I recognize that I have no right to even attempt to say that I understand this cry. But, my ears hear it; my eyes witness it; and my heart knows it.
Initially, I thought the cry belonged to one sad song, only I’ve found that it’s more of a sustained, melodic refrain emerging amid a cacophony of prejudices that seep deep into our shared history and humanity. It is prejudice that takes the form, in some cases, of avoiding Christ’s invitation into authentic relationships. Some of us can claim that relationship with our Triune God. But the jagged disconnection to each other — as sisters and brothers of Creation — continues to seep like sewage into the hearts of communities, organizations, individual people, and saddest of all, our churches.
One of the sources of our brokenness – the wailing – continues to be rooted in the racist misperceptions that have plagued our country for generations. I grew-up in the South, proclaiming to detest prejudiced behavior and mindsets. And yet, I cannot say that I stood strongly or loudly against them.
This spring, I encountered a small, but hurtful slight – a “dismissal” of my identity (which, in no way, compares to the violent, hateful injustices inflicted over the years to so many others). Still, it exposed me to understandings and insights that come with being part of a “minority” group. The encounter also revealed more clearly the grievous tendency toward divisions — instead of connections — within the body of Christ.
I am woman. I am a young, white woman in a conservative, mostly Anglo-Saxon, male, seminary. Some do not see me. In word and action, it feels that I am more of a novelty, not a co-equal with my brothers in Christ. Unexpectedly, the few men who have put the energy and effort into taking me seriously as their colleague — energy and effort that must, of course, be mutual to be authentic — are, themselves, members of minorities. In truth, they challenge my own “blind spots” and presumptions related to their own heritages and histories, but we try to extend grace and kindness to each other.
Over time, something has shifted — something has seemed to reverse and I’m now more comfortable, although a bit “marginalized,” within the groups of people I, too, had overlooked or underestimated in other contexts. This experience of being embraced and welcomed by those who have had their own “wailings” muted or ignored for a time far longer than mine has had a profoundly, Spirit-led impact on my life. Some part of who I am (who I am becoming) unites with a “community” that since the time of Jesus (and before) has been mostly unseen and unheard.
This recognition is continually changing my perspectives and self-understandings – especially during this chapter of life spent responding to God’s call while living and emerging through the “theater,” “cocoon,” “launching pad” (pick your own fitting metaphor!) of seminary. There – ironically – one might be afforded an intimate glimpse into the embedded wounds that, left ignored and overlooked, seem to continue to infect our communities and our churches.
There is hope. We live in times where we focus on the here and now, wanting passionately to change the way of the world and declare the Kingdom. Yes, the pace of change and transformation may send us to bed at night left to curl up, making our own small, imperceptible dent into a lumpy, leaden “pillow” of fears, insecurities, frustrations, and injustices that holds our head as we slip into sleep.
We preach and call for peace and yet we do not seek it within ourselves or for others – or, at least, not as consistently as we speak about it. Just as that faithful remnant that persisted in the years after Christ’s death and resurrection, we are called to claim the peace that we are promised is just within our grasp. I am not talking about watering down the gospel, the diminishing of the Great Commission, or simply making people feel good – the peace-of-Pollyanna.
No, I am speaking to the peace which comes with the piercing realization that by Christ’s death, we can stand in the shadow of the cross, and not fear God’s wrath consuming us. We are always going to come to a dividing line concerning doctrine and religious dogma, but we cannot and must not come to a dividing line at the cross of Christ. That is our unity, through which all other prejudices crumble, demolished.
We are all still aching from the fall,1 that lifelong ache for the presence of God and the pain of trying to do life on our own, all the time licking our own wounds whilst staring at other’s bleeding lives. But in Christ, we are in His presence and the Kingdom has come. Yet, we look at ourselves instead of the cross. We grope for forgiveness and yet do not forgive. We are desperate for acceptance and yet do not accept.
In the beginning God created man and woman.2 He did not specify a white, black, yellow, red, or purple man and woman, but just a man and a woman. We do live in a fallen world and I am not so naïve to think that in one moment we’re all going to agree to one doctrine or another. But we can agree on the God in whom “we live and move and have our being.”3 We can come to the cross of Christ and stand before Him. Here, by and through God’s grace, love, and justice – all other facades and prejudices are exposed and we may come to see each other as God created us and sees us, still.
At the cross of Christ our ethnicities, genders, and denominational doctrines do not come into play … only our faithful hearts, undeservingly washed and purified by the blood of Christ. While not letting go of our convictions, individual callings, and different view-points, we must allow the grace of Christ not only to rule our hearts but to be our sight as well, instead of our fears and personal inhibitions. We must love with tender hearts and sympathy,4 because, brothers and sisters, we all are a minority here; we are not of this world,5 and the cry I speak of is one that we give voice to – and, thanks be to God – it is a cry that will become united, harmonized, and ear-splittingly beautiful in the coming Kingdom of God. In hope – let us sound some new notes in the days ahead.
Before becoming enrolled in seminary, Ms. Becker spent her first full year after college in the beautiful mountains of Vermont – fulfilling her dream and calling to work with horses as a trainer/groomer. (Readers … please feel free to insert your own “manure” and “preparation for seminary” joke here!) — David Lindsay
1 Genesis 3
2 Genesis 1:27
3 Acts 17:28
4 1 Peter 3:8
5 John 17:16
