I’m almost embarrassed
to admit this.
I don’t know much
at all about Fergusson.
I’ve not watched
any news reports. I’ve not read
newspaper articles. I’ve not followed
the evening news or the Daily Show. I am
a minister in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.); yet I’ve not preached lately “with
a newspaper in one hand and a Bible in the other” about the horrific events
related to our life together as human beings and citizens of the United States;
and while I’ve read a number of blog posts from colleagues, a couple of
sermons, prayed prayers suggested by my denomination, found both comfort and
disturbed-ness in compelling
words offered by our Stated Clerk, I know that I’m surely—and to the absolute
horror of many—grossly uninformed.
Former Vice
Moderator of the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), and
current Synod Executive for the Synod of Mid-America, Rev. Landon Whitsitt,
recounted on Facebook early on with regard to Fergusson, the conversation he
had with one of his sons:
“Through heavy sobs he asked me “What do we do?” I had to admit to him that I didn’t know.
This morning, the best answer I have is: “Don’t look
away.”
I don’t feel like
I have intentionally “looked away.” But
I’m not sure I’ve bothered much lately to actually “look” in the first
place.
I know a lot that’s
happened in Fergusson, Missouri—or as a result of “Fergusson”—is wrong.
I believe killing
is wrong. Even if it’s accidental? Yes. I
don’t believe killing is ever justified.
That always gets me cross-wise with the headline news.
I have believed,
and believe even more strongly, now, that it’s wrong for a police force to so
overwhelmingly represent one race, while policing a people of a different race. I believe one day, it won’t matter, White or Black,
Black or Hispanic, White or Hispanic, Hispanic or Asian, European or Native
American—but now, today, it does matter.
A lot! In ways I don’t fully
understand. It still matters.
I believe it’s
wrong that some police officers are referred to as “white officers” while other
police officers get referred to as “black cops” in the media. One day it should not matter as much—we will
all see it for a glowing error, a falseness, a misrepresentation—but today, it
matters, a lot.
I believe it’s
wrong when people make assumptions about other people that are based only on
skin color. It’s wrong for law
enforcement to treat some people different from other people. Racial profiling is wrong. Other assumptions are wrong. I know this might make some things easier—like
banishing racial profiling—but it might make other things harder—like not
assuming those bruises are from abuse.” Getting
to the real truth is sometimes, hard, ugly business and it shouldn’t be so ugly
or so hard.
I know it’s wrong,
when the voices of dissent and anger can no longer be peaceful; and when trying
to maintain or restore order presents itself as violence, insult, injury, fury,
and might versus right. I know it’s
wrong when we turn to violent means to pursue peaceful ends. I know that despite what Jesus teaches us, it’s
still hard for human beings to resist sin and fear in hungering and thirsting for
righteousness, when the cries of “how long, O God,” cannot bear another day,
another hour, another moment of this pressing and present injustice.
I know these
things are wrong. Still…, is that
enough?
Probably not. I’m reminded of the saying, “in the end
everything will be all right; if it’s not all right, it’s not the end.” Clearly we are not at the end times! And what I can’t get out of my mind are
Landon’s words for his son—and perhaps the rest of us, too:
"Remember that even though we don’t know anyone from
Ferguson, they are our friends. Our friends will ask us to help, in some way,
soon. When they ask, we need to be prepared to do whatever we can. And don’t ever forget what you’ve seen. Grow up to be a person that works to make sure
it never happens again.”
So on this second
day of Advent, I’m thinking about the future.
Of the time-come-true that the Apostle Paul writes about when he says, “there
is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer
male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”
And where that
seems to be true—where I can “see it” in action—is in the children of the
Llanerch Presbyterian Preschool. They
are not a perfect example of diversity—but our students come as children in
different colors, with different backgrounds and families; but everyone comes
as an “equal.” Some of the children
bring other gifts, too—disorders, Downs Syndrome, even a child whose internal
organs were exterior (where there was a special plate and brace and special
procedures for him). Yet the joy of the
children is that their “gifts” are simply “normal.” They don’t know yet to look at the dis-abilities;
and they get to see dramatically differently-abled classmates!
Sometimes, I just
wish we could live in that world as adults.
Where “all we ever needed to know we learned about in [pre-school]! So when was it that the wool got pulled away
from our eyes?
But I also know, I
need to be a part of building the world that we long for and desire to live in—the
wonderful world of God’s kingdom that affords amazing gifts and abilities not
thought of our imagined!
So I’m praying for
Advent’s light in this special, holy season that’s all about Jesus coming to us
and our having to be prepared. Jesus,
who comes first as an infant. The Jesus
who first visits us as a child, and surely matriculated in someone’s preschool
class! And the Jesus who would stand up
and boldly as an adult to proclaim not only “let the little children come to
me,” but in fact, “for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God
belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does
not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it” (Mark 10:14-15).
I’m trying, Jesus—I’m
trying. I don’t just want a world that
looks like preschool; I want your kingdom.
And I don’t think it’s just going to come if I don’t help build it. So help me with my naiveté.
© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and
Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania
This Advent I’m
taking a spiritual pilgrimage—of sorts.
I’m joining a group of other pilgrims in logging my walks or runs,
attempting to journey the distance from Nazareth to Bethlehem—mimicking or
mirroring the journey taken by Mary and Joseph long ago. 
