A Moment of Clarity

“A Moment of Clarity”

Dear Sisters and Brothers,

Many people of my generation have looked back at the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 60s with awe. It was an extraordinary time, when brilliant leaders arose, determined to use civil disobedience, eloquent words, lawyerly skill, political savvy, and, most of all, the power of the Holy Spirit to chip away at and ultimately dismantle (legally, anyway) Jim Crow. Some of you lived through that time and some even played a part in the cause. People my age and younger can only talk with our elders or read books or watch documentaries. We continue to listen to the soaring oratory of Dr. King and other leaders, with substance and style formed in the Black Church.

I’ve always been struck by the diversity of the movement. Some young white people put their belief in equality on the line when they became “Freedom Riders,” journeying with black civil rights activists by bus into the South, where many white residents, very much including law enforcement, responded with rage and terrible violence. Some just went for a few days, making memories of adventure later shared with children and grandchildren, while others decided to stay for a while. One of those who chose not to take the bus home was the Episcopal seminarian Jonathan Daniels, who was martyred in Alabama.

I love the images from the marches where we see black civil rights leaders surrounded by allies of different colors and faiths, rabbis marching beside nuns and priests and ministers. One of the great Jewish allies was Abraham Joshua Heschel, a brilliant theologian and philosopher. Heschel once wrote something that has haunted me for a long time:

“…in a free society, some are guilty, but all are responsible.”

Yes, many of us have looked back at that time with awe, but also with some envy. At least in hindsight, the issues back then seem so clear, don’t they? Wasn’t it always clear that separate but equal was a racist fantasy? Wasn’t it always clear that black people should have access to the ballot box? Wasn’t it always clear that black children should be able to attend the same schools as white kids? Wasn’t it always clear that black people should have the same opportunities as everyone else? And, wasn’t it always clear that the Klan and the other terrorist groups and lynching and all of the other brutalities were a great evil? Wasn’t all of this clear?

In contrast, my own time – our own time – has seemed complex and nuanced, with all sorts of socio-economic factors to consider. And, as a faith leader responsible for a diverse congregation, I’m well aware of angry accusations of preaching partisan politics from the pulpit. And, to be perfectly honest, as someone who hates conflict and probably tries too hard to avoid it, I have often bent over backwards to be even-handed. After all, things aren’t as clear as they were in the 1960s, right?

And, yet, the words of Heschel echo in my mind and nudge my conscience.

On Tuesday morning I was on a Zoom call with some other leaders in Jersey City, both clergy and lay. At the start, we were asked to share how we were processing all that had happened over the past few days: the killing of George Floyd, the protests and the response of the police, and the actions of the president and other leaders. It was heartrending to hear some of our black leaders put into words their pain and anger. These accomplished, faithful, courageous, and proud men and women held back tears as they talked about America as an abusive spouse, as they acknowledged frustration that we are still stuck in this same bad place and pledged to use their remaining time to give all they have to the cause, and as they shared some long-ago hurts that shaped the course of their lives.

To say the least, it was a moment of clarity.

As a white man, it is not my place to lead or even to say very much but, as a faith leader, I have a particular responsibility to stand in solidarity, to listen and continue to learn, and to do what I can. So, although I was certainly concerned about Covid-19 and the possibility of violence, I attended the protest and rally at City Hall on Tuesday afternoon where, by the way, everyone I saw was wearing a mask and most kept at least some distance. The speakers were challenging and powerful and there was not even a hint of violence. The conference call and the protest inspired me to look into my own heart and history and to share my own old story of an encounter on a Newark street and a fresher story of some hard words in an Instagram post.

No doubt, some will object to “politics in the church.” But, here’s the thing: the Gospel has always been political. Remember, it was the State that killed Jesus – killed him in a brutal and public way because the “powers that seemed to be” saw him and the movement around him as offering a dangerously different way, a way of love that threatened the status quo, a way that challenged their own ruthlessness. The “powers that seemed to be” thought they had crushed this challenge with nails and wood, but they were very wrong. Remember, the earliest expression of Christian faith was “Jesus is Lord!” These words may sound like no big deal to us, but our spiritual ancestors understood that if Jesus is Lord then Caesar most definitely is not.

We are in a treacherous and frightening time. Frankly, right now I’d much rather be urging you to buy tickets to our fundraiser dinner-dance, or inviting you to the next arts event, or welcoming the counselors and campers to Carr Hall for another summer of learning and fun. But, the same Spirit who guided the first Christians as they came to understand that a man executed by the government was and is the Son of God, and the same Spirit that guided the civil rights leaders and their allies of a few generations ago, that same Spirit is with us in in this moment and will certainly not abandon us now.

A moment of clarity: some are guilty, but all are responsible.