What is in your Right Hand?

All who make idols are nothing and the things they treasure are worthless. Those who would speak up for them are blind; they are ignorant, to their own shame. He and his kind will be put to shame; craftsmen are nothing but men. Let them all come together and take their stand; they will be brought down to terror and infamy.

No one stops to think, no one has the knowledge of the understanding to say…”Shall I make a detestable thing from what is left?” He feeds on ashes, a deluded heart misleads him; he cannot save himself, or say, “Is not this thing in my right hand a lie?”

I have not spoken in secret, from somewhere in the land of darkness; I have not said to Jacob’s descendants, ‘Seek me in vain.’ I the Lord speak the truth; I declare what is right. Gather together and come; assemble, you fugitives from the nations. Ignorant are those who carry about idols of wood, who pray to gods that cannot save.

Isaiah 44:9,11, 19-20; 45: 19-20

Still with images of girls and women being yanked around in their swimsuits and viral videos of uniformed crime and salivating mouths over a lie about race in a movement that needed her integrity (much worse than a lie about, say, family health and safety), I pray for AME churches and for the spiritual family that was attacked in Charleston. For the 5-year-old girl playing dead to live her life. She is the future of our Faith, the victim of our ignorance and idols, now a name joining a long history of persecution and dangerous gatherings. She may leave or re-enter the congregation in the years to come based on the white-majority church’s ability to call a spade and spade and do the awkward, slow, and humbling work of getting better.

I pray for the African American followers of Christ–I cannot imagine how my family members, literal and spiritual, ache as the attack resonates with parts of who they are, and blatant racist action is dismissed or not commented on by other believers–especially those leading the Church. I pray that they would somehow be resilient in the face of a white-silence solidarity, the enduring presence of such hatred and the outstanding discrepancies in our approach to the criminal. Minority-culture churches do not have the liberty of being silent and fearful when it comes to these headlines; they do not have the liberty of touting how the Church is color-blind and not color-coded in the immediate wake of these deaths. But it is undoubtedly wounding when these luxuries are witnessed.

And I pray for the grace and discernment to love, to not assign false viewpoints and narratives to people at a glance, that close them in and shut them off. I pray to see my own fear, my own idols, and my own pain, truthfully. Oh, that I, with others from this Bride, would stand with the margins sacrificially, the mourning, breaking away from the fear, parties and self-protection that prior headlines have grown. How can our grief for fallen Christians of color fall along lines in a predictable fashion? How can our grief and anger be so vulnerable to political agendas and the lie that calling this racist somehow indicts all others?

I weep for what it must be like to be a black young person with this news. And to still log-on to Facebook and see the same people, saying the same things or not saying anything, diverting and dodging the R-word when the shooter clearly stated his motive and paradigm.

Tomorrow, that 5-year-old girl could be the girl at the pool, Dajerria Becton. Saved in the sanctuary to be treated like a guilty party, a fugitive somehow, as a teen. If you fail to see the connection and believe me to have taken the “media’s” Kool-aid, ask around. Ask those who are trained from birth to keep their hands in view when they’re pulled over. Ask those who are taught that they must make eye contact with storekeepers and smile whenever they enter a store. Ask those who have a different expectation and definition of respect and power than you do. They will know the dots between one cute, innocent victim of a “tragedy” and one controversial teen in a video being pulled by her hair.

Idols in the church rot it from the inside out. I love this Family the more I get to know it, but it is a costly and conflicted love. It is painful, so painful, to see some of the idols standing tall, grasped tightly in the right hand, when funeral arrangements for saints, shot because of their skin color, are underway. Let’s call this a hate crime, racist and perpetuated by a sinful society and culture that still makes decisions and judgments based on race, armed with many ways to spin racism so we never have to admit to it. And let’s call the Church’s ill-preparedness or sheer inability, especially in the white church, to empathize with our fallen African American brothers and sisters and condemn their predator a sin–an indicator of an idol that organizes an other-worldly organization into categories rooted in the depraved depths of this world.  Kudos to those who are re-examining. Who are reaching across the segregated aisles of the congregation. Who have mourned and prayed for their African American church family more than ever before. Who have called this racist, named the discrepancies, and risked public disapproval or awkward conversation.

May the Lord make the fugitives powerful, strong and brave enough to continue gathering, continue seeking and continue claiming their freedom and liberty. May He show the pursuit, the worship, the faith, is not in vain, quickly, through a reconciling Church and a zero tolerance policy of racism from the steeple outwards. We are of the Already and Not Yet. To some it costs their lives; to others it costs the idols in our hands.

Now have come the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God, and the authority of his Christ. For the accused of our brothers, who accuses them before our God day and night, has been hurled down. They overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony; they did not love their loves so much as to shrink from death.

Rev. 12:10-11

Wherein I introduce main speakers but take all their time.

I ramble and I should not ever introduce a main speaker because I will take their time, nor follow because I may not shut up. I intend to work on this. It’s like when the worship leader with the closing song does a lengthy “meh” recap of a perfectly good sermon when the service has already gone too long… Guilty.

