A Reflection on Reading The Cross and the Lynching Tree

I am a preacher. Like so many others I have been long convinced that Christ crucified is at the heart of authentic Christian preaching. So, when I first learned of The Cross and the Lynching Tree by James Cone, I was interested. I remembered the ominous words I had heard in graduate school about Cone’s “radical” critique of traditional Christian teaching (or rather, as I have since learned, what it was thought to be from a certain privileged perspective). Nonetheless I still thought I would learn something new about Christ crucified from a perspective that is not my own. So, I put it on my mental list of books to read … where it remained for several years.

Ironically what revived my intention last spring was news of death. A new memorial and museum of lynching and its legacy in the United States — the National Memorial for Peace and Justice — opened in Montgomery, Alabama. And then, just days later, I saw a report of Cone’s death.

Cone wrote that his book was a continuation of his earlier writing, all of it “motivated by a central question: how to reconcile the gospel message of liberation with the reality of black oppression.”  I’m not qualified to judge whether he was successful in that effort, and I don’t know that I gained the kind of insight into Christ’s crucifixion that I anticipated.

As is often the case, something else happened.  As I read, I began to realize how little I knew about lynching beyond what I had allowed myself to acknowledge — the bare facts of its existence and its brutality. I began to learn about the circumstances of actual lynchings, the real people killed, and the real people who protested at the risk of being lynched themselves. I learned about the horrific lynching of Henry Smith in Paris, Texas, and the courageous public advocacy of Ida Wells. When I discovered the county-by-county data about lynchings in the United States collected by the Equal Justice Initiative, I investigated what had happened in the counties where I grew up, starting with Anderson County, Texas, where I was born.

And then I learned about the Slocum Massacre. It was an appalling event. Over the course of two days in July, 1910, mobs of white people in Anderson County hunted and killed African-Americans. Newspapers initially reported 8 to 22 African-American victims, but later investigations discovered numerous bodies in swamps and other remote areas of the county. Estimates range up to 200 victims, all of them African-American. As happened later in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and Rosewood, Florida, a thriving community of small businesses was destroyed and hundreds of African Americans who survived fled the area, abandoning their property and businesses, which were then claimed by white people.

Learning about the Slocum Massacre helped me to realize the result of the way I held the knowledge I had of these and far too many similar incidents of violence against African Americans in the United States. I thought of them as isolated incidents, horrific and inexplicable in their horror except as outbreaks of demonic evil. How can such inexplicable outbreaks be anticipated and prevented?

But I already knew that in Jesus’ day crucifixion was not inexplicable. Far from it. It had a very deliberate purpose. Occasionally I hear that if Jesus had been executed in our day, the symbol of our faith would be an electric chair or syringe, not a cross, and I know there are racial inequities in the administration of capital punishment in the United States. But the public spectacle, the false pretense of avenging some fabricated wrong, the obscenely brutal torture, and the deliberate humiliation of a targeted victim as a way of intimidating and keeping an entire community in a subjugated place — what lynching did to African-Americans and other persons of color is everything that I knew crucifixion was intended to do two millennia ago.

Paying attention to the full reality of lynching, both in detail and in broad scope, helped me to begin to recognize how lynching was not so mysteriously inexplicable. And I began to recognize how it fits with other realities I was aware of but held as isolated pieces of information. I see more clearly now how lynching is part of a seamless history of violence against African Americans in the United States that continues today. After the massive crime of slavery was outlawed, lynching was used to enforce the Jim Crow regime that kept African Americans in subjection. In turn the illegal practice of lynching was replaced by abusive practices with a thin veneer of legality but still powerfully oppressive and violent — a racially targeted “war on drugs,” the racial bias in our criminal justice system most evident in mass incarceration of persons of color, and legalized practices of predatory lending that systematically rob economically vulnerable descendants of slaves from what little wealth they have been able to accumulate. Today restrictive voting laws target the African Americans who were promised full and equal voting rights. It is all one interwoven fabric.

