These are terrible times, and perhaps like many of you I have been anxious and scared and angry. I have posted angry things on social media, and I have said disparaging things about President Trump and those who voted for him. I have felt justified in this because of the outrageous things he and his affiliates have done. I want to stand for what is right and true and just.
And to be honest, I have denounced the vitriol from the far right as I have applauded it from far left.
So it was painful on many levels to see the discussion within the Episcopal Church regarding the National Cathedral choir's participation in the Inaugural Prayer Service and the Inauguration itself. I love the National Cathedral- I was sponsored for ordination from there, and remain close with many there. And I despise the actions and rhetoric of President Trump.
I found myself in a deeply painful quandary. And as I tried to parse out my own thoughts and feelings, I started to read what others were saying. On Facebook groups specific to Episcopal clergywomen, on Twitter, on people's personal pages. The anger and hate which flared up and was fanned by misinformation spread swiftly and violently through social media, landing squarely on the shoulders of those I love.
I was heartbroken. And pissed. Like, really pissed. Not theologically or anything- I was pissed to see people I know and respect going after people I love in a way I experienced as hurtful or mean-spirited. (To be clear, not all responses were such, and I am all for good disagreement and discussion. Anyway. Keep going for my real point here.)
Suddenly, I was seeing the very hate which was denounced by many on the left coming from the left. The inclusiveness of the white Christian left I identified with had reached its boundary, and those left outside it were subject to its derision and dismissal.
In short, I saw that we had become those whom we had claimed to hate. And I might have never felt it were it not for love, I am sad to say.
As I read Presiding Bishop Curry's statement in regard to President Trump, I was struck by this portion in particular:
"I grew up in a historically black congregation in the Episcopal Church. We prayed for leaders who were often lukewarm or even opposed to our very civil rights. We got on our knees in church and prayed for them, and then we got up off our knees and we Marched on Washington. Following the way of Jesus, we prayed and protested at the same time. We prayed for our leaders who were fighting for our civil rights, we prayed for those with whom we disagreed, and we even prayed for those who hated us. And we did so following the Jesus, whose way is the way of unselfish, sacrificial love. And that way is the way that can set us all free." (Full statement here)
It struck me that, for many white folks like me, this is the first time we have been afraid, like really afraid, of a leader. Of a President. I can't speak for everyone, but I see a lot of white fear out there.
So what struck me was that this is not a new experience for much of the black church. They have long been praying for and praying with leaders who work against their basic dignity and rights, all the while marching in the streets and fighting for justice. They have long had to hold the contradictory together as Christians.
Instead of doing what white people are notorious for doing- acting like we're the first to discover things- I started to wonder... how can we white folks learn about real, deep, painful prayer from our brothers and sisters of color? (To be clear- people of color have enough on their plates right now and are not obligated to be our tutors- the hard work is for we who are waking up. How can we listen and watch and learn and not oppress?) How can we white women learn from black women and women of color about how to "find a way when there is no way?" Because there are leaders already among us who have been leading in dangerous times for a long time. They know things I don't. They remind me that just because many of us feel something now does not mean it is new.
Jesus calls us to pray for our enemies, and to work for justice. Back to the words of the wise and faithful Bishop Curry:
"We can and, indeed, I believe we must pray for all who lead in our civic order, nationally and internationally. I pray for the President in part because Jesus Christ is my Savior and Lord. If Jesus is my Lord and the model and guide for my life, his way must be my way, however difficult. And the way [of] prayer for others is a part of how I follow the way of Jesus.
This practice of praying for leaders is deep in our biblical and Anglican/Episcopalian traditions. Psalm 72 prays that the ancient Israelite king might rule in the ways of God’s justice, defending “the cause of the poor,” bringing “deliverance to the needy.” 1 Timothy 2:1-2 encourages followers of Jesus to pray earnestly for those in leadership, that they may lead in ways that serve the common good. Even in the most extreme case, Jesus himself said, while dying on the cross, “Father forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing,” was praying for Pontius Pilate, the Governor of Rome who ordered his execution, and for all who were complicit in it."
This prayer muscle in the white church has atrophied under the privileges of white supremacy, I contend. Mine has. Because white supremacy doesn't just take away the humanity of people of color- it also erodes the humanity of white folks. It is naïve to think white supremacy hasn't seriously impacted the white church just as it has the black church.
How can we as the white church learn from the hard work of our brothers and sisters of color, particularly the black church, and how can we exercise our atrophied muscles through prayer for those we hate or find incomprehensible? We seem to have quite a lot of time on our hands to practice this, especially as we also act.
Will these fearful times form us, or will we form these times into something more resembling the Christ we love and follow?
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