourned throughout the Judean countryside healing the sick, raising the dead, challenging popular religio-cultural ideologies of the day, feeding multitudes, and proclaiming the coming of the Reign of God.  Yes, they had seen Jesus in action.  They had seen his great deeds.  They had seen his miracles.  Yet, with all that they had experienced, their fear of “the Jews” kept them locked in a room, paralyzed by fear, silent and powerless.

Let’s be clear: The Resurrection of Jesus Christ was a radical divine response to the evils of Jesus’ day.  The Resurrection of Jesus Christ was God’s response to Temple system.  In his “getting up,” Jesus signified where the real temple was and destroyed the myopic theologies of the Sadducees.  The Resurrection of Jesus Christ was God’s response to Empire.  His resurrection ultimately sent a message to the ruling authorities that the Reign of God supersedes any earthy dominion any day of the week.  The Resurrection of Jesus Christ was also God’s response to society.  In his glorious resurrection, Jesus Christ showed that the “arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.”  The lynch mob was not going to have the final say.  This collective Gospel of Christ’s life and ministry, death and resurrection, is the Gospel.  This Gospel challenged every eschalon of society on a whole new level, scattering the pride in their conceit, casting down the mighty from their thrones, lifting up the lowly, filling the poor with good things, and sending the rich away empty.  This is the Gospel the Disciples were to go out and tell, but they stayed, shut up in their room “for fear of the Jews.”

Through this journey, many of us have experienced the challenges of this Gospel.  We have experienced a Gospel that nullifies the oppressive ideology that says, “suffer not a woman to preach.”  We have experienced a Gospel that abolishes the notion that our Lesbian/Gay/Bi-Sexual/Transgendered brothers and sisters are not fit to proclaim the Gospel in our churches.  We have experienced a Gospel that affirms our African identity, that decries the notion that Blackness is a blighted condition and insists that we are Children of God.  We have experienced a Gospel that refutes the Prosperity Gospel that does not collude with American capitalism and materialism but declares, “Μαχαριοι οι πτωχοι τω πνευματι, Highly honored or highly esteemed are those who are poor in spirit!”  We have experienced a Gospel that calls us out of darkness into light, out of bondage into freedom, out of self into community.  We have experienced a Gospel that destroys our little shelters, lowers our little walls; destroys our little altars, and crucifies our little gods and calls into a more inclusive, liberative, and transformative way of being in the world.

How many of us have sung the words of the great Gospel anthem, “We are not ashamed of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, for it is God’s power of salvation, to everyone that believes it, to everyone that receives it, he/she shall have everlasting life.”  We sing it, but if we really believed in the power of this Gospel, fear would not keep us shut up in a room even after experiencing our radical transformations as a result of our contact with this Gospel.

Fear of what?  We don’t preach this Gospel for fear of Bishops and ordination committees.  Fear of what?  We don’t preach this Gospel for fear of moderators and overseers.  Fear of what?  We don’t preach this Gospel for fear of not receiving an appointment or a call.  Fear of what?  We don’t preach this Gospel for fear of being stuck out on a limb by ourselves.  Fear of what?  We don’t preach this Gospel for fear of being called “too extreme” when at its core the Gospel is an extreme reorganization of the status quo.  Fear is a powerful weapon!

Aware of the trepidation of his disciples, the newly resurrected Jesus visits them on Easter Evening and says, “ειρηνη υμιν – peace be with you.”  Can you imagine the scene?  The disciples are huddled in a small room.  The windows are shut and the door is locked.  There is little, if any light in the room and grief, fear, and panic cast an overwhelmingly depressing tone throughout the space.  Suddenly, the risen Lord appears in this space and speaks “peace.”  Isn’t this just like the savior to come into our lives when we least expect him and speak a word of encouragement?  Isn’t this just like the Master to break into our gloomy places and bring light?  Isn’t this just like the Lord to enter into through our fear and speak peace?  If you walk this pilgrim’s path long enough you will find that even the most secure among us needs the Savior to come in and encourage us.  If you walk this lonesome valley long enough you will find that every now and then faith begins to falter and courage runs in short supply.  Knowing this, Jesus breaks into the room and says, “ειρηνη υμιν – peace be with you!”

