Help us O God, to become the people you call us to be.
Help us O God, to eradicate the insidious evil you see.
Help us O God, to practice all the things we say and preach.
Help us O God, to speak the truth and to use our lives to teach.
Help us O God, to open our hearts, touch us, fill us and help us to heal.
Help us O God, to walk in your ways, to be your disciples and your love to reveal.
Ayúdanos O Dios. Amen. (Butch Gamarra)
Today we begin a journey together. A sacred journey over sacred ground. We are entering a season of Racial Healing, Justice, and Reconciliation. Every Episcopal Church in Connecticut is taking part in this.
We are also joining the Episcopal Church here in the United States as we work towards becoming the Beloved Community; The Episcopal Church’s long-term commitment to racial healing, reconciliation, and justice in our personal lives, our ministries, and our society.
This is not just a one-time Sunday event. There will be many opportunities for all of us to take part in this season, that will last at least two years. The Church has spoken about the sin of racism many times.
There seems to be some reckoning going on in our country now about the sins of the past and present around race. Whether it be politicians wearing black face, or the use of Native Americans as mascots, or how we describe those fleeing from their countries looking for a new home. But there is more to be done for healing, justice and reconciliation.
I often think of William Stringfellow’s words. Lawyer, theologian and Episcopalian, he made a brief speech at the first National Conference on Religion and Race in Chicago in 1963. He made this statement:
“racism is not an evil in human hearts or minds; racism is a principality, a demonic power, a representative image, an embodiment of death, over which human beings have little or no control, but which works its awful influence in their lives.”
I think Stringfellow’s point is that racism is beyond our control. It is demonic. It’s part of those principalities and powers that Paul talks about in his letter to the Romans that we are studying now. Racism is sin but it also goes much deeper than we often use it — as individual and collective complicity with evil, an embodiment of death…
Annie Caddell had been at war with her neighbors in Brownsville, South Carolina, for seven years.
Annie was welcomed by the predominately black neighborhood when she moved in seven years ago — but that all changed when Annie began flying a Confederate battle flag outside her home. For Annie, the flag was a symbol of her heritage and a memorial to her relatives who fought for the Confederacy — but her neighbors saw the flag as a painful sign of racism and hatred and segregation.
And so began a very long & public fight. More than 270 residents signed a petition demanding the town step in, but town officials said that Annie was within her rights to fly the flag. Neighbors protested in front of her house — and Annie responded by inviting counter-protestors to stand in her yard. Neighbors then pooled their money to build eight-foot wooden fences along the property lines on both sides of Annie’s house, blocking the flag from view at least on the sides. Annie upped the ante by raising the flagpole even higher.
And so it went, finally settling into a stalemate. Annie swore she’d die before she would take down her Confederate flag. But then, Annie almost did die.
Annie suffered a heart attack and underwent triple bypass surgery. She beat the odds and survived —but left the hospital a changed woman. Her near-death experience caused her to start, as she put it, “reflecting on every choice that I’ve made.”
“I made up my mind that I don’t have to hurt anybody because of a decision I made without much thought. I never considered how offended [my neighbors] truly were. I didn’t care. Well, I finally had an eye-opening experience.”
After seven long years, Annie’s war with Brownsville came to an end when she presented the flag to Brownsville’s Community Resource Center. The center’s founder, Louis Smith, was one of Annie’s fiercest critics. He accepted the flag from Annie with respect and graciousness. “This was not a time for high-fiving,” Louis Smith said. “This was a solemn occasion.” The flag was given to a nearby museum.
Annie is at peace with her decision — and her neighbors. The walls around her house have been taken down. Annie is now greeted with waves from her neighbors and enjoying her new perspective on the world.
“There comes a time and a place where things need to be set aside for the betterment of others,” Annie believes. “Sometimes it takes a serious action to happen to you before you see your actions on others . . . When you have a heart attack and you’re being told you’re not going to live long, you’re facing your own mortality. I needed to clean up my messes that I made by being stubborn, and I have asked anyone within earshot to forgive me.” [The Root, February 23, 2018; CBS News, March 10, 2018.]
In the face of her own mortality, Annie Caddell realizes the steep price she is paying – and her neighbors are paying – for her flag. In finally seeing it from the perspective of those who have suffered under its meaning, Annie is able to let the flag and its meaning go — and in its place, something new and whole and of God rises in its place. She lets go and asks forgiveness.
What do you want from me? Leonard Pitts a columnist for the Miami Herald, was asked by a 17 year old girl in regards to his writings around Black History month and Black Lives Matter. He spent some time pondering what she asked of our ability to coexist, to be Americans, together. Here's his answer:
“Don't hate black history, if only because it's your history, too. It exists not to accuse you or to shame you. It simply exists. And you, every bit as much as I, have to make peace with it.
Understand that this is sacred ground and it hurts to walk here. But at the same time, I need to walk here, need the strength, the sense of purpose, the knowledge of self, that walking here imparts. And I'm obliged to witness here on behalf of those who can no longer witness for themselves, no longer say the things they saw and felt.
So please, don't tell me how to walk this ground. Don't tell me when you think I've walked it long enough. And don't think every silence needs a voice to fill it. Sometimes, silence is an opportune place to ponder and to pray. What do I want from you?
I want you to be my sister and to walk here with me. I know it's a hard walk. I know it causes you pain. But this much I also know: If ever we learn to tread this ground together, there's no place we can't go.” (https://www.miamiherald.com/opinion/opn-columns-blogs/leonard-pitts-jr/article225293430.html)
Our journey begins today. May we tread this sacred ground together. Learn from each other and know that all of us are children of God, beloved in God’s eyes. No matter our race, color or creed, God calls all of us to live together in equality, peace and love.
In this season of racial healing, justice & reconciliation, the voice of the Lord is saying to us, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?" Will you stand up and say, "Here am I; send me!"
Amen.
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