Two decades ago, when I was watching the last episode of “The Civil War” by Ken Burns on PBS, historian Barbara Fields caught my attention with these words: “You can say there’s no such thing as slavery anymore, we’re all citizens. But if we’re all citizens, then we have a task to do to make sure that that, too, is not a joke. If some citizens live in houses and others live on the street, the Civil War is still going on. It’s still to be fought, and regrettably, it can still be lost.”

I am a preacher, and I’ve promised to tell the truth about Jesus, who was crucified and raised from the dead. One part of the truth is that while we may think the Civil War is over, that lynching is a thing of the past, it is not. The same hateful violence that crucified Jesus is still at work among us today. The other part of the truth is that those who have been joined to Jesus Christ in his cross and resurrection have a new life of freedom and the Spirit’s power. In that life, in Jesus’ name, there is healing, reconciling, liberating, life-giving work to do in service of our neighbors, especially those who continue to experience the regime of violent hatred that crucified Jesus.

To learn more about the work of the Equal Justice Iniative, visit eji.org.

Marcus Kunz is an ELCA pastor who serves part-time with the churchwide organization as Executive for Discernment of Contextual and Theological Issues and part-time in interim ministries, currently at Grue and Peace Lutheran Churches of Ashby, Minnesota.  He lives in Fergus Falls, Minnesota, with his spouse, Pastor Martha Halls.  They are the parents of two adult sons

Black historian, Carter G. Woodson, established the celebration of black history in 1926. Originally observed as a week-long event uplifting the contributions of Black Americans, for Black Americans–it was the hope of Dr. Woodson that one day all Americans would recognize the contributions of black people as an integral part of U.S. history.

As a kid I didn’t celebrate Black history month in my predominantly white elementary school. Nor did I learn an awful lot about the accomplishments of Black Americans. My earliest recollection of the mention of black people in history, came from my 2^nd grade teacher. She was a young, white educator that I really liked.  I remember sitting up in my seat as she opened a book about Abraham Lincoln. As she began to tell the children’s version of honest Abe’s legacy, she looked directly at me with a smile saying,  “Lincoln freed the slaves.”  The end.   Mind you, I was the only black child in the class and one of the few black children in the entire school. I, along with all my white schoolmates were reminded of my black skin difference. As all eyes turned towards me, I felt ashamed to have been singled out for my blackness.  This version of the story of slavery minimized, devalued and dehumanized my black identity and the truth of slavery– while centering whiteness as powerful and the norm.  That is what racism does—it sustains a racial hierarchy that privileges those with white skin, while simultaneously denying the inherent worth, power and dignity of people of color.

Today, the adult version of me does not blame the lack of knowledge of a young, white educator so many years ago, but the damage caused in that moment plagued me for years. In my spirit, I knew she was wrong, but I did not know how to respond it hat moment.   I had no rebuttal to her nonexistent narrative of the civilizations, history, and gifts of people from the continent of Africa; or the true horrors of the transatlantic slave trade; or the courage of  freedom fighter Harriett Tubman that sought freedom from bondage for her people.  Slavery was just a footnote in history.

To counter what I didn’t learn at school, my parents and grandparents taught me my history around the dinner table, at family gatherings and in the black church. Raised under Jim Crow segregation, my parents were not ashamed of who they were; nor where they came from. Works of black artist were proudly displayed in our home. We listened to the soulful sounds of WKND AM radio station that  provided a platform for black artists, musicians and producers—when white radio would not. We traveled south each summer from Connecticut to Mississippi and Alabama visiting the childhood homes of our parents.  We learned the National Negro anthem, “Lift Every Voice and Sing” and sang the lyrics to “We Shall Overcome” at my grandparents’ church.   Black publications, Ebony, Jet  and Black Enterprise magazine littered our coffee table with images of black athletes, beauty queens of the Historic Black Colleges and Universities, celebrities, scientist, political figures and entrepreneurs. We attended theater performances of all black play productions.  Dolls of every shade and hue filled my bedroom bookcase.  We watched Alex Haley’s Roots as a family and purchased the album soundtrack produced by composer Quincy Jones. For me, Black history wasn’t only an event during the shortest month of the year—it was our way of life.  The power of celebrating Black history (and all history of People of Color) contradicts the racial stereotypes, prejudice and discrimination imposed on People of Color by a white dominant culture.  Valuing one’s own racial identity, ancestry and history is part of the necessary healing work of ending racism.