After the disciples rejoiced in seeing the Lord, Jesus again repeats, “Peace be with you.  As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”  Now before we rejoiced prematurely, let us realize what Jesus is saying to them and ultimately to us.  This Jesus was sent by God into a world that reviled him, rebuked him, refused him, and ultimately crucified him.  The ministry that Jesus was called to do would make him a political revolutionary, a religious heretic, and a cultural derision.  It is with this in mind that Jesus says, “As my Father has sent me, so I send you.”

This same commission is what Jesus gives us today.  Dr. Lisa Allen says it like this, “The road of ministry ultimately and intentionally leads us to Calvary.”  The hymn writer declares,

King of my life I crown thee now,

Thine shall the glory be;

Lest I forget thy thorn crowned brow

Lead me to Calvary.

Lest I forget Gethsemane,

Lest I forget thine agony,

Lest I forget thy love for me,

Lead me to Calvary.

When we refuse to suffer for righteousness and choose to follow the path of comfort rather than conviction, we hear Jesus say, “Μαχαριοι – Highly honored/Highly esteemed are they which are persecuted for Righteousness sake: for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.”  This is the journey to which we have been called.  Not the cars, cash, and commodities of this world.  Not our fancy churches or big budgets.  But to real, transformative, liberative ministry!  Ministry that brings good news to the poor, proclaims release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, and lets the oppressed go free!  Ministry that proclaims the year of the Lord’s favor!  Ministry that tells our sisters and brothers living with HIV/AIDS that we love them unconditionally and that we will work together to find a cure.  Ministry that welcomes persons who may be homeless into our churches as full members.  Ministry that uncovers the Imago Dei, the image of God, in each and every person.  Ministry that challenges our government to respect the dignity of every human being regardless of race, class, gender, sexual orientation, nationality, or creed.  King says,

Christianity has always insisted that the cross we bear precedes the crown that we wear.  To be Christian, one must take up his cross, with all of its difficulties and agonizing and tragedy-packed content, and carry it until that very cross leaves its marks upon us and redeems us to that more excellent way that comes only through suffering.[2]

So what’s the Good News?  The Good News is two-fold.  First, the same God who was there on Good Friday, also raised Jesus up on Easter.  Death is not the end; therefore the threat of death is not an excuse.  Second, the Good News is that we are not alone.  After Jesus commissioned the disciples, the Gospel writer declares that he “breached on them and said them, ‘receive the Holy Spirit.’”  This was not simply an emotional, religious event – this was empowerment.  Jesus empowered the disciples to do this magnanimous work.  So, too, are we empowered.  Through our encounter with God in this place, we are being empowered to go out and do the work that we have been called to do.

So preacher, preach the word!  Pastor, embody the word!  Christian Educator, teach the word!  Sister, share the word!  Brother, speak the word!  Go!  Tell it until our communities are restored and our people are revived!  Go!  Tell it until every valley is lifted and every mountain is made low!  Go!  Tell it until the lion lies down with the lamb!  Go!  Tell it until we beat our swords and plowshares and study war no more!  Go!  Tell it until we realize that the violent death of even ONE child of God, whether it be our brother or sister being shot down on the corner or Osama bin Laden himself, is one too many!  Go!  Tell it until the cross ceases to be an ensign of war and becomes a symbol for peace!  Go!  Tell it until “Justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.”  Go!  Tell it knowing that because God is greatest power, we cannot be defeated!

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Senior Chapel – ITC

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[1] Martin Luther King, Jr. Strength the Love (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1963), 121.

[2] King. Strength to Love, 19.

Strength to Love: Forgiveness, Justice, and the Death of Osama bin Laden

May 1 will be yet another day that will make an indelible imprint in minds of our generation – the day that the death of Osama bin Laden was announced to a world who had been terrorized by his image, his words, and his call to incite warfare based on skewed religious concepts and a myopic understanding of the family of humanity.  I can still remember where I was when this news of the horrific September 11th attacks broke across the television – 10th Grade English class.  Let me be clear, I believe Osama bin Laden was responsible for the death of thousands of Americans as a result of the horrific September 11th attacks on the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and the downed aircraft in Shanksville, Pennsylvania.  I am clear about the fact that prior to this, Al Qaeda operatives had involved themselves in a war on America which played out in several other terrorist attacks and attempted terrorist plots throughout the world.  Let me be clear, I am not making a claim of that Bin Laden be acquitted of these horrific crimes against humanity.  With all of this in mind, upon receiving the news of Bin Laden’s demise, a generation took the streets and celebrated, chanting “God Bless America,” singing the “Star Spangled Banner,” hugging, crying, and cheering.

