Words Matter.

If there anything I learned in my last 5 years in Lutheran academia is that confessions are central. Words matter. They shape realities and transform both perception and perspective. Words are powerful.

Even if they sound made up –or effectively are- words have the power to reclaim identities and shape worlds. For example: Latinamerican. You may read this and think that someone let a typo slip, repeatedly, throughout this blog post. But I chose to use Latinamerican, rather than Latin American, or Latin-American for a reason. Other than Peruvian, latinoamericano –a person from Latinoamerica- is one of the labels I would use “back home” –back home meaning back in a Spanish speaking country- and in Spanish, this word has a unifying sense to it. We may be from different countries but we are one Latinamerica. Latinoamerica unida.

Latin-American, or Latin American on the other hands is defined by Merriam-Webster as: based in or relating to the American countries south of the U.S. where people speak Spanish and Portuguese. You can see how this definition centralizes the United States to define a group of people.

I’m not here for the colonizing narrative, so I hope you can see why I would reject Latin American/Latin American as stubbornly as I do. Every label, every name, every hat, and every mask we pick and accept for ourselves shapes us. That is the power words have in our everyday life.

To be in the United States, to be an immigrant in the United States, to be a Latinamerican immigrant in the United States, to be a queer Latinamerican immigrant in the United States, to be a queer Latinamerican immigrant man in the United States, is quite a thing. As one embodying all these experiences I learned this: words matter. Words can have an almost magical character; they evoke, invoke, revoke and reframe realities into our experiences, be it personal or communal. Words are powerful.

As I first learned to literally speak new words, I learned and relearned how words hold power -power to acquire, power to release, power to create, and power to destroy. Of course this sounds esoteric when framed like this. Instead, I could have just said that I learned enough English to buy food at a supermarket, words to bless and be a witness to God’s power, to make a phone call or send a letter, enough to have a conversation and make new friends, but also enough language to tell people to stay away, to not harm me or my family, to denounce racism or queerphobia.

If you’ve ever been in a situation where you had to learn a new language, a new culture, and a new code to communicate, you know how empowering and transforming these landmark moments are.

I remember my first word, the first time I truly spoke from my heart in the English language. It happened while hanging out with my friend Donna a good 17 years ago, were instead of calling her by her name to get her attention, I just said “YO!”

Yo.

YO.

It startled me, it surprised me, as this was the first word I spoke without translating, without overthinking which way to say what. Sadly I don’t think I’ve used “yo!” since then –at least not quite like that first time- but I fondly remember it as my first step in a journey to reclaim my voice.

When speaking about, well, *speaking*, sometimes we can see this as something passive, but for people who have lost their voice, for those who have ever been considered “less than”, for the other, for the margins, speaking is not only active but intentional, its sacred, because none of us had the privilege to use our voice as a given. We had to reclaim it. Word by word, space by space, claiming that those words, and their power, are important enough to risk ridicule, violence, or indifference. Every time words are put forward, we assert our place, we claim our seat at the table, not as a guest, but as a host, as someone who will be heard.

So when being all of these things, when one has all of these words, names, masks, hats, applied to them, when one has words to say, it is expected that something will happen. You see, people are afraid of this. This magic, this power to reveal what is preferred to be kept hidden, unnamed and unknown.

I have been created in the image of God, I am not just creation, and I have been lovingly, carefully, and powerfully crafted in the image of my creator for a purpose in this journey. Why is this important to say? Because words matter, words hold magic, they hold power. Words are the difference between “You’re wonderfully created” and “You’re wonderfully created in the image of God” where one confesses that I am part of creation, and the other, that I’m not only creation, but also co-creator in Christ, your equal, your sibling in Christ, created in the image of God.

Words, as elements that hold power, can be weaponized, and meanings can, and will surreptitiously be used to hold power over one another. Every day we see how #BlackLivesMatter is turned to #AllLivesMatter, how queer is used both as an identifier with rich meaning, and as a slur, how immigrant is used both to disenfranchise people of color and to elevate Europeans who came and keep coming to the United States.

Words matter, they hold power, and they also withhold power when we neglect to say them. When we withhold the blessing of community to others, when we neglect to name others as our equals, as image of God, as co-creators in Christ, we are unable to confess our sins for what they are.

As a person who holds all these names, all these words, all this power, I have to remind myself constantly that even though the church means well, I have the power to change it into something else. I hold the power to create a church where I’m not just an asset, or a blessing, or a resource, but the Church, where I am a child of God created in the image of God, co-creator in Christ. I hold this power to call the church into a revival, and hold it accountable for constantly calling me brave, fierce, or beautiful, but not claiming me as sibling, child of God, or one of their own.