Reclaiming history…

On August 23-25, 2019 people around the world will remember the arrival of the first enslaved Africans  in North America. This  event will mark the Quad-Centennial of the forced transatlantic voyage of enslaved African peoples to Virginia.   On August 25, 1619,  a pirated ship carrying stolen human cargo from Africa arrived in the English colony in North America.  Taken from the Angola region of Africa, these men and women were known for their agricultural, metal working and farming skills. These skills would prove to be invaluable and profitable for the survival of English colonist.  The arrival of this first slave ship set in motion the transatlantic slave trade. From the 16th to the 19th century between 10 million and 12 million African people were kidnapped, enslaved and scattered throughout the Americas.   Slavery and the Middle Passage was an event of monumental proportion that not just affected North America but changed Africa forever.  The legacy of racism and fear of people of African descent are rooted in the policies, practices, beliefs and actions that legalized slavery, legitimized the slave trade and colonialism.  Four hundred years later, the descendants of the transatlantic slave trade still face racial  barriers in affordable housing, voting, employment, education and health care. “History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again.”– Maya Angelou Connecting the dots of the transatlantic slave trade, the forced removal and assimilation of Native American Indians; the denial of citizenship of Chinese workers and the exploitation of migrant Mexican farm workers are all crimes against humanity in American history. We cannot change history or its impact on past generations, but it is important to know and teach the truth of this history.

The Evangelical Lutheran Church in America is partner of the organization Bread for the World’s  “Lament and Hope”: A Pan-African Devotional Guide Commemorating the 2019 Quad-Centennial of the Forced Transatlantic Voyage of Enslaved African Peoples to Jamestown, Virginia (USA). The devotional makes the connections between Bread for the World’s mission to end hunger and the history of the enslavement of African descent people; the creation of racialized policies within the U.S and the colonization on the continent of Africa. As a collective Christian voice, Bread for the World further recognizes and acknowledges the role many churches have played in supporting and perpetuating these horrific practices and policies. In 2019 at the Churchwide Assembly, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America will issue an apology for slavery to People of African Descent.

The downloadable devotional resource is available at bread.org

Sculpture featured at the National Memorial For Peace and Justice, Montgomery, Alabama.

Judith E.B. Roberts, serves as Program Director for Racial Justice.

The third Monday in January is observed in honor of the birthday and legacy of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.  Efforts to designate a day to honor Dr. King began shortly after his  assassination on April 4, 1968 in Memphis, Tennessee. It took an act of Congress to pass the measure– with former President Ronald Reagan signing the bill into law in 1983. Institutions such as banks, schools, post offices and non-essential government offices close in observance of the holiday. Many of us will attend worship services, community events or volunteer in acts of service. However, if you live in Alabama or Mississippi, Dr. King and Confederate general Robert E. Lee’s birthday are combined in observance of the day. Dr. King was born on January 15, 1929 and Lee was born on January 19, 1807.  Dr. King gave his life to bring this country together against racial divides. Lee fought to divide this nation by preserving the enslavement of blacks in southern states. Just to be clear celebrating the birthday of Robert E. Lee as a hero is about maintaining a legacy of white supremacy.   Organized efforts are underway in Mississippi to separate the two days. However, no such actions are currently planned in Alabama.

