It's Complicated

Now before I lose you let me explain why. Let me first say without a single doubt, hesitation, or addendum: Black lives matter. They do, they really, really, really do. Until we can make that statement with out following it up with a "but.." or "all lives..." or some other diminishing formulation, black lives will not truly matter as much as mine at a systemic level. We have to be able to claim emphatically that black lives matter.

Here's what I know to be true:

I have never, as a driver, been pulled over by the police. I have never been stopped by the police for any reason, I have never been questioned by the police about another suspect, nor have I been given any more direction from an officer of the law than when they are directing traffic. The last time, and really only time where I was old enough to be aware of anything while I was in a vehicle that was being pulled over was in 2008. I was a Sophomore in college and my friend and I had driven out to his home town, about an hour and a half away from our college to pick up the latest Halo game that he had reserved. It was after midnight when we were driving back to school and we were so excited to play this game, we had planned to stay up all night to beat it, that my friend was driving about 20 miles over the speed limit on the freeway.
We were pulled over.
The officer asked for my friend's license and registration, and then asked why we were going so fast. Rather than simply tell him, I pulled out the Halo game and energy drinks from the bag down by my feet.
I didn't think about it.
I didn't think at all about the fact that the officer could not see what was in the bag, did not know who we were, or would think anything of it. When I reached down into that bag, that officer did not tense up, he didn't move his hand to his gun, his hand wasn't already on his gun when he approached the vehicle. He let me pull out the game and drinks without giving me any orders, he was relaxed, he was calm, he thought it was funny. He then let my friend and I go with a warning, "just drive safer."
At that time I did not think anything of that incident. I did not analyze it. I did not question it. I did not think about how that encounter would have played out differently if we had not been college students or if we had not been white.
I know that that encounter would not have been the same, even though I know that thousands of young black men encounter the police in a way that does not threaten their lives, I know that over 400 have lost theirs so far this year. I know that Philando Castile was shot and killed during a routine traffic stop while he was still buckled into his seat, with his girlfriend and child in the car, just after he was asked for his license and registration. I know Philando was somebody's child, parent, friend, parishioner, boyfriend, role model, reason for breathing.

I know that our perspective can get distorted by the stories we tell. I remember hearing the way the media and police officials described 12 year old Tamir Rice. 5' 7" 195 lbs. He was big, almost like a man. He was too big, too scary, too threatening. Tamir's size justified in some way the actions of two officers who rolled up and shot him in under 3 seconds. That one hit me differently. I remembered that when I was a kid, my friends and I liked to play with airsoft guns around our neighborhoods and parks. We dressed up in "tactical" gear and played soldiers. We had organized formations, strategies, we played war together. Then I remembered those numbers. 5' 7" 195 lbs. Tamir was about my size when I was 12. And never before in my life had I ever thought to consider the consequences of my actions. Would someone have thought that 12 year old 5' 7" 185 lbs Ben was wielding a real gun? Would someone have thought that my friends and I were real soldiers, man sized soldiers, coming to take over their neighborhood?
I don't think 12 year old me could have been a threat to any adult. I don't think I ever really was. No one would have killed me and used my size as justification, nor would my size have been repeated in the news, or be immediately pulled up in some vague google search.



I know that Tamir was somebody's child, friend, parishioner, reason for breathing.

I know that just last night, at a peaceful protest to the violence and fear that many in the black community feel when encountering the police, several people planned, organized and carried out an attack that seems to have targeted the police.
I know that today, tomorrow and years from now this shooting will not bring healing, it will only bring more pain, more fear, more death. I know that some people will use this as an excuse for fear.
I know that five police officers have lost their lives. I know that they too were somebody's children, parents, friends, parishioners, spouses, role models, reason for breathing.

It's not complicated because there is moral ambiguity. It's not complicated because some people aren't perfect victims. It's not complicated because the law is unclear.

It's complicated because the sin of racism, of hatred, of fear makes us believe it is so. Every life that is taken is felt in ways that extend far beyond an individual. Every life that is taken has the potential to drive us farther apart, into deeper divide, into more alienation, more rhetoric, and more pain. My soul aches for those officers killed while trying to protect citizen's rights to peacefully protest police actions.
My soul aches for every young person who is killed, especially those who are black and killed by those sanctioned to protect and serve their communities. My soul aches for those who are killed and whose families will find no trial for their killers.

We do not survive a sinking ship by making more holes, or by ignoring the ones we have. We have to brave the deluge, work together to mend, to repair, and to heal. We have to be willing to face scrutiny, criticism, and questioning. We have to be willing to abandon our desire to be right so that our sisters and brothers can simply breathe, and we all can live. We have to be willing to deal with this complication, this racism, this hatred, and our perception of it.