I know the Church is constantly transforming, reforming, and becoming this community, where the power of creation is spoken into reality through all of us. To all my kin, to all my people, to all people of color, immigrants, to all my queer folk, to all my people who are still figuring out their place in the Church, from parishes to synods to seminaries -you have power in every word you speak, you hold magic within you, you, as co-creator in Christ can speak this church into reality, into power, into home.

You are beautifully, wonderfully created in the image of God, co-creator in Christ and bringer of realities, not only into the church but into this world. Words matter. Speak them, slowly, with an accent, mispronounced even, but with the confidence that your words hold power, and in speaking them, you are speaking God’s kingdom into reality. Words matter. Hold your place. You are the Church.

Bio

Cesar Abel Arroyo Traverso -prefers to go by Abel- is a candidate for ordination in the Grand Canyon Synod, originally from Lima, Peru. He lives in Phoenix Arizona with his husband Jeff, where he misses the ocean and keeps learning what “dry heat” actually means. Abel is a graduate from the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago where he got his M.Div and emphases on both African American and Latinx studies.

When I was a kid I thought of Jesus as my personal superhero.  My maternal grandmother Emogene gave me a children’s bible—filled with colorful pictures depicting the works of Jesus. I loved that book and the promise that it held.   I likened its gospel message to a comic book filled with villains, action, and Jesus as the Saviour with the mysterious powers. He walked on water, fed the masses, healed the sick, and stood up to the bullies. And the most exciting part of the Good News message was that I too could grow up to be just like Him.  for Jesus said, “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these,… .” (John 14:12 NRSV).

It was Jesus, along with the Super Friends, Davey and Goliath that were all part of part of my imaginative childhood faith formation that good and God could conquer evil. This was the 1970s and unfortunately, Saturday morning cartoons didn’t feature many examples of racial diversity.  However, I enjoyed Davey and Goliath because 1)  he was Lutheran and 2) he had friendships with Jonathan Reed and Cisco both people of color. The mission of the all-white main cast of Super Friends ( Wonder Woman, Superman, Batman, Robin and Aquaman), each with their unique powers, was to fight injustice, to right that which was wrong and to serve all humankind. Who wouldn’t want friends like these?

This week, Starbucks the American coffee company chain was pulled into the national spotlight, when a store manager in the Center City section of Philadelphia, refused restroom access to a black man because he hadn’t made a purchase.  Starbucks store guests, Donte Robinson and Rashon Nelson both 23-year-old black males arrived at the Starbucks for a professional business meeting with a local real estate developer Andrew Yaffe.   After denying access to the restroom, the store manager called 911. Police officers responded by arresting the two men for trespassing and escorting them away in handcuffs. The treatment of the two men ignited protests and a sit-in at the establishment. Subsequently, the charges against the men were dropped; the manager was removed as an employee from the location; an apology was issued from the Philadelphia Police Commissioner and a personal apology from Starbuck’s CEO Kevin Johnson; followed by a commitment to educate its employees on implicit racial-bias across 8,000 stores. Implicit racial bias refers to the attitudes or stereotypes that affect understanding, actions, and decisions in an unconscious manner.  The goal of the training is to promote conscious inclusion and prevent discrimination within and across the organization.

At the heart of this story for me is Melissa DePino—a 50 years old white female that videoed and posted the incident on Twitter. Although the story isn’t about Melissa DePino –it is about what she did in the moment. DePino wasn’t just a bystander while two people of color were handcuffed and humiliated –she used her very human powers to be an upstander. To view the video click pic.twitter.com/0U4Pzs55Ci.

@Starbucks The police were called because these men hadn’t ordered anything. They were waiting for a friend to show up, who did as they were taken out in handcuffs for doing nothing. All the other white ppl are wondering why it’s never happened to us when we do the same thing. pic.twitter.com/0U4Pzs55Ci

— Melissa DePino (@missydepino) April 12, 2018

Melissa DePino is my shero (female hero) of the week — because more than likely by this time next week another story of racism will make headline news. DePino used her white privilege to expose the unfair discriminatory treatment people of color face on a regular basis; she held Starbucks accountable for their actions  by exposing the situation and she named her own experience of white privilege.   Her post revealed the pervasive reality of racism and white culture. In the curriculum, Transforming White Privilege: A 21^st Century Leadership Capacity (an online resource developed by a grant from the Kellogg Foundation) white culture is defined as the dominant, unquestioned standards of behavior and ways of functioning embodied by the vast majority of institutions in the United States. White culture defines who looks professional, who is a threat to society and to whom the rules apply.