“But let justice roll down like waters,
    and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” Amos 5:24 (NRSV)

Dr. King along with the collective power of grassroots leaders and national organizations like the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), the  Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) and the interracial Freedom Riders, challenged the legal system of racial segregation. Their campaigns of non-violent action, voter registration drives, teach-ins and sit-ins–challenged racial attitudes; broke down racial barriers in employment, housing, education; public accommodations, travel and voting. Activist of the movement placed their lives and limbs on the line to do what they had to do for justice. Their bodies in action became a spiritual meditation, born out of a love for God’s people on a quest for justice. Selma to Montgomery marcher and activist, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel was quoted as saying that civil rights marchers “prayed with their feet.”  Rabbi Heschel

marched with Dr. King from Selma to Montgomery in 1965 in support of black voters’ rights.  The physical sacrifices and spiritual efforts of these movement workers were not in vain.  The Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 signaled major progress in ending overt racist segregation politics and polices. Yet, Dr. King believed the fight for freedom rested on building an intersectional, multiracial coalition of African Americans, white Americans, Asian Americans, Hispanic Americans, and Native Americans that worked towards bending the arc of the universe towards racial and economic justice for all people.

Concerned for the living and working conditions of poor people in the United States, Dr. King and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC)  began to organize a campaign led by people impacted by poverty. The dream for the Poor People’s Campaign was born. The campaign was designed to take on the social structures that produced the oppression and suffering of people.  Dr. King said: ‘The dispossessed of this nation—the poor, both white and Negro—live in a cruelly unjust society. They must organize a revolution against that injustice, not against the lives of their fellow citizens, but against the structures through which the society is refusing to deal with the issues of injustice.’ Dr. King’s intersectional approach towards systems of oppression launched the vision for the Poor People’s Campaign.  Although Dr. King’s life was cut short by an assassin on April 4, 1968 — his vision for the campaign lived on. In May of 1968, the Poor People’s March was launched in Washington, D.C.

The days of racial segregation under Jim Crow laws may be over but the ills of  systemic racism and poverty are alive and well.  Racial profiling; extrajudicial killing of unarmed black and brown bodies by law enforcement; the disproportionate number of poor, people of color trapped within the criminal unjust system;  voter suppression laws and tactics that diffuse the political power of poor communities of color; the resegregation of school districts that shuttle poor Black, Latino and Native American children to under performing schools; and the gravity of nearly 41 million people in the U.S. living below the federal poverty line. A poverty line that cuts across race, gender, age, sexual orientation, religious affiliation, ability and geography.

Building on the dream of Dr. King and the movement makers of the 1968 Poor People’s Campaign; fifty years later the vision was resurrected. The Poor People’s Campaign: A National Call for a Moral Revival co-chaired by and Rev. Dr. Liz Theoharris and Rev. Dr. William Barber II, is a multifaith, multiracial  nonviolent coalition of our time. The campaign seeks to hold this nation accountable to  the democratic values of liberty, equality and justice. Grassroots activist of the Poor People’s Campaign have picked up the mantel of the Civil Right era. Across this  country, community leaders are showing up, speaking out, marching together by “praying with their feet” against the evils of systemic racism, poverty, the war economy, ecological devastation and the nation’s distorted morality.

The Evangelical Lutheran Church in America’s social statement, The Church in Society: A Lutheran Perspective,  proclaims that “this church is committed to defend human dignity, to stand with poor and powerless people, to advocate justice, to work for peace, and to care for the earth in the processes and structures of contemporary society. Lutherans teach that we are freed in Christ to love and serve our neighbor.

Disrupting and resisting the systems that dehumanize and oppress the most vulnerable within society is the work of followers of Christ. Systemic racism and poverty undermine the basic tenets of our democracy and human rights. As we remember the legacy of Dr. King, let us follow  the example of Jesus Christ by walking with our neighbors for justice and  “praying with our feet.”

Judith Roberts serves as the ELCA Program Director for Racial Justice. 

I don’t know the whole story, but I do know what I saw and heard through my kindergarten eyes and ears. I know what I learned from adults that day. And I know that it left an indelible mark and questions without satisfying answers. I can without a doubt remember the day in kindergarten when I realized that race was a thing that mattered and that I had one.

A class mate of mine was carried out of the classroom by his hands and his feet. He had been throwing a tantrum on the dark blue rug that had the numbers of a clock around the outer edge. (I loved that rug) He was sent to the principal’s office. He never came back to class that day or any day afterwards. I don’t remember his name. I do remember that his skin was darker than the other black kids in my class. I remember thinking that I would never be subject to the same kind of discipline. I remember feeling very uncomfortable.

