Wear your vestments. Clergy will sit together at the front. Faith leaders are needed in the park. We want the clergy to take the lead and set the tone.
These are some of the sentiments I heard this summer that will stick with me for years to come.
Despite the shrinking numbers on our rolls and the much bemoaned decline of religious institutions, this summer, when the heat of hate got turned up to high, faith leaders were looked to for guidance, for comfort, for courage, for hope.
We aren’t as irrelevant as we thought we were.
When churches offered worship services, people came. They packed the place every time. Some looking uncomfortable and unsure, but nonetheless present. My husband overheard the man in front of him say to his pre-teen son, “You haven’t been to church since you were two.” But they were there on a Saturday night as the gospel was preached and prayers were lifted and Jewish and Christian songs were sung.
When churches opened their doors, they came. They rested and prayed and received first aid and said again and again, “Thank you for being here.”
When church folk went out of their doors, they joined us. They wanted to stand with the ones who stood for peace and love. They joined in the religious songs strongly on the first verse, haltingly on the second and then with gusto on the chorus.
When faith leaders sought them out, they welcomed us. They asked for prayer. Some collapsed in the arms of strangers granted trust by virtue of their office made evident by the collar, the stole, the robe or the tallit.
We aren’t as irrelevant as we thought we were.
We are more trusted than we’d imagined.
We represent the sacred even to those long committed to the secular. When nothing seemed to make sense, and no rational explanation was adequate to address the gut-wrenching hurt all around, and other institutional leaders appeared more defensive than present, people turned to pastors, rabbis, imams and priests. They turned to the incarnate symbols of the holy – not for answers, but for comfort, hope, courage and vision.
We aren’t as irrelevant as we thought we were.
When we opened our doors and went out into the streets, we discovered that people were eager and grateful to see us even if they’d long thought they had no need of us.
At the close of one of the worship services that took place following the deadly events of August 12, William Barber called the faith leaders to the front of the chancel and asked for members of the congregation to come and lay hands on us. He said: “I want someone who doesn’t look like them to come and stand behind them and put your hand on them. I want everyone to have someone standing behind them.” We lined the entire front of the steps and behind us stood the multitude of every nation.
Pastor Barber prayed and I could feel the warm hand of a stranger pressing firmly on my shoulder. When he pronounced “amen,” I turned to face the young woman who didn’t look like me and she embraced me and said, “God bless you.” Then another woman hugged me and said, “Thank you for what you are doing.” All up and down the line this was happening. I have never felt the weight of this calling in such a tangible way. I have never felt the responsibility of this calling so profoundly.
We aren’t as irrelevant as we thought we were.
In a season of chaos and fear, rancor and confusion, people were looking to us, the faith leaders, to cast a vision, hold up a moral standard, to lead the healing, to offer hope, to represent something bigger and better than what we had experienced in July and August and for centuries.
We aren’t as irrelevant as we thought we were.
Churches: Pastors, elders and members open your doors wide and tell the world to come in and find rest for body and soul. Go out of your doors. March. Pray. Sing. Seek the lost. Lead. That is God’s call, both a gift and an awesome responsibility.
Grace and peace,
Jill