What if people of color had more white super friends like Melissa DePino?  White leaders that activate their powers whenever they see a person of color in distress because of the evil actions of racism. White leaders willing to put their whole bodies on the line for racial justice. No one can say for sure what could have happened to Rashon Nelson and Donte Robinson if there wasn’t a video of this incident.  However, the historical and daily realities of black and brown people that find themselves accused, abused and  dehumanized by a society that devalues them is real.  The problem of racism in America will not go away with a day of training of 175,000 employees of Starbucks but it is a start.  Melissa DePino’s actions should serve as a reminder to all of us that believe in justice that we too are superheroes. Every day we can show up as transformers for racial justice following the example of Jesus the “Holy Disruptor” by speaking up when we see or hear something; informing our networks through social media; showing up in support with others at public actions, rallies and marches, holding institutions accountable and by voting for elected officials that work for equity and inclusion for all of us.

Judith Roberts serves as the ELCA Program Director for Racial Justice. She is mom to Julian Barlow. Lover of good vegan eats, Zumba and documentary films.

The Transforming White Privilege: A 21st Century Leadership Capacity curriculum  is available for purchase for $250 for the ELCA visit: https://www.racialequitytools.org/module/overview/transforming-white-privilege.

 Lenten Sermon on the film Black Panther

Good morning church.  During the peace I was hit with the “Wakanda forever”, I needed that. I was curious, did anyone else see Black Panther yet? (Yes’, echoing from the church). Great. Ok. Even better. Good, cause that’s what we’re talking about today. And if you haven’t seen it yet, I apologize in advance in case this spoils anything for you, but I encourage you to go out and see it.

 I also want to say, excuse me before I start, for everyone here who is under 30, thank you, thank you for being here. Thank you for existing in this church. You don’t understand how important you are. All of you. Bless up. That is so important. Thank you for worshipping.

  The Gospel according to Mark 1:9-15, (NRSV) “In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee. And was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart. And the spirit descending like a dove on him. And the voice came from heaven, you are my son, the beloved. With you I am well pleased. And the spirit immediately drove him out of the wilderness. He was in the wilderness for forty days tempted by Satan. He was with the wild beasts and the angels waited on him. Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee proclaiming the good news of God and saying the time is fulfilled and the kingdom of God has come here. Repent and believe in the good news.”

 I want to talk about the movie the Black Panther a little bit. It really is a movie for the culture and I am blessed to have seen that in my lifetime. I want to talk about one of the characters, Killmonger. I feel like many of us here are from the United States or have lived here for a good amount of time, correct?  I think in many ways; his character is so relatable to us. The black pain. The pain of being left behind. The pain of being disconnected in some way.  Killmonger, many of us can relate to him because of this. Because of this anger that has been built up inside of him. This young man who was half Wakandan and half American, grew up in Oakland, without a father. Even though everything might have said that he couldn’t have made it, he ended up graduating from college. He did his graduate studies at M.I.T. He even joined the military.  That motivated him to get him where he is.

 I want to look at Killmonger, as us. I want to look at this wilderness, as the African diaspora experience. I want us to look at the common things that we share, that we go through, as being in the wilderness. Because often times, during Lent, we do this thing where we talk about this individual wilderness, and we’re all so alone in it. And no one can relate, but maybe they can relate. But this experience, this American experience in particular that we go through, we are collectively in the wilderness. In addition to, all the other pieces of the wilderness we will experience.

 Jesus speaks to this struggle because he too has been there, in the wilderness. Which obviously plays a major part in a lot of our relations and the relationship with our ancestors. When they too were enslaved and they were going through their wilderness. Their journey through the underground railroad. Their journey to liberation. Their journey marching. Jesus did that too.

 What happens to us in the wilderness? Killmonger said, “The world took everything away from me, everything I ever loved.” This speaks to the pain of any of us. Cause maybe the world took everything away. Maybe the world took away a child of ours, a loved one, a place that we call home. Gentrification or displacement due to war. Maybe the world took away security, or finances, or even our freedom. Maybe the world took away your heritage and identity; the foundation for future generations. This world can be oh so cruel. This wilderness can turn anyone to be angry. That’s what I want to talk about.

 I want to talk about the anger that comes with being in the wilderness. I want to talk about the rage that sometimes can come inside of us just by living our everyday life. Seeing ourselves bloody on the street, on the news, every single day. Going home and seeing the next person evicted for whatever reason. Knowing that the majority of people in prison today look just like us with dark skin but did almost nothing in comparison to those who still walk free. Shout outs to Zimmerman.