I was white.

I didn’t have the language of privilege at that age, but that’s what I was learning about.

I am not always good at paying attention to discomfort or heading into situations that might make me encounter it. But it’s worth the attention. It’s worth noticing. Like I told a kid who had just run his first mile before coming to church for Wednesday evening programing, “if it hurts, you have to stretch or it will hurt more.” You have to pay attention to what your body is telling you. Discomfort offers and opportunity for growth. Avoiding it does no such thing.

“This life therefore is not righteousness, but growth in righteousness. Not health but healing. Not being, becoming. Not rest, but exercise. We are not what we shall be, but we are moving toward it. The process is not yet finished, but it is moving on. This is not the end, but this is the road. All does not yet gleam in the glory of God but all is being purified.” -Martin Luther

In my ministry as a parish deaconess, friends with young children and congregation members regularly ask me if I know of or have good resources for talking with their children about race. They share stories of struggling with how to raise their children to recognize and celebrate human diversity as a gift without relying on the language of “color blindness” that they, more often than not, were raised with. Mostly I listen to their stories and celebrate with them the good things they’re already doing. Their questions keep me wondering about what ways the church can partner with parents as they strive in this arena. I know we can meet communities, families, congregations, and children where they’re at and encourage healthy conversations around race where faith and grace are at the center of the conversation. I also know it’s hard to know where to start.

Younger Children & Elementary Children

·       Consider doing a resource audit and see what you notice. This is not meant to make you feel guilty, but to help provide a mirror. I recently had middle schoolers go through the children’s books on my shelf at church and put them into 2 piles: books that had persons of color in them at all and books that had mostly white characters. It was informative. We had great conversations as a result.

·       If your congregation is in the habit of celebrating the saints (or even if it’s not), consider using a children’s sermon to highlight MLK Day, the birthday of Archbishop Desmond Tutu, or Saint Augustine. These leaders in the church were persons of color. There’s a great children’s book by Archbishop Desmond Tutu called “God’s Dream” that you could read on his birthday each year. There’s even a board book version that you could give out as a baptismal birthday gift.

·       Children love to dance and bang on drums. There are great global music songs in the ELW that you can break the ice with by inviting the little ones to dance in the aisles. Setting 7 has a great “Glory” that even a congregation unfamiliar with Latin music can get into. We can celebrate the gift of the gospel with our whole bodies.

Middle Schoolers

·       Middle schoolers are capable of deeper conversations than we sometimes give them credit for. Three days of confirmation class could be spent on race, culture, and class. ELCA World Hunger has downloadable resources on Hunger and the Catechism.

·       Middle Schoolers are busy struggling to broaden their worldview beyond their own “bubbles.” Give them the tools to be courageous by setting an example. The ELCA also has missionaries across the globe. Maybe your congregation could consider sponsoring one and your middle school Sunday School could write them letters.

·       Middle Schoolers LOVE to inform adults about things they “know more” about. What if your middle schoolers were to do a poster series on “You Could Be a Lutheran If . . . ” that explored Lutheranism in America and the world. For example, one poster could be “You Could be Lutheran if you live in Tanzania” because there are more Lutherans in Tanzania than the United States.

High Schoolers

·       ELCA Racial Justice Ministries has a number of downloadable resources that are created for adults, that I think you could adjust for conversations with high schoolers in youth group.

·       Equipping leaders and mentors to engage in conversations around identity, race, culture, class and how we attend to those conversations as persons of faith is perhaps one of the harder things to do. However, youth will want to talk about identity – it’s edgy. Maybe prep your leadership with ELCA Racial Justice Ministries resources like “One Body, Many Members.”

·       In some places Lutherans are reclaiming the practice of sharing personal faith stories and giving testimony. What might it look like to have a testimony series that intentionally asked questions around the intersection of identity, race, culture, and class? What if adults and youth shared stories that were truly vulnerable and didn’t always tie up in a neat bow?