I must admit that this whole image seemed a bit eerie to me.  A hodgepodge of Americans descending upon the White House gates in the middle of the night to celebrate.  As the news reporters interviewed the celebrators, some made comments such as “I hope he [Bin Laden] rots in hell,” and “now that he’s [Bin Laden's] finally dead, it feels good.”  The former President of the United States, George W. Bush said,

This momentous achievement marks a victory for America, for people who seek peace around the world, and for all those who lost loved ones on September 11, 2001. The fight against terror goes on, but tonight America has sent an unmistakable message: No matter how long it takes, justice will be done.

In his prepared remarks, President Barack Obama echoed this same claim that “justice” had be done to Osama bin Laden.  As the rest of my American countrymen celebrated, I began to reflect.  Almost immediately I reflected on the sermons that I read from Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., in his book Strength to Love.  I began to reflect on this whole idea of retributive justice and Jesus’ call to radical forgiveness.  I began to reflect on the non-violent Civil Rights movement led by King.  I began to reflect on the state of the world and my place in it.

In Matthew 5:43, Jesus says, “You have heard that is was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’  But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.”  In his sermon “Loving Your Enemies,” King asserts

I am certain that Jesus understood the difficulty inherent in the act of loving one’s enemy.  He never joined the ranks of those who talk glibly about the easiness of moral life.  He realized that every genuine expression of love grows our of a consistent and total surrender to God.  So when Jesus said, “Love your enemy,” he was not unmindful to its stringent qualities.  Yet he meant every word of it.  [1]

As one who is intentional about following the ways of Jesus Christ, I take this command very seriously, the command to love those who don’t love me.  By placing these words into their cultural, historical, and social context, we can gain a better understanding of the radicality of this statement.  Jesus, a first-century, poor,  Jewish male living in Roman-occupied Palestine would have seen and experienced first-hand the brutality, not only of Rome, but of those facets of Jewish society that had allied themselves with empire.  As Rome bled the provinces the feed the aristocracy and ruled the fringes of the empire with an iron fist, the space had been created for violent, revolutionary fervor to spring up.  Instead of colluding with this cause, Jesus chose a different path – one of radical forgiveness.  Jesus called his followers to forgive those who were starving them, abusing them, exploiting them, disrespecting them, and in many cases killing them.

Before I go on to elucidate my claim regarding the fallacy of retributive justice and the need to pursue forgiveness, let me first state that the actions of the United States of America have created the same environments throughout the world that I briefly explicated above.  The American consumption machine has siphoned resources from the rest of the world to fill out SUVs, grant us the rich variety of food we believe we are entitled to, and provide us with an endless supply of “disposable” material goods that we feel we “need.”  The American political machine has sought to impose American ideals upon a world that is struggling to maintain its own autonomy and rich diversity.  The American religious heritage has sought to polemicize any religious tradition that is not Protestant, White, Middle-class, and Evangelical and has exported this myopic theological tradition into many cultures which has resulted in the destruction of ways-of-being for many peoples.  With these and more, America has waged war on the world, a war that created the climate for the rise of an “Osama Bin Laden.”

Earlier I mentioned the fear and hatred that the name “Osama Bin Laden” connoted.  We have been made aware of his disdain for Americans.  We are all aware of his role in the September 11th terrorist attacks.  We are all aware of his role in other terrorist attacks; however, this does not comprise the totality of who Osama Bin Laden was.  King claims, “We must realize that the evil deed of the enemy-neighbor, the thing that hurts, never quite expresses all that he is.  An element of goodness may be found even in our worst enemies.” [2]  As Americans, and to some degree the rest of the world, we attached so much “evil” to Osama Bin Laden that, to us, he ceased to be human.  Instead, he became the latest of an incarnation of evil that needed to be eradicated.

In her book, What’s Faith Got to Do with It?: Black Bodies/Christian Souls, Kelly Brown Douglas highlights the effects of the dehumanizing persons.  She claims, “Christianity’s classical atonement tradition makes Christians at least open to the notion that humans can serve as ‘sacrificial mediators’ between God and humanity – either as a way of exorcising evil from a particular community or as a way of pleasing God.” [3]  With America’s “platonized-Christian center” (a collusion between early Christian theology and Platonic philosophical ideology) it is not far-fetched to believe that Americans could openly celebrate a death with religious impunity, especially if the death was believed to “exorcise evil” from the community or “please God.”