 Let me ask you, what happens when we let the wilderness win? That’s my question for us. Because that’s what happens with Killmonger, right?  I think in many ways that’s what happens to a lot of us. This journey can be so much of a burden on us. The weight that we carry on all of our shoulders. Then sometimes we then tend to act out in spite. Or maybe we do work hard. We might actually work hard to degrade others and burn down our sacred spaces. To destroy bridges amongst each other and personal relationships. We can be so angry, but with what purpose? Because often times anger comes from a place of vengeance; anger tends to be a secondary emotion. That’s not always what we’re feeling, there’s something deeper inside.

 Jesus was led into the wilderness, being tempted by Satan and amongst wild beasts. Now sometimes, I think when we look at scripture, we look at how light and fluffy it is. “He was in the wilderness”, then we create these really cool metaphors about the wilderness. But, the thing is that the wilderness then, is very fierce. We’re talking about wild beasts. We’re not talking about homes and shelters and protection. We’re talking about living on your bare feet. The callouses. The harsh that’s done there. And you know if you’re in shoes for too long, that you don’t really feel comfortable in, already I’m done. I’m “I’m ready to go home.” What happens when I can’t go home? We’re talking about Satan tempting him.  At any moment he can respond with anger. At any moment, he can fall off his path that he was placed on….but he didn’t.

 To be honest, Jesus would have had all the right to become angry. Aside from the nonsense he had to deal with in society, let’s talk about being alone. Being threatened by the idea of being forgotten. Feeling displaced and at risk. Uncertain of his own survival. Something that I didn’t mention in my little bio, is that I was actually a trauma chaplain at Christ medical center in Chicago prior to my new position. And I’ve seen all of this. A lot of this by my emergency room department. Gunshot wound victims, who tend to also come from south Chicago, or northwest Indiana. I’ve seen the fear of being forgotten. The “hey, contact everyone on my list” or people outside waiting trying to come in. This anger of “this is not what I wanted for myself, but this is kind of what I ended up with.” This feeling of being displaced, because throughout their childhood maybe they had to go from foster home to foster home or mom just couldn’t simply keep a stable apartment. Again, these are many collective shared things that a lot of us may have experienced or witnessed others experiencing or having those cousins that have experienced it.

 But God. In that wilderness was God. Jesus felt God and trusted that he would be led through.  That is the message that we’re always going to hear when it comes to the wilderness talk. God’s there. God’s present. God was there for our ancestors. God was there for our parents. God is there for you. For me. For us. I want to ask us to reflect for a second, what’s in our wilderness? What are some things that might be taking us out of character right now? What are some hardships that we might be facing? At what point or where do we feel disconnected in our life today? Life is not a walk in the park.  How do we keep ourselves going?

 Killmonger used anger, spent years building hate before trying to actually heal, which led him to Wakanda. Using that same hate to instruct a military coup and trying to arm the oppressed globally.  That per say is maybe not a bad idea but, look at what he destroyed, trying to fix something. He destroyed sacred rituals. He destroyed sacred ground that people lived on. He destroyed other people; stability and comfort of those who lived there. That’s what happen when we leave the wilderness and we bring our anger with us. That’s what happens when we don’t take the time to heal. We become a destructive force. We become something that becomes so toxic in our environment, in our communities that people may not even want to be around us if by chance they get to survive.

 The reality is, we can come out of our trials and choose not to heal. But don’t be surprised when a lit match burns down your house. I can feed you the same line of “God is with you in the wilderness” and that is very much true, but I want to push our learnings today.

 Let’s say you’re out of the wilderness. What are you going to do now? That’s the message I want to pull up from here. What are you going to do now? When you get out, how do you cope with the trauma? I’m going to sidebar this real quick because the thing is that, as we’re talking about our history, I’m so blessed that ya’ll were talking about your history today, something else that we bring with us, that is literally in our D.N.A. is intergenerational trauma.  Maybe, those before us didn’t have the opportunities to try and heal. Maybe they didn’t have the time of day to try to work and keep themselves together, but right now you do. How are you going to heal? How are we going to share this healing with others? How are we going to undo a lot of the damage that has been done to us?

 We may have been like Killmonger. We may have left broken economies or homes that felt like prison. We may have found freedom after abusive relationships or financially stopped working in non-traditional methods. But just because we escaped, does not mean that we escaped the pain and the imprint that the wilderness leaves on our spirits. Do we want to continue to live in the pain so that the anger builds, or do we see peace in ourselves and God to learn to heal? That’s your decision. That’s your decision every single day. Do we even know what healing feels like? Has there ever been a time where you felt that you were healed?

 And I would say culturally, we never are really permitted to heal. From bouncing around from slavery, to Jim Crowe, to mass incarceration, human trafficking, the crack epidemic, when have we really even had the time to breathe? That’s right, I can’t breathe. In 2008, I know more names of black unarmed people shot by the police than the prophets in the bible. When have we ever had time to breathe?

