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Of Breath and Fire
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31 May 2009 I graduated from college in 1968. By this time, the Civil Rights movement had seen the birth of the Black Power Movement, the Women’s Movement, and the latest rendition of the Peace Movement. Bumper sticker slogans voiced the fractious tenor of the times. All of this was in evidence in Chicago, where I lived on the north side the summer after my graduation. One weekend, Valerie and I decided to take in the Museum of Science and Industry on the South Side. It was a gorgeous summer day–perfect for an outing–blue sky, comfortable temperatures, occasional puffy white clouds. We rode the “El” to the bus stop best for the museum, and started walking the few blocks between the train and the bus. But the closer we got to the end of the train ride, and the closer then we got to the bus stop, the more anxious Valerie became. Something wasn’t normal. The streets were practically deserted; no people, no cars moving, no busses–and we were two white women in a heavily Black section of the city. About a block from our bus stop, we were engulfed by a massive sea of people. Clearly, they had just left some sort of gathering. The atmosphere was one of a party...laughter and buoyant faces, street vendors hawking balloons and dashikis, parents with children in strollers, families with older children, singles, doubles, and small groups of friends. Out in this sea of humanity, vainly trying to give direction to grid-locked cars, trucks, and busses, was a lone white traffic cop. In fact, the three of us were the only white faces in the entire area. After Valerie and I had waited at the bus stop for at least 30 minutes, he beckoned me over. In not quite pulpit-friendly language he asked what in heaven’s name we were doing there. By the time I got back to the bus stop, a few cars had managed to move. I bought a balloon: Black Is Beautiful. A couple of high schoolers asked where we were from, and chatted with us till our bus made it through the masses. They wondered aloud whether we were there to pick up some of their fine young men. A carload of young men drove by offering just that opportunity. Our bus finally came; we did go to the museum, but Valerie didn’t relax till we were solidly back on the north side. I kept my balloon. The next day, Valerie showed me a small headline in the newspaper–some hapless white individual had been murdered not far from the neighborhood where we’d been. A couple of observations. First, the message “Black is beautiful” came from within the African-American community. Second, it was communicated within that community and beyond that community. Third, it resonated in both places....and there were people within both places with whom it did not resonate. Today we celebrate Pentecost, sometimes called the birthday of the church, as though we simply are marking a date or event in history. That’s like saying the Civil Rights movement started the day Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on a bus. There’s much more to that movement than the date of a particular seminal event. It’s the same with Pentecost. If Easter is remembered as the day the followers of Jesus experienced the presence of the risen Christ within their community, Pentecost is remembered as the day followers of Jesus experienced the gifts of the Spirit so profoundly that they were compelled to share their experience within their community and beyond their community. The message they shared of God’s still-speaking presence, of God’s redeeming love for them as they experienced it in Jesus of Nazareth, already defined them. Their Pentecostal baptism in the Spirit sent them out. For two thousand years, their message has been resonating with people within and beyond their community. There are close parallels to the “Black is beautiful” message and the community voice from which that message came. But there is an additional dimension to the message entrusted to the Christian community. It’s the dimension for those of us within the United Church of Christ that is often our strength and our Achilles’ heel. We celebrate the reality that Black is beautiful, and we should. Black is as beautiful, as wondrous as any other shade in the human rainbow, and when that message is negated by cultural norms, when that message is distorted by religious bias, it’s imperative that we give witness to our faith by standing in solidarity with our Black sisters and brothers. Our Achilles’ heel comes when our message is heard only as rallying behind the disenfranchised poster child of the moment. When we make race, or gender, or sexual orientation the issue, we run the risk of making the message of the gospel about race or gender or sexual orientation. Or the environment. Or disabilities. Or peace. The larger message is a paradox. On the one hand, race and gender, sexual orientation and the environment, disabilities and peace are each vitally important. On the other hand, our own racial makeup is important only because it is a part of our humanness, part of who we are; when we look at another person and evaluate them on the basis of the color of their skin, we have missed the message of God’s love. Our own gender, our own sexual orientation is important only because it is part of our humanness, part of who we are; when we evaluate another person on the basis of their gender, their orientation, we have missed the message of God’s love.[1] The gospel speaks to all of these issues because it speaks to the fulness of the human condition; but the gospel is bigger than any of these issues. The story of Pentecost is that the gospel compels us to move beyond the comfort zones of our own faith community, to grow that community by sharing the message of God’s love. Churches don’t grow because they have the newest marketing techniques, because they have the classiest signs, because they offer exercise classes or have a bowling alley. Churches grow because people meet Jesus in the community. They grow because people experience the presence of the living God who loves them beyond measure. So we need to ask: do you meet Jesus here? Do you experience the presence of the living, loving God here? Where the answer is ‘yes,’ share it. Because that is the story of Pentecost; that is the message of the gospel. ### [1]Pastor Brumbalow, “When to Preach on Race,” “...if you look at a person based on the color of their skin and you evaluate them right then and there, then, my friend, you have missed the purpose of the love of God.” Quoted from a single (hard copy) page that I recovered from an old file. There are multiple sites on Google, including: http://partners.nytimes.com/library/national/race/060400sack-church-pix.1.html. |