It’s ironic, then, that Douglas claims that this notion is one of the underlying ideologies the motivated White Americans to undertake the diabolical task of lynching Black men and women.  As American’s celebrated the death of Osama, I reflected on the White Americans who celebrated the death of Black men and women who were believed to be threats to their community.  As American’s chanted “God Bless America” upon hearing the news of Bin Laden’s death, I couldn’t help but reflect upon those White Americans who would leave their churches, go out and lynch Black people, and then go back inside as if God not only condoned, but celebrated these ghastly events.

Let me make one thing clear.  The vast majority of Black men and women who were lynched were innocent of whatever crime they were “convicted” of.  Even those who were “guilty” of looking at a White woman, “talking back” to a White man, or posing any threat to White power didn’t deserve the death called for by the retributive justice of their day.  On the contrary, I believe Osama was indeed guilty of orchestrating terror plots throughout the world which resulted in the death of thousands; however, does his guilt make him less human and less worthy of forgiveness?  At what point does one no longer become worthy of forgiveness?

I understand the lofty, almost elusive, quality of this question.  Osama was imaged as the total, unrepentant, incorrigible, Anti-American and, with the collusion between Americanity (American civil religion) and Christianity, Anti-Christ; however, in the words of Dr. King, Bin Laden’s “terrorist” image does not comprise the totality of who he was.  Let us not forget, even the most incorrigible criminals are Children of God and thus our brothers and sisters.

We have many modern examples of humanity’s attempt to live up to Christ’s mandate of radical forgiveness.  One of the greatest examples of intentional and radical forgiveness took place in South Africa after the dismantling of the Apartheid system.  Under the leadership of Archbishop Demond Tutu, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission took on the noble task of reconciling the White, Colored, and Black sects of South African society into a more cohesive, united, and communal society.  In her book, Country of My Skull: Guilt, Sorrow, and the Limits of Forgiveness in the New South Africa, news reporter Antjie Krog recounts the testimonies of those who were both victims and perpetrators of the Apartheid regime.  In one testimony, Krog recounts the words of Thomzama Maliti who was recalling the brutal, burning death of Nombulelo Delato.  Maliti says,

The word “reconciliation”… is my daily bread.  Compromise, accommodate, provide, make space for.  Understand.  Tolerate.  Emphathize.  Endure… Without it, no relationship, no work, no progress, is possible.  Yes.  Piece by piece we die into reconciliation. [4]

Despite the hurt, pain, and disillusionment caused by centuries of brutal mistreatment on the part of Europeans, Archbishop Tutu and his Truth and Reconciliation Commission sought to create space for the building of the human family through forgiveness and reconciliation.  This was a difficult task, to be sure; however, it is a task that was necessary to create a society in which “the lion can lay down with the lamb.”

Having said this, I will end by elucidating why I did not celebrate the death of Osama Bin Laden; rather, I took the time to reflect and pray.  I did not celebrate because I am believer the all life is a sacred gift from God.  I did not celebrate because a community that believes that death is the only way to bring closure, is a community that will eventually implode on itself.  I did not celebrate because retributive justice posits a way of being that would leave the whole world “blind and toothless.”  I did not celebrate because Jesus Christ invites me to participate in radical forgiveness, forgiveness that necessitates reconciliation and when reconciliation is not possible, I mourn the break in human relationship and respond by reflecting.  I did not celebrate because I am fully aware that America’s idea of justice is still being reframed and restructured in an increasingly pluralistic and diverse culture.  I did not celebrate because Osama Bin Laden was my brother and I am called to be my “brother’s keeper.”

I will conclude this reflection with words from Dr. King’s sermon entitled, “A Good Neighbor.”  King states,

Too seldom do we see people in their true humanness. A spiritual myopia limits our vision to external accidents.  We see men as Jews or Gentiles, Catholics or Protestants, Chinese or American, Negroes or whites.  We fail to think of them as fellow human beings made form the same basic stuff as we, molded in the same divine image. [5]

The Word of Marcus for the People of God…

[1] Martin Luther King, Jr. Strength to Love (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1963), 44.

[2] Ibid., 45.

[3] Kelly Brown Douglas. What’s Faith God to Do with It?: Black Bodies/Christian Souls (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2005), 60.