  The message deep in this text is that we need to regain ourselves and our lives. Christ’s message is powerful because he leaves the wilderness. His mentor is arrested, and he can still find God. Cause if we know the bible pretty well, John doesn’t make it too long and that was someone who brought Jesus up in the faith. Who gave him this power, who passed over the torch to him. After suffering and knowing that his partner in crime will too suffer.  Being a stranger in his own home, he still was able to give glory to God. Somewhere in that time period, he was able to find healing and find peace in himself and in God. That’s a hard pill to swallow, because sometimes, these things are so rough, that I can’t even see where God is. Then God taps me on the shoulder and says, “Hey, I’m right here.”

 The example that Jesus set, is to find grace in the chaos. With that, I wonder, what if Killmonger was taken back to Wakanda? Or if he grew up with a father. I wonder, what if he wasn’t the truth that the king chose to omit? I also wonder, how many of us carry this pain too? What was the Wakanda that you needed?  Where can we invite Jesus into our pain?

 We are not alone in our wilderness. We’re not alone in our wilderness because we are a community. Whether we may be going through the exact same thing at the exact same time, there are journeys in our wilderness that intersect. That overlap. That are shared. They may look different but are still the same. In this wilderness we are not alone and like Jesus, we will persevere. Will we learn from Jesus, and seek the peace that is God? Or will we allow our despair to overcome us? That is the work that we are charged with. That is your duty ESPECIALLY in this Lenten season.

 I want to leave you with this, “Bury me in the ocean with my ancestors that jumped from the ships, because they knew death was better than bondage.” Who are you? Are we our trauma or are we our healing? Maybe we’re both. Who are you after the wilderness? Who are you?

Amen.

Bio

Nicolette Marie Faison (Nic) is an approved candidate for ordination and graduate of the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia. The Chicago transplant lives out urban justice and community healing through her work as the City Director for DOOR Network. When she is not quoting Marvel’s Black Panther, Nic spends time with her cat Penne debating which city has the best pizza. (It’s New York.)

17 As (Jesus) was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

18 Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone.

19 You know the commandments:

‘You shall not murder;

You shall not commit adultery;

You shall not steal;

You shall not bear false witness;

You shall not defraud;

Honor your father and mother.’”

20 He said to him, “Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.”  21 Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” 22 When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions. (Mark 10:17-22 NRSV)

This rich man in Mark’s story could be my neighbor from the suburbs. He’s a good person insofar as he obeys the commandments on an individual level. He has not murdered, raped, stolen, lied in court, or ripped off anyone personally, and he is an obedient son, both to his parents and to his cultural heritage based on his diligence in abiding by the commandments. He could also be me. I may know the Lutheran tradition well enough to intellectually concede that I am not ‘good’ but I live scrupulously and frugally. I support the right causes that empower more people and include more people in what it means to be the church. I am pro-women, pro-LGBTQ, pro-people of color, pro new ways of being church, pro-differently abled people, pro-multi-tradition dialogue. I am pretty good!

And I could be all this things with never having to address a central part of who I am that I have always been and will continue to be as long as I live. I am white.

When Jesus encounters this man, he identifies one central thing that keeps him from the Kingdom. As a reader who is white I am beginning to inhabit this text by finding there my whiteness.

This ‘one thing,’ whiteness, confers on me many possessions. (See Peggy McIntosh’s Invisible Knapsack article for an outstanding, quick resource.) I receive many gifts from looking white and being received as a white person. For example, I worked at a Halloween City in a suburb for an October and on a busy day my coworker asked if people were putting the money right into my hand. I said, always. I watched them do that, he said, and I put my hand out and still they slide the money on the table. When people engaged me as a person in a white body they conferred trust upon me, and my coworker, in a black body, was degraded by the refusal to place money directly in his hand.  A small example from a myriad.

My experience of discovering myself to be white carries a disappointment akin to the man in Mark’s Gospel. When I began to discover more elements of ‘white privilege’ in my own reflection and narrative, I felt angry, lied to, ashamed, guilty, a broad range of things. Discovering myself to be white has been a process of loss, dismay, and, as I grow, horror. I remember distinctly a moment when I felt this loss, a ‘rich, white man come to Jesus’ moment like Mark 10. I was driving listening to Ta-Nehisi Coates read Between the World and Me on my CD player when he expressed and demolished with his words a sense of being onto which I’d continued to cling.