Because I have some speaking points myself, btw. Always swirling about like loose phrases to a song I don’t fully know. I envision myself writing some ideas and dreams down one day… in a woodsy coffee shop (…I dunno) for days with focus powers I’ve misplaced the past 9 years and lots of room to spread out and no diapers in my purse and a suddenly adult-sized bladder so I don’t have to get up every 45 minutes and wonder if I should gather my things…no, I don’t want to lose my spot…but that’s my stuff…but I can’t decide cause I have to pee….is there a code for the door…seriously. The struggle is real.

Tonight, I wanted to share with you two things that say things better than I can (though I’m obviously going to keep trying-typing while I have you because that’s what I do) and speak to chords of my not-yet-sung heart.

The first is on Anne Lamott’s Facebook page. She posted it 13 hours ago, like she doesn’t make a living off of selling books, and just go read it. If you haven’t liked her yet, I honestly don’t know what you’ve been doing. If you are better than Facebook, congratulations, but just have a moral failure and silently join to like her and others like her and find the best of the Facebook. We’ll never know.

The second is much harder to read, but is related because Ashley Judd is also a strong, informed and admirable woman. She talks about using disagreement as an online invitation for our worst selves, our most impassioned insults and fearful (i.e. angry) places. She talks about suffering violence and finding help. She talks about self-care, much like Anne Lamott, and she is standing up against coupling disagreement with hate crimes, which has become quite popular in our typey world.

I’ve been thinking about this charming human trait quite a bit, most recently because of something that happened at my extended family’s Shack in the Woods. (I say this phrase with reverence and longing because it is very precious, well-kept and loved and I have not been there for years and years despite trying–living overseas and now in LA doesn’t help.  Said family’s values of procreating and outdoorsyness collide to make staying at the Shack in the Woods a very competitive event from what I can surmise.) In short, one of my younger siblings walked in to the cabin, out in the middle of no where, where one gathers buckets of water from the river, and found a “funny” or cartoon on the fridge with a very racially charged joke about Barack Obama. The sibling then returned to the car, violated and jarred by the posting, especially in a “safe” place, used by “safe” people.

This particular scenario was incredibly unfortunate and wrong, but also easily and directly addressed by my parents. The rule-makers of the cabin, as well as many family members, affirmed love and regret to my sibling and family for the experience and set new guidelines for the shared space. Other scenarios are not so localized. This story simply highlights the fact that in my experience, having a president who is black does not speak to our national progress as much as it has shown our propensity to publicly condone and proliferate racial prejudice under a facade of political right-ness. It has dumbed down republican sensitivity to racial bias because of the gradual and prevalent nuances that involve our president’s race with his political decisions and views. I see people liking, repeating, posting, and propagating sentiments that I believe they would not have formerly supported simply because their fundamental disagreement with the democratic party or Barack Obama has led them into arenas of biased media that far surpass politics. Perhaps it’s more honest. Perhaps they’re actually becoming more racist. Whatever the case, it’s entirely possible to respectfully disagree with Obama without racist innuendos but, clearly, it’s okay if you don’t do the work of sorting through all that critique.

I see the same thing in bias against women, which brings me back to the Ashley Judd essay. I watch women in leadership be treated like they are crabby bitches instead of wise and learned people with a unique and viable perspective. I see outspoken women torn down by comments and questions rooted only in their sexuality and physical beauty, or, at best, their role in the family. I hear affirmation of women rooted in physique and sex appeal years before metaphysical traits are honored.  I see women characterized as gossips and clucking hens while men have meetings upon meetings. I see voices of women outside of the academy limited to mommy-ness, homemaker-ness, or in relationship to the other gender, and a reluctancy to engage women in other subjects like, say, anything else. Meanwhile, our male counterparts can often enjoy respectful dialogue about anything from the bad call in the championship game to immigration reform. I notice that just like racial prejudice being coated in political rhetoric, it doesn’t take much for people’s sexist paradigms to come out under the guise of moral superiority or emotional maturity. And that’s if we’re lucky. Otherwise downright degrading comments and jokes are sure to get some laughs and shut her up.

That’s a long introduction to a graphic and powerful account offered by Ashley Judd. It’s not for the faint of heart but it’s true and it’s wrong. To me, it relates to the tolerance of racism as well as the abuse and discrimination of women; they are not the same but I am sick of their terrorism. They are both alive and well and socially acceptable in many convenient varieties.

I believe in people’s ability to be more diligent, more intolerant, and more like the 21st Century. I believe that the bullies on the internet should be shamed by the majority of us who know better and at times, yes, reduced to criminal sentencing. I hope she figures out a way to call an online apple an apple. I hope that my children grow up in a more equal and just world,  and I’m glad that strong and hard-fought voices like hers are helping.

Thanks for your time, especially you, Anne Lamott and Ashley Judd.