[4] Antjie Krog. Country of My Skull: Guilt, Sorrow, and the Limits of Forgiveness in the New South Africa (New York: Three Rivers Press, 1998), 50.

[5] King. Strength to Love, 24.

It’s Just a Season

I will not be daunted by an interval.

These eight words have been all I’ve had to hold on to for the past few days.  I have found that I am in a very weird, pensive space.  Disappointment after disappointment, frustration after frustration have amassed themselves all around me.  There have been many times that I feel that giving up would be a lot easier than going on.  To some it may sound like a lack of faith, but it’s more of a lack of support – from community and even from God.  There were times when gratefulness gave way to anger, joy gave way to sorrow, and contentment gave way to frustration.  I felt like Smokie Norful’s words,

Sometimes I feel like giving up, It seems like my best just ain’t good enough. Lord if you hear me, I’m calling you.  Do you see, do you care all about what I’m going through?

I was at my breaking point.  Either God had to speak or I was going to walk out.  Then I remembered that I am not the only person to every be frustrated and angry with God.  So when I picked up Howard Thurman’s The Inward Journey and opened it up, the title “Not Daunted by an Interval” immediately spoke to me.  As I read, I reflected on my life and about the journey that I had been through up until this point.  I thought about how I had grown increasingly frustrated and angry and recent weeks.  I thought about how at the time when I needed my friends the most, most of them were too busy to check on me, sit with me, and just be present with me.

Then the words from my first sermon that I preached in seminary flooded back to me – “This is not the end of my story.”  I may be angry and frustrated right now, but this is not the end of my story.  I may feel isolated and alone right now, but this is not the end of my story.  This is not the end of my story because scripture tells me that the same God that brought Jesus to Good Friday also “got him up” on Easter morning.

The power that enables a person to resist the terrible necessity for scaling down his faith, his hopes, his dreams, his commitment, to the level of the event which is his immediate experience – this is finally the meaning of the triumph of life over death, of strength over weakness, of joy over sorrow, of love over hate. This is the power of the Resurrection, which is rooted in the life of Go, available to all men in every age, in every faith, everywhere. [1]

Don’t allow your present circumstances to cause you to give up on your God-sized, God-given dreams.  Remember that what ever your story sounds like right now, it is still being written.  This is just a season!  Keep dreaming!  Keep running!  Keep believing!  Keep trusting!

The Word of Marcus…

[1] Howard Thurman. The Inward Journey (Richmond, IN: Friends United Press, 1971), 71.

Surrendering the Controls

I read an interesting quote today that I had somehow overlooked from years ago.  In Darkwater: Voices from Within the Veil that I had originally read while traveling up to New Jersey a few summer ago, Du Bois makes a powerful statement.  After reflecting on recent challenges in his life, he says,

I was ready to admit that the best of men might fail.  I meant still to be the captain of my soul, but I realized that even captains are not omnipotent in unchartered and angry seas. [1]

This statement, first penned in the early 20th century rung especially true to me.  It’s not hard to admit that I enjoy being in control.  I’m one of those “If you want something done right, do it yourself” kind of people.  This manifests in personal and vocational relationships, academic endeavors, extracurricular activities, and other areas of my life.  The problem comes in when this DIY mindset infiltrates my spiritual life.  I am tempted to believe that I can control God and I have the audacity to believe that I am in ultimate control of my life; however, every now and then life will throw something at me almost as a reminder that ultimately I am not in control.

After finally getting the opportunity to go on a hospital visit as a part of my Clinical Pastoral Education, my proclivity to control went into overdrive.  On the way over to the hospital I scripted out the whole conversation.  ”I’ll start by saying this…” then “I’ll pause here…” then “we won’t say anything here, it’ll be the ministry of presence.”  With this script in my Pastoral Care toolbox, I sauntered confidently into Grady Memorial Hospital and arrived at the correct room.  I walked in the room and said “Hi Nate, my name is Marcus Halley from the Church of the Common Ground.  Pastor Mary sent me down here to talk to you.”  The patient and I struck up a wonderful conversation.  The surprise came a few moments later when I found out that I had been talking to the wrong person.  He wasn’t Nate.  Nate was behind the curtain.  I was embarrassed to say the least; however, even in all of my embarrassment the Holy Spirit was still speaking, “Remember, you can’t control everything.”

