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)

How Long O Lord?

"Lord, how long will I call for help and you not listen? I cry out to you, 'Violence!' but you don't deliver us. Why do you show me injustice and look at anguish so that devastation and violence are before me? There is strife, and conflict abounds. The Instruction is ineffective. Justice does not endure because the wicked surround the righteous. Justice becomes warped." - Habakkuk 1:2-4

Last night the verdict was read in the case against Darren Wilson, the white Ferguson police officer who shot and killed an unarmed 18 year old black youth named Michael Brown.
That verdict was the product and the result of hundreds of years of racial oppression, subjugation and segregation that underlines, scores and marks the fabric our nation, our communities and our relationships to this day.

This day, Today.
Today is a painful reminder of just how long the moral arc of the universe really is.
Today many brothers and sisters of color have woken up from the hope of justice and returned to the bleak reality of systemic racism that puts a price on their life and a millstone around their neck.

Today many continue to remark that #blacklivesmatter. However, making the proclamation more often than not feels like shouting into the void.
Yes, #blacklivesmatter.

Yes, #blacklivesmatter. They matter to black people, they matter to me, they even matter to other white people even in the face of the overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

This is perhaps the most difficult aspect of that proclamation. That even while I proclaim #blacklivesmatter I know that the devaluation of those lives is a very real, persistent, and present threat.

As a nation we need our "come to Jesus" moment. We idle in the sin of racial injustice, too many made comfortable by its false promises. For most white folks, today we wake up and it is business as usual. No assumptions have been challenged, no hearts convicted. We continue to idle in sin while our brothers and sisters cry out, and many of us have the audacity to discount their cries, as if their pain is the true violence which shakes us.

So warped has sin made us that the reality of trials such as this one is that it is in fact the dead who are put on trial. Those who cannot respond for themselves are assessed of their innocence or guilt. Those who cannot give testimony to their version of events are expected to have their full perspective represented by the one who killed them. The result, more often than not, is that the dead are found guilty. The dead deserved to die. Michael Brown needed to die. He was dangerous, though he was unarmed, he was a threat to white lives, and he had to die. What other conclusion can be drawn from a refusal to indict?

By affirming Darren Wilson's decision to kill Michael Brown, the Grand Jury asserted two very powerful messages: Michael's death was justified; #blacklivesdon'tmatter

What other lesson is there for young people, white and black alike, looking in to discern how they should best relate to one another?

That's what hurts the most. Black lives are devalued every time this happens. Black lives are proven to be less valuable than those of their white neighbors, and thus the cycle of violence, systemic violence, marches on.

Indeed, Justice does not endure because the wicked surround the righteous. Justice becomes warped.

Today justice has been warped, delayed, subverted, denied.

Today we again wait for the moral arc of the universe to bend toward justice.

But now it's not for Michael Brown, not for Eric Garner, or Trayvon Martin, Ezell Ford, Orlando Barlow, Oscar Grant, Renisha McBride, Dante Parker, Jordan Davis, John Crawford, Alonzo Ashley, Kimani Gray, Danta Price, Steven Eugene Washington, Victor Steen, Sean Bell, Aiyana Stanley-Jones, Wendell Allen, Aaron Campbell, Kendrec McDade, Bo Morrison, Timothy Stansbury Jr., Timothy Russell, Jerean Blake, Jonathan Ferrell, Amandou Diallo, Ervin Jefferson, Angelo Clark, Steven Rodriguez, Johnnie Kamahi Warren, Nehemiah Dillard, Stephen Watts, Michael Lembhard, Tendai Nhekairo, Manuel Loggins Jr., Rekia Boyd, Melvin Lawhorn, Marquez Smart, Patrick Dorismond, James Brissette, Jersey Green, Ousmane Zongo, Duane Brown, Justin Sipp, Christopher Kissane, Raymond Allen, Travares McGill, or Sheron Jackson,

Now we wait for Tamir Rice, a twelve year old black child killed by police.

How long O Lord?

Uncommon Prayer

A few years ago a friend of mine handed me a mix-tape (more like a mix-CD), with the intention of it being used in worship. Scrawled on the front of the disc were the words "Uncommon Prayer." On the back of the sleeve that held the disc were names like Louis Armstrong, The Mountain Goats, Mason Jennings, The Flaming Lips, and Iron & Wine. As I held the disc in my hand I remember thinking, "but these aren't Christian groups." 