Bio: Claire Schoepp (she/her/hers) is a parish Deaconess at two congregations in Chicago serving as Director of Child and Family Ministries at Luther Memorial Church of Chicago and Administrative Assistant at St. Luke’s Lutheran Church of Logan Square. Claire is grateful to First Immanuel Lutheran Church and Rev. Harry Therwanger for everything. Claire and her spouse, Isaac Schoepp, love living in Chicago where they take in as much theatre as possible.

…and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free. (John 8:32)

The timing of the debate about appointing Judge Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court after the hearing with Dr. Ford strikes me as ironic. This hotly contested debate unfolded as the country was observing the national holiday still known by most as Columbus Day. For some years now some have been campaigning to change it to National Indigenous People’s Day. In fact my I-phone calendar noted that October 8 was Columbus Day (regional holiday) and Indigenous People’s Day, with the note, “This is not a nation-wide holiday; it may not be observed in our region.”

The story of our country includes the narrative that our European ancestors came here to escape the tyranny of a hierarchy of royalty and high-ranking church leaders. When the Europeans settled here they essentially recreated that hierarchy with different labels. Though we do not have monarchs with numerous layers of aristocracy, we very much have a system in which a few thrive far more than most.

Prestige and Privilege

The elite are often sent off to expensive private schools where they are encouraged to believe they are special, above the rules that govern others, and born to lead by virtue of their family and social connections. Our founding documents about liberty and justice for all only applied to Caucasian men who owned property. That property, originally occupied by indigenous people, was often obtained by ignoring or discrediting the rights of the people here long before Columbus landed on the shores of the Americas.

These assumptions are changing. Change causes anxiety. Anxiety often produces angry outbursts such as we’ve witnessed lately as the #MeToo movement has exposed the dark underbelly of previously unchallenged privileges among some. Though we no longer publically claim that women are the property of men, we often have enforced behaviors that allow women to be treated as such.

A Social Revolution

We appear to be in the midst of a civil war as potentially destructive as the Civil War of the 1800’s. The class system that has evolved over the past four hundred years is hurting a large portion of our population. Growing numbers refuse to suffer in silence.

Today when we acknowledge Christopher Columbus and his explorations we also tell a more accurate account of what happened then. We are starting to talk about the abuses and oppression Columbus and other European explorers inflicted on the people already here. We are slowly, and very painfully, coming to terms with the fallout from the re-creation of a class system that rewards some and excludes most. Not until I started doing extensive research for an upcoming book set in the 1600’s did I learn that Europeans were capturing Native Americans and hauling them back to Europe to sell as slaves. But fessing up to our past injustice does not come naturally. Some textbooks are being rewritten to portray slavery as a wave of immigration from Africa, as though the slaves asked to be brought here in chains. The travesty of the Trail of Tears is being written as some friendly land swap agreement between the Native Americans of the Southwest and the Europeans who needed land to expand. Some are trying to white wash our history by brainwashing our children.

Who Speaks the Truth?

The issue today seems to be whether we will believe people when they tell us this lopsided system is hurting them. If we believe the victims of abuse and injustice, we must work together to render aid and change the system.  What kind of a nation have we become when a woman has to move twice to protect her family because she goes public about a night of personal horror? What kind of people are we when a Senator calling for more time to process the situation also receives death threats? What kind of people are we when we encourage crowds to chant about locking people up for voicing their opinions? What kind of people are we when we justify tearing terrorized toddlers from their mothers’ arms because they didn’t cross into our geography according to our nearly-impossible-to-navigate entry process?

When we promote and favor the few but discredit the many hurt by this system of elitism, we are clearly telling those who suffer that we either do not believe them or we do not care about their plight. I once interviewed a Holocaust survivor. He told me that of all the atrocities he suffered and witnessed, the worse part was when he managed to track down a few surviving relatives. They asked him, “Why are you making up those lies? That never could have happened.”

I Do See Progress

I am a glass half-full sort of person. I see progress. I see more women and minorities in places they certainly would not have been a few decades ago. For example, today nearly one third of our sixty-six ELCA Lutheran bishops are women. I also see more and more men stepping up to address these issues of inequality. I am grateful and encouraged for this progress. I pray it continues.