I am reminded of a statement from Howard Thurman’s The Creative Encounter.  Thurman writes, “The surrender of the self at its center gives to the life a new basis for action.  It provides an integrated basis for action.  Here at last the individual has a core of purpose for his life and for his living.” [2]  Learning that we we don’t have ultimate control of our lives, that somehow we are a part of something grander, is both humbling and comforting.  Humbling in that we realize that every now and then we must take our hands off the controls and allow God to do the driving.  Comforting in that we realize that God has a far better vision of where we are going.

The Word of Marcus…

[1] W.E.B. DuBois. Darkwater: Voices from Within the Veil (New York: Schocken Books, 1969), 20.

[2] Howard Thurman. The Creative Encounter (Richmond, IN: Friends United Press, 1972), 72-73.

John the Baptist: From Doubt to Remembrance…

John the Baptist plays an integral, if often downplayed and nebulous, role in the development of Jesus Christ.  This abrasive, offensive, quick-witted, zealous, and magnanimous character called John has intrigued me as of late, particularly in the role that he has played both before the arrival of Jesus Christ (Advent) and his direct role in the development of Jesus as “The Christ.”  Now one can recount the high points and recall the high points of John’s life such as his miraculous annunciation by Gabriel to his father Zechariah as he was offering incense in the temple or the massive length and breadth of this ministry that bespoke of the dawning of a new consciousness – the manifestation of the Kingdom of God.  These are all well and good, but in a recent Bible study that I facilitated, one of the themes that kept resurfacing around John the Baptist was his humanness.  Sure, the annunciation of the birth of John the Baptist was as supernatural and numinous as they come, rivaling that of Sarah and Abraham’s son Isaac or Elkanah and Hannah’s son Samuel.  We can even highlight his call for the people to “repent, and believe the good news… the Kingdom of God has come near…” [1]  However, even for all these shining moments, periodically we would be reminded of the humanness implicit to John’s story.

Zechariah, John’s father, was a priest in the temple of the Lord.  He served faithfully in this position until one when Gabriel came and told him that he and his wife Elizabeth would bare a son despite the fact that both he Elizabeth was older in age and she had been barren.  Instead of responding with superhuman faith, Zechariah responds from within the finitude of his humanity; he responds with doubt.  After John the Baptist is born, goes out into the world preaching repentance and baptism for the forgiveness of sins and finds himself in jail after proclaiming the coming of and baptizing Jesus, he responds to Jesus out of the finitude of his humanity; he responds with doubt.  After proclaiming the coming of God’s Kingdom and all but hinting to the people that Jesus was the one to bring this Kingdom into fruition, John looks up from his jail cell and realizes that the dramatic imposition of God into history that he had predicted and hoped for had not come.  Rome was still in power.  The people were still oppressed.  The Kingdom of God was not as near as he had thought.  Or was it?  From his prison cell, John the Baptist sends his disciples to ask Jesus, “are you the one or who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”  Instead of responding to the miracles that Jesus was performing with adoration and confidence, John responded humanly – with timidness, skepticism, and doubt.

John’s response bespeaks of a larger response from humanity as a whole.  Despite the fact that throughout history God has revealed God’s divine self through signs and wonders, prophets and sages, great men and women of God, the finitude of our human consciousness beckons us to doubt and to forget.  The relentless rhythm of life can sometimes cloud the eyes of hearts and close the ears of our souls to the ways in which God is active, dynamic, and moving in the world.  We hear stories about how God “moved” and what God “did” but forget that the same God that “moved” and “did” is still “moving” and “doing” and will continue to “move” and “do.”  Every now and then we have to be reminded of this.  Zechariah had to reminded that the God that he was serving in the temple was still moving in the lives of his beloved children and was smashing through the impossibilities of his life.  John had to be reminded of God’s actions in the world even when it was right in front of his face.

It is so easy for doubt to settle in and for us to forget God’s actions in the world and in our lives; however, isn’t it good news to know that every time we forget God is loving enough to tap us on the shoulder beckoning us to “remember…”  God is always calling us to remember.  In your dark moments, remember that God is a light.  In your lonely moments, remember that God is a companion.  In your moments of hunger and want, remember that God is bread in a starving land and water in dry places.  Remember when other throw you away and leave, God promised never to leave you.  In your moments of insurmountable impossibilities, remember that God crashed through the impossibilities of humanity and came down to us as Jesus so that we could be brought up to God.  Remember…

The Word of Marcus for the People of God…

[1] Mark 1:14 (NRSV)