I am convinced that the Dreamers, at least the Dreamers of today, would rather live white than live free. In the Dream they are Buck Rogers, Prince Aragorn, an entire race of Skywalkers. To awaken them is to reveal that they are an empire of humans and, like all empires of humans, are built on the destruction of the body. It is to stain their nobility, to make them vulnerable, breakable humans. (143, Between the World and Me, New York: Spiegel and Grau 2015.)

I have been brought up all my life to believe I am a or the protagonist in some story, and the revelation is that, no. Insofar as I am white, I am not a protagonist. To use another movie/pop-culture analogy like Coates, I cannot be Neo. Insofar as I believe myself to be white I am in a warm bath in the Matrix by which life is sucked out of black bodies to power a world that is safe and happy for white people.

The temptation at this point would be to walk away disappointed: to discover what is true and real and then to select stay in the dream, to take the blue pill, keeping with analogies from the Matrix.  If I, as many white people do, take this option of enjoying whiteness and holding onto its Dream and its possessions, then I, like the man in the story, walk away disappointed from true community and discipleship. Like the rich, young man who encountered a Rabbi who could teach him to inherit life eternal, I could hold tightly to my goodness, my protagonism, and my many possessions which come from being white. Then, like him, I would rather live in the Dream than free.

But what did the man do next? With the Gospel’s characteristic reticence, Mark does not tell us. The story moves onto Jesus and his disciples, who are alarmed by this encounter. Perhaps the man sulked about this and forgot all about Jesus. On the other hand, perhaps he went home and inventoried all his things and had a hard conversation about what he truly needed and what he could let go of.

Obviously whiteness cannot be sold or let go of, but its effects can be noticed and addressed, if it is defined not as a color of skin but as a hoard of possessions. Whiteness can be inventoried and a white person can go through the painful process of awakening from the Dream. My encounter with Coates’ text left me disappointed, but it also urged me to continue an on-going inventory of what it means for me to be white, recording my possessions. My Grandpa would always say that the GI Bill was very good to him. I later learned that this incredible government handout was administered locally so that many black World War II veterans were kept from this benefit by Jim Crow-inspired government workers. My block was safe because my community would mobilize against the ‘wrong kind of people’ moving in. I can remember hearing someone proudly announce they ‘got rid of’ the group home on our block. I go back through these stories not to shame the people involved, like my grandpa, but to note the places where I inherited wealth and power that was denied and, as Coates reminds us, plundered from other people. Slowly, I am beginning to find new ways that I can relate to my possessions and to the version of reality and history I have inherited.

Even so, this process feels shameful. Encountering the riches of my whiteness has had a stifling effect on my voice and at other times has induced me to speak defensively. I have caught myself speaking ‘prophetically’ to other white people as a means of justifying my own righteousness over theirs and as a way to avoid the shame of believing I am white. Jesus, however, does not shame or vilify the rich, young man. He looks at him and he loves him immediately with no further qualification. Holding him in loving regard, Jesus identifies the ‘one thing’ that keeps this man from the freedom he seeks and he asks for him to let it go. As a white interpreter of Scripture, I find forgiveness in this moment. Jesus loves this man whether or not he can follow through. The only thing keeping him from freedom is his willingness to live inside the prison of his own making because it feels easier and more beneficial.  He can be forgiven, literally ‘let go’ from trying to be rich, an identity built on other people’s backs.

In the same way, can I be forgiven from believing I am white? Can I undergo the process, extended by Jesus, of letting go of my shame along with my many possessions so that I might relax into a love that I do not deserve? As a white follower of Jesus and a white theologian, the teaching and the experience of the forgiveness of sins is something I need more than ever. Can this ancient symbol, so central to the Lutheran tradition, be renewed once more with the particularity of its implications for people of European descent who believe they are white? And if we truly ask for and accept such letting go, what possessions of ‘whiteness’ will be let go each year as seek the Kingdom? This may sound like or even be an impossible task for us white folks, but Jesus anticipates this fear too. “For God, all things are possible.”

Bio

Chris Hanley is the pastor of Glenwood Lutheran Church in Toledo, Ohio. He first received Anti-Racism training from Crossroads at a Lutheran Volunteer Corps Orientation in Washington DC prior to an LVC year in Wilmington Delaware (09-10). He received an MDiv from the University of Chicago’s Divinity School while cross-registering for classes at LSTC, and he interned at Trinity Lutheran Church in Bradenton, Florida. Following this internship, he completed a chaplain residency at Advocate Lutheran General Hospital. In each of these communities, he has attempted to find a self-consciously white and Christian voice through stumbling, writing, listening, and being mentored.

“Sweet dreams.”Uttered almost like an extension of bedtime prayers, whispered and spoken with a gentleness intended to comfort, these two words invoking the gift, “sweet dreams.”