Remember, it is not distance, or fear, or violence, or distrust, or suspicion that will save us. It isn't body armor or a weapon. It isn't increased security, it isn't more boots on the ground.
It is love.
It is love.
It is love.
It is love.
It is love.
We were made in love, by love, to love. It is only by surrendering to love that we will dismantle this racism, this fear, this hatred and this violence.

God give us your love, that we would take your grace and never look at one another the same.

φόβος οὐκ ἔστιν ἐν τῇ ἀγάπῃ ἀλλ’ ἡ τελεία ἀγάπη ἔξω βάλλει τὸν φόβον 
(There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. - 1 John 4:18a)

Burning Coals

"When they had gone ashore, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, 'Bring some of the fish that you have just caught... Come and have breakfast.'"

- John 21:9-10, 12

When I was kid my family used to take trips to Northern Michigan every year. It was a welcomed change of pace, a time to connect with one another as a family, and some of my favorite memories from that time are sitting around a bonfire, sharing stories, smores, and looking up at the stars. There is just something basic and essential to the human experience in gathering around a fire. And it is that experience that captures my attention in this text.

In this story from John's Gospel, Jesus has been crucified, and has resurrected. At some point after the resurrection, the disciples choose to go out fishing. They go at night, working all through the night but they labor in vain. They don't catch a single fish. These skilled fishermen have run out of luck. Nothing works.
As the dawn breaks, the disciples notice a man standing on the shore who calls out to them, "Haven't you caught anything?"
One might think the disciples would respond sarcastically to this seeming taunt. But they simply say "No."
So Jesus tells them, throw your nets on the other side. When they do, their nets are so full that they can barely haul the fish in.
It begins to dawn on them who they're dealing with, so they make their way to shore.
When they land they find Jesus standing next to a charcoal fire, with fish and bread already cooking on it. So Jesus invites them to add what they've just caught and join him for breakfast.

So often in reading this scripture I've jumped directly into thoughts about resurrection, or the disciple's weird inability to catch any fish despite being fishermen by trade. But as I read this text again, I'm drawn to the charcoal fire, the burning coals and the invitation, "come and have breakfast."

More than anything I'm curious about the one detail present in this fire that makes it so special. In Greek, this fire is called ἀνθρακιά (anthrakia), which means "burning coals." It's a word used twice in the New Testament, both times in John's Gospel. It's different from any other fire, it specifically identifies a charcoal fire, made from wood. Here's what draws me in with this word:

The fire that Jesus creates for his disciples takes time to prepare.

The process of making charcoal out of wood is an ancient practice that dates back at least 30,000 years. It's a process that can take days but transforms the wood into nearly pure carbon. The result of this labor is a product that burns hotter, longer, more evenly, with less smoke, and fewer dangerous vapors than wood alone. In a sense, making a wood charcoal fire purifies the fire. But it takes time, skill and patience.

There can be moments in ministry where we might toil long through the night. Things we might otherwise assume we can do well produce no tangible results. But what if, even in those doubtful moments, even when we're looking at the end and are preparing to pack it in, Jesus has been working right along side us and we just haven't been able to perceive it yet?

To make this fire Jesus has to have been working at it for a while. Jesus has had to have worked through the night, keeping an eye on his disciples, laboring alongside them, anticipating where they'll be by morning. Jesus has been preparing for a feast. While the disciples believe they are stuck with nothing, in scarcity, Jesus plans for abundance.

I wonder if there is a lesson in patience here, in persistence, a call to wait for the dawn. Because even while we stumble along in the shadows of night, Jesus is anticipating a feast come dawn, and is actively making preparations for it.

As we enter into Lent, a season of preparation walking with Jesus toward the cross and in anticipation of resurrection at Easter, I will keep watch for the burning coals as I labor. I will trust that Jesus works alongside me, anticipating the conclusion to our shared labor and I will invite, just as I have been invited so many times before, to share in the bounty.

You see, the burning coals aren't just a minor detail, they show us Jesus' commitment to working with us, anticipating the fellowship to come, planning for a response of abundance.

Oak

A young couple shares their first meal in marriage and the crumbs of bread mingle with the blood red wine on a lacy white fabric, instilled with the memories of Saints long past.
A candle, unattended, burns long through its wax, forever leaving its own mark.
This once wild oak,
tamed by carpenters hands,
inscribed with an invitation to come and stay, taste and see, has been home not only to some of the greatest mysteries of grace,
but to Legos arranged with the imaginative energy of tiny hands,
tears rolled from weathered cheeks as a bell rings and the name on their heart echos through the rafters,
and small smears of oil transferred from glass,
to hand,
to head
and back again.
The ornamentation of tangled vines and ample ripe grapes is carefully tended,
watched whenever moved from back to front and down short steps.
Yet even when the plates are arranged,
the cloth ironed and cleaned,
the dressings all set,
it is the marks of feasts,
loves,
hands
and wine that stay,
calling through time sounding an invitation stronger than the words inscribed therein:
come and stay, taste and see.