My grandmother lived in Cleveland when her father was dying in Zanesville, a hundred and fifty miles away. She took a train to be with him, and according to the story told to me, spent the night in the train station. No one would rent a room to a married woman travelling alone in first decades of the 1900’s.

My mother managed our family of three children alone for months at a time when our civil engineer father was out of the country on a project. During one of his trips the bank deducted his paycheck from their account, rather than add it. This of course put the account in the red and caused multiple checks to bounce. The bank would not deal with my mother because she was a woman. She had to get her father, a Federal Reserve banker, to intervene to straighten out the mess.

ONE Nation?

I wonder how many members of the elite have dealt with such issues. We are in the midst of a cultural revolution. Future generations will no doubt have some name for these shifts in power and privilege we’re seeing unfold. For now we are re-thinking our collective assumptions about how we should live and work together as ONE nation, under a God of mercy and compassion, that truly ensures liberty and justice for all people – not just the privileged few.

The original Pledge of Alliance read, “I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” This version was amended by Congress in 1954 to: “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” Francis Bellamy, a socialist, wrote the original version in 1892. A socialist wrote our Pledge of Allegiance.

I pray calm, wise, and compassionate leaders can guide us out of this contentious corner into which we’ve backed ourselves. We’ve come a long way, but we certainly have a long way to go until we truly are a one nation that provides liberty and justice to all our people.

Bio

Kathryn Haueisen is a retired ELCA pastor, a consultant with the Mission Investment Fund’s Capital Campaign Services, and an author who blogs about people and places that offer help and hope at www.HowWiseThen.com. She has written devotions, curriculum, and articles for numerous Lutheran publications as well as other consumer and faith-based publications. Her book, A Ready Hope: Effective Disaster Response for Congregations (Alban Institute 2009) prepares communities and volunteers for the long term recovery process that unfolds following a natural disaster.

On Monday, April 30, 2018, I was asked to accompany Bayron, a man seeking asylum in the US, to his Immigration Court hearing at the Rodino Federal Building, Newark, NJ. Bayron came to the US in 2016 across the Mexico/US border in Texas on foot with a toddler, fleeing violence in Honduras, widely known as one of the homes of the infamous gang, MS-13.  The menace of MS-13 is regularly invoked as a warrant to deport not just gang members, but any undocumented immigrant.  Bayron has no criminal record, yet he is but one of the hundreds of thousands of deportees that, largely based on public discourse about MS-13, have been rounded up by Immigrations and Customs Enforcement (ICE).

Before entering the federal building, we prayed.  Once inside the guard announced, “It’s time to play airport.”  Of course, TSA agents do not carry weapons or wear body armor. By this, they meant that shoes and jackets have to come off, belts, watches, and cell phones need to be deposited into a plastic basket which will be x-rayed, and pockets needed to be emptied.  Then you proceed through a metal detector only to be met by another armed guard on the other side who greets you with a pat down.  Then you put your shoes and other clothing items back on in a chair flanked by two armed guards. Granted, the guards were jovial, but as kind as their intent could have been, it did not outweigh the fire power, controls, and “official” nature of this encounter.

Bayron was shaken up.  He didn’t know if he would be deported, given an ankle monitor, or asked to come back in a week only to face the same terrors all over again.  The building, what and who it represents, is terrifying.  There is no way around that.

After clearing the check-in, and some more prayers, we proceeded to the elevator at the back of the foyer and ascended into the center of a building that some say is the hall of heroes and others the belly of the beast.  Upon reaching the correct floor, a Spanish speaking guard escorted us to the waiting area and asked that we turn our cell phones off in his presence because electronic device use is prohibited in this area.  Upon entering the waiting area, its casino-esque décor was apparent – there were no windows in the room.  And, while there were no slot machines, the whole affair felt more like a game of chance with people’s lives hanging in the balance rather than a judicial affair with lady justice’s scales shaping the outcomes of the proceedings.  This room, absent cell phones, computers, visitors, windows, and even attorneys is a little black box.  It is meant to be as invisible as the population that it serves.  You can’t care about what happens there if you can’t go there, see there, or be there.  Its lack of transparency to the public is essentially due to the same reason a person gets “draped” during surgery:  You don’t want to see it, because if you did, you probably wouldn’t go through with the procedure.