As I listened to the music, I began to see where my friend was coming from.

These were songs that conveyed beauty of God's creation, the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, the challenge and experience of God's love.
They just didn't use the words I was familiar with and I realized that

God doesn't just use the words that carry an "official" Christian seal to convey truth or love. 

But then again, the words I was used to hearing don't guarantee some great ideal either. I was brought up in a Christian worship scene that was wrapped up in Veggie Tales and bands like Audio Adrenaline or Newsboys. I remember one song by the Newsboys that was quite popular at the concerts, lock-ins and youth gatherings I attended. It's called The Breakfast Song and it's a catchy little tune that I thought was about cereal, Jesus and faith. As I got older, I would think back to the lyrics with horror. It's a song clearly marketed toward children, where the primary message is a warning about Hell. The song describes a group of young cereal lovers (presumably children, due to the references to gym class) that are mourning the death of one of their friends. But their friend left them a reminder from his short lived life that "when the big one finds you/ may this song remind you/ they don't serve breakfast in hell."

I'm of the opinion that if you have to start off a conversation about the need for God in someone's life with warning on Hell, you've missed the point.

I also think that if you have to sell heaven (or hell) to children through sugary cereals, then you've missed every point along the way.

1

This is why I think that there's something captivating about authenticity, living the authentic life, that is just missed in the larger American Christian consumer culture. We sing songs about the lack of breakfast cereal in hell, when Jesus has provided a wonderful meal for us now, a simple meal of bread and wine. Furthermore the language of table in the Gospel feast is not one of warning, but of invitation. There's a reason why we all shake our heads at the folks standing on the street corner holding signs and shouting scripture warning of sin/death/the end. It feels cheap and unwelcome because we get that same message over and over but all it comes off as is a scare tactic. And a scare tactic is a terrible way to start a relationship founded on love. On the other side, there is an invitation to join in.

Read the words of Jesus that Luke provides:

Luke 22:15-20

"I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; for I tell you, I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God." Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he said, "Take this and divide it among yourselves; for I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes." Then he took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and give it to them, saying, "This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me." And he did the same with the cup after supper, saying "This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood."

There is an earnest desire from Jesus to share in this meal with the disciples. 

When Jesus sits down with the disciples for the Passover meal, he does it with intention, because this may be the last meal he shares with them. What I love so much about this meal is that the people that Jesus so eagerly desires to share it with are broken, hopeless, poor, wandering, untrustworthy, fearful, unworthy.
In other words,

they look a lot like the people both inside and outside the church. 

They are the kind of folks that God desperately wants to be in a relationship with, and their brokenness, their failures, their anger, their mistrust, are all welcome to the table. Remember, at this point in the story these people that Jesus is so eager to love and eat with are about to betray him, run from him, pretend like they have no clue who he is. And still, he wants to be with them. They don't have to be perfect, polished, deserving. They don't have to fit the form. They don't have to look anything like what we might associate with "holy" or "good" because God has already said that they are.
What Jesus tells the disciples in this meal is not that they are damned if they don't shape up, Jesus doesn't warn them about the lack of Capt'n Crunch in hell, but demonstrates that God's love is so relentless that even after all they've done and all they're about to do, God will continue to pursue them. God actually likes these people.
I imagine that the disciples probably had some less than perfect thoughts and prayers after Jesus was killed. What would it look like for us to be honest about our prayer? What would we say to God if we were authentic about who we are and where we're at? What would people say about us if we let our guard down and showed off our less polished self to the world? (They probably wouldn't say much that was good) but what would they say about God? (Probably a lot of truth)

What would the world be like if Christians were common people who relate to God with "Uncommon" prayer.

1. Sugary Cereal photo from TheAtlantic.com

Dying is Dangerous

A while ago I was sitting in my class on worship and we were talking about the images of Baptism. One of those images is death. In the original Baptism practice, full submersion, the baptized go from one state of being; as they were, to submerged, to coming out of the water anew. That practice of going under the water is meant to convey being put into the ground, the “final” act in life. However, the person is brought out of the water and back into life as something different. As we talked about this the sentence, “Dying is Dangerous” came up, and this got me thinking.