In 1963 on a national stage, a 35-year-old Martin Luther King, Jr. was about to take his seat when Mahalia Jackson urged him go further. “Tell them about the dream. Tell them.” Two months prior to his historic sermon at the march on Washington, Dr. King had spoken passionately begun to speak of his dream for our country. It was in Detroit that King began to echo the refrain, “I have a dream.”

It is the perspective of some, looking back, that Dr. King was not sure about sharing, there in Washington, the outline of what the dream called for. Without the urging of Mahalia Jackson, “tell them about the dream” what has been heralded as one of, if not King’s most memorable sermons, would have ended quite differently.

Dr. King reminded those gathered for the Great March on Detroit in 1963, that we were standing about a hundred years from the Emancipation Proclamation, dismantling of legalized enslavement of Africans in the United States. King lamented that one hundred years later the Negro in America was still not free, “But now more than ever before, America is forced to grapple with this problem, for the shape of the world today does not afford us the luxury of an anemic democracy. The price that this nation must pay for the continued oppression and exploitation of the Negro or any other minority group is the price of its own destruction. For the hour is late. The clock of destiny is ticking out, and we must act now before it is too late.”

There are many who now remember very little of Dr. King’s historic sermon beyond, “I have a dream.” In that sermon, both in Detroit and in Washington, he spoke of an urgency that was demanding  that we as a nation move with intent and purpose, and an energy “an anemic democracy” could not and cannot render.

In the three years that followed, Dr. King, his messages and the movement became clearly more unaccepting of any notion of gradualism. His writings from a Birmingham jail were gathered to become the basis of his book under the title “Why We Can’t Wait.”

As he spoke more openly about the intersectionality of poverty and the pattern of poor people being pitted against one another by the manipulative hands of empire, the more he lost favor with European Americans who had once at least claimed to be allies. King’s speaking against the global injustices of war and poverty were met by powerful voices insisting that he stay in his lane.

In 1967 in an interview with NBC news correspondent Sander Vanocur, Dr. King spoke of the dream he preached about in 1963 now becoming in many ways a nightmare. By 1968 when he ventured into the hostility of Memphis Tennessee to stand in solidarity with striking sanitation workers, he spoke not so much about the dream but resolutely about “the difficult days ahead.” Surely it remains even more evident that “we cannot afford the luxury of an anemic democracy.” We are well within the challenge of the difficult days King envisioned, that demand of us more than superficial notions of cross cultural relations and justice only on the terms of brutal empire.

Our beloved prophetic drum major never abandoned the sweet dream.

Action Item
April 4, 2018 marks 50 years since Reverend Dr Martin Luther King was assassinated. The National Council of Churches, an umbrella organization of mainline Protestant, historic black and Orthodox denominations, is leading “Act Now! United to End Racism.” People of faith will come together on April 4th to commit to realizing Dr. King’s dream to resolve to end racism. Events include an April 3 ecumenical service at a Greek Orthodox cathedral, an interfaith prayer service and rally on the National Mall on April 4, and a lobby day on Capitol Hill on April 5. Visit the National Council of Churches Facebook page to learn more : https://www.facebook.com/nationalcouncilofchurches/.

Bio
In August 2014, Pastor Starr began work as ELCA Director for Ethnic Specific, Multicultural Ministries and Racial Justice Team of the ELCA–after serving as Director for African Descent Ministries  since 2009. As a pastor /teacher he takes great delight and special joy in helping to lift up and engage the gifts and talents of people of African descent and others, celebrating their capacity for building a stronger church and a better world to the glory of God through Jesus Christ. He was awarded an honorary doctor of divinity degree from Trinity Lutheran Seminary in Columbus Ohio. Pastor Starr and his wife Judith have two adult children and two grandchildren. He is the first of seven children born to Albert and Eunice Starr of Durham, N.C.

Sermon delivered to the Lutheran Center, Chicago, IL December 13, 2017

Text: Mark 1:1-8; Isaiah 40:1-11; 2 Pet 3:8-14. 2nd Week of Advent

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and form our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen

I love to tell the story of unseen things above, Of Jesus and his glory, of Jesus and his love.

I love to tell the story, because I know ’tis true; It satisfies my longings as nothing else can do.

This is one of my favorite traditional church songs. I wouldn’t do it at a church service full of young people.

The Spanish translation doesn’t have the same emphasis. It says:

Grato es contar historia del celestial favor,

de Cristo y de su gloria, de Cristo y de su amor.

Me agrada repetirla, pues se que es la verdad;

y nada satisface cual ella mi ansiedad.