Most of the people in the room were brown or black.  There were a few babies there with their parents.  The youngest baby, in what I think was her father’s arms, was crying and the parents were attempting to sooth the child.  Were the baby’s tears the only thing preventing her parents from crying?

The anxiety in the room was palpable.  Will I have to leave my children behind?  My partner? Family? – today?  These were the questions on people’s faces amidst the somber quiet of insecurity and perhaps terror. In an otherwise starkly adorned waiting area, two portraits gazed upon those who had been caught up in ICE’s dragnet.  The official presidential portrait of Donald Trump and Attorney General Jeff Sessions stared smilingly back at those whose heads hung low.  While President Trump’s Deportation and Removal totals are not yet complied, Presidents’ past have all increasingly ramped up deportations.  President Obama – 3,805,552 deportations.  President George W. Bush – 10,328,850.  President Clinton – 12,290,905.  President George H.W. Bush – 4,161,683.  President Reagan – 8,276,853.  Were we, as Christians, to take these staggering totals as seriously as we take Jesus’ words from Matthew 25:40, “Just as you did it to one of the least of these…you did it to me,” we might be moved to affix these deportation totals to presidential portraits with their deportation tallies placed at the bottom of the photo like the ID# at the bottom of a mugshot.

While the details of this affair are horrifying, they pale in comparison to the circumstances asylees are running from.  That is, it is preferable to endure the horror of being rounded up like an animal in the US than suffer violence back home.

By the grace of God, we were able to procure Bayron an attorney who happened to have a case that same day, at the same time, in the same building.  The attorney, from Catholic Charities, whisked us into a small conference room where he rifled through Bayron’s paperwork and attempted to speak Spanish, which he wasn’t fluent in.  After many failed attempts at communication, a colleague called a friend who spoke Spanish who then proceeded to translate the conversation over the phone.  The guards can speak Spanish, but the attorneys can’t?

The attorney was confounded by Bayron’s disjointed paperwork; he packed in a hurry.  Somewhat flabbergasted and pressed for time, he turned to our group and asked, “How long have you know Bayron?”  We said, “About an hour and a half.”

The attorney sort of chuckled to himself and, watching the clock, pressed on with his questions and sorting.  We knew Bayron for about an hour and a half.  In a roundabout dash of phone calls through networks of colleagues three clergy ended up showing up to accompany Bayron.  That is more than I thought were going to be there. And, when you honestly think about it, considering the 215,000 deportations in 2017, the staggering number of people who need assistance is debilitating.  What can any individual do in the face of so much need?

I get it. And, honestly, that is why I wrote this piece.  I don’t know that I can make a difference on my own. I can’t.  But if enough people know what is going on, then maybe We can.  Every day people are denied due process in little black boxes like this one in Newark, NJ.  Yet, Bayron got a one year stay of deportation.  This is a provisional win.  But, without the attorney from Catholic Charities, the massive networks of activists, and a few willing clergy, Bayron may have been deported that day.  I can’t say that I did it, or that any one thing prevented him from being deported, but what I can say is this:  Bayron knew someone and that someone knew other people who would fight for him to stay.  I am writing this to tell you that that someone can be you.  And, in such a xenophobic context, victory is not always halting a deportation.  Sometimes victory, if we will have any at all, could simply be saying no as loud as you can with as many people as possible.

Bio

Carmine Pernini is the pastor of Zion Evangelical Lutheran Church, Rahway, NJ, a member of the NJ Synod’s Anti-Racism Team, a Coordinator for the Union County Interfaith Coordinating Council, a member of Faith in NJ’s Clergy Caucus, and on the Steering Committee of the NJ Clergy Coalition for Justice.  He is married to Rev. Kathryn Irwin, of Holy Trinity Lutheran Church, Nutley, NJ, and they have three children and one on the way.