Regrettably, one of the biggest and earliest failures in my Christian understanding was to fail to answer a question from a classmate of mine. This person, seeking to challenge my faith and to explain her own problems with Christianity, asked how I could accept a faith that was bent on the concept of death. Paul clearly says, as recorded in the book of Romans: 

“We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly also be united with him in a resurrection like his. For we know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body ruled by sin might be done away with, that we should no longer be slaves to sin—because anyone who has died has been set free from sin. Now if we died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him.” (Romans 6:4-8)

To her these words seemed particularly negative and reminiscent of modern “cult” experiences like those in Waco, Texas during the 90’s. I hadn’t considered myself particularly knowledgeable about scripture or matters of faith when she asked, and my response was empty. I simply said that that wasn’t what was meant. Paul had been talking about something else. Christianity didn’t require its members to die. How could it? I thought of all of the church folk that I knew; they all lived fairly comfortable lives, in suburbs, in the U.S., and had been like that for a while. There was little that was actually dangerous about the faith.

Now that I revisit this conversation later in life, I come slightly more prepared. I think about what the life of a Christian was like as Paul is writing the letter to the Roman churches. 

This letter is his last. 

He is seeking help in pushing his evangelistic ministry further West. 

He is captured.

He is executed.

He never makes it West of Rome.

The church is not merely a building or a space where people gather to worship. It is literally the flesh and blood of a small group of Jews and Gentiles who have become convinced that there was something greater than a man in a carpenter that was executed in Jerusalem. 

This church is desperately trying to survive.

They are persecuted.

They are executed.

They are kicked out of their communities.

They are small.

They are weak.

There is little that is comfortable for the church during the first century and up until Constantine, when the church becomes the official religion of the state. Professing faith in Jesus of Nazareth was akin to treason. The choice for the early church was Caesar or God. Choosing Caesar meant some form of marginal existence under the empire. So what did choosing God leave someone with?

Death.

Paul goes on in Romans 6: “For we know that since Christ was raised from the dead, he cannot die again; death no longer has mastery over him. The death he died, he died to sin once for all; but the life he lives, he lives to God. In the same way, count yourselves dead to sin but alive to God in Christ Jesus. Therefore do not let sin reign in your mortal body so that you obey its evil desires. Do not offer any part of yourself to sin as an instrument of wickedness, but rather offer yourselves to God as those who have been brought from death to life; and offer every part of yourself to him as an instrument of righteousness. For sin shall no longer be your master, because you are not under the law, but under grace.” (Romans 6:9-14)

For the life that Jesus lived, a life that didn’t work with the first century understanding of law, he was executed. That life was so outside of the norm of the day that it didn’t sit right with those in power.

Not the Pharisees

and later,

Not Caesar.

To be a Christian is to follow the life of Jesus, which means accepting the earthly consequences of that life. However, the story of Jesus doesn’t end there.

Not on the Cross.

Not in the Grave.

There is one thing that Jesus and Caesar have in common. They are both conquerers. Caesar had conquered life, possessing the ability to end life on a massive scale. The story of Jesus reveals that Jesus has conquered death, possessing the ability to make death obsolete. When Paul says that we have been united with Christ in death, he is talking about being united in true life. 

Life that cannot be destroyed.

Life that cannot be conquered.

Life that Caesar does not control.

That which has separated God’s creation from God no longer has any power. God’s ultimate gift to humanity is the freedom from bondage. The first Christians were willing to put away the things that they had been doing, which had separated them from God, because those things could no longer persuade them that they were free. They were willing to follow God because they believed that while Caesar could end their immediate life, he could not have final victory. God had already claimed that prize.

Perhaps this all seems too foreign to so many today because the church in the U.S. is no longer persecuted. I believe that God’s vision for the church is one filled with things upside-down. The church is at its best when its members truly believe that professing their faith, that choosing to follow God, is a sacrifice.

When comfort is no longer found.

When flesh and blood are the church.

When we leave 99 for 1.

When we rejoice for the lost.

When we learn from the foolish.

When we embrace our enemy.

When we give all we have.

When dying is dangerous

and living is impossible.