It’s like saying, “it is nice to tell the story.” I love its emphasis in English.  I love to tell the story

There is a person in this very building who firmly believes that “ministry is about relationships” so he starts almost every public speech with the following statement:

“Relationships, relationships, relationships.

Ministry is about relationships.

Relationship with God, relationship with one another, and relationship with the community.”

And I agree with him, not only because relationships are in the heart of ministry, but also because it’s very true when it comes to our Global Mission work.

Oct the 2^nd was my very first day in this position. So RMP (Rafael Malpica Padilla, E.D. of Global Mission for the ELCA) took me out to lunch; We all know who RMP is, don’t we? Sorry Rafael, I’m piking on you. My friends, in this building, we have a reputation about the use of acronyms. After two and a half months, I’m still working on them.

Anyway, Rafael took me out to lunch, and at the end of our conversation he told me: “At the end of the day, the work of Global Mission (GM)  is not about what we can teach or the financial resources we can share, but it is about the relationships we develop with our companion churches.”

 I do believe in the importance of relationships. In Fact, as we, people of GM, are having this week our “2017 In-House Week” we went out yesterday to bowling, not only as an opportunity to have some fun and relaxation but most importantly as a chance to develop relationships among us. Jesus’ ministry is based on the development of relationships with those people he would encounter.

However, I also believe in the importance of telling the story as we do ministry. That’s why I love the song I love to tell the story. In this sense, ministry is about relationships, but also about telling the story.

During this time of Advent, John the Baptist with all his prophetic and messianic identity came to tell the story. He came to tell the story of one who was coming after him to baptize with the Holy Spirit, the one who came down to show us God’s love and mercy.

During this season everyone and everything tell the story: from the Christmas tree, the lights and poinsettias to nature, music, food, business, and of course churches. Even the traditional Mexican posadas and the rosca de reyes (circular bread).

Mexican and many other Latina American countries celebrated yesterday the Virgin of Guadalupe Day on December, 12,  “Today is the feast day of the Virgin of Guadalupe, one of the most important religious holidays in Mexico. The story of her appearance to the indigenous peasant, Juan Diego, is the story of God’s love for the poor and oppressed. May she inspire us to that same kind of love today” (Facebook post from my friend Heidi).

Since everyone and everything tell the story of Jesus and his love; please allow me to tell you a little a story of conviction and commitment:

As a Salvadoran, I had the privilege of being baptized by Father Rutilio Grande, confirmed by Archbishop Oscar Romero, and ordained by Bishop Medardo Gomez. Those who are familiar with the Salvadoran history know what I’m talking about.

Oscar Romero was archbishop of San Salvador from 1977 to 1980. He was assassinated while celebrating the Eucharist in the chapel of the Divine Providence Hospital on March 24 of 1980. The day before his assassination he pronounced the following words, as a calling to the army in the middle of a cruel civil war:

“The law of God should prevail that says: you shall not kill. No soldier is obliged to obey an order counter to the law of God…. We want the government to seriously consider that reforms mean nothing when they come bathed in so much blood. Therefore, in the name of God and in the name of this long-suffering people, whose laments rise to heaven every day more tumultuous, I beseech you, I beg you, I command you in the name of God: stop the repression!” (Mar 23, 1980).  

So, the story we need to tell is the one that shows God love and mercy, on one hand, but also that of God’s demand for peace and justice.

It is the story of a God who “has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble.⁵³ He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty.” (Luke 1:52-53).

It is the story of a God who does not tolerate rejection, marginalization, racism, violence and bigotry.

John the Baptist came to announce the coming of the Son of God, but also to call for repentance, conversion and transformation of all structures that promotes suffering and death.

So, my brothers and sisters, ministry is about relationships, it’s about telling the story, and finally, it’s about commitment.

We are a baptized people committed to following Jesus, committed to edify the reign of God and its justice.  In the middle of a reality of political unrest in our country, we need to call for accountability and respect. In the midst of threats and drums of war, we need to call out for peace and justice.

And in our own house, as Christians who claim to be Lutherans and heirs of the reformation we need to honor the principle of being a reformed church always reforming.

Many things need to be reformed in our lives, our church, our country and in our world. As ML King said: “I look to a day when people will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.”

During this season of advent, I invite you to be intentional in developing relationships, in telling the story of Jesus and his love, and in reaffirming our commitment of working and fighting for a better world for our people, the people of God, and for  generations to come. Amen.

Jaime Dubon is of Salvadoran origin. He has served in different capacities: as congregational pastor in El Salvador and within the ELCA, and as Assistant to the Bishop and Director for Evangelical Mission in the Florida-Bahamas Synod. Currently he serves as the ELCA’s Global Mission Area Desk Director for Latin America and the Caribbean