It is a bitter irony that we find ourselves this morning honoring
Veterans’ Day and the armistice that ended the Great War, while Europe reels in
the wake of Friday’s attack on France, the nation where World War I finally
came to an end. The Islamic State has
claimed responsibility for what France yesterday called an act of war. As voices clamor for retaliation, our call as
followers of the Prince of Peace is to pray for peace, as well as the justice
true peace demands. Those who’ve
perpetrated horror must answer for their actions. And the other 99 percent of the followers of
Islam must be loved as they follow their way of peaceful surrender to God.
It’s been a tough week. Closer
to home, we’ve seen the fraying of our state’s social fabric on the national
news once again this week, as the University of Missouri became the latest
flashpoint of our nation’s racial conflict.
We’ve seen reports of racial slurs hurled at students, vandalism of
dorms, a hunger strike, threats posted on social media, and the removal of the
university’s president and chancellor – all in the space of a little more than
a week. It was hard even to keep up with
the story’s unlikely twists and turns as the days passed.
Amid the chaos and heartbreak of the past week’s news, I found
myself remembering a poem composed a year after the Great War ended. It’s “The Second Coming,” by Irish poet
William Butler Yeats. As Yeats wrote almost
a hundred years ago, so it seems to be today: “Things fall apart; the centre cannot
hold.”1
We could see that breakdown of the center in the coverage of the
protests at Mizzou. I was struck by a poignant
video posted on social media and reported by The Kansas City Star.2
It shows former university President Tim Wolfe being confronted on the
street by a group of black students.
It’s especially sad to me because the president knows the conversation
is going to fail before it even begins.
A student asks him, “What do you think systematic oppression is?” Wolfe says, “I will give you an answer, and
I’m sure it will be a wrong answer.” He may
not understand systematic oppression, but he does understand that he and the
students inhabit very different realities.
So he says it a second time: “I
will give you an answer, and I’m sure it will be a wrong answer. Systematic oppression is because you don’t
believe you have equal opportunity for success….” And that’s all you can hear of his response,
because the students shout him down, demanding, “Did you just blame us for systematic oppression?!” And then Wolfe turns and walks away.
“Things fall apart; the centre cannot
hold.”
So what about the content of the students’ question? Does the controversy at Mizzou reflect racism
at a systemic level? To me, that’s the
real question underlying the racial discord our nation has been experiencing,
especially in the past year. We’ve seen
a pattern: Something happens that spurs
the anger of black citizens, whether it’s conflict with the police, or black
people being shot at church, or university administrators ignoring protests. Whatever it is, something happens – and two competing
narratives arise. One narrative says
these are specific, tragic incidents caused by broken individuals in a
confluence of momentary circumstances.
The other narrative says these tragic incidents reflect a systemic power
differential combined with prejudice – in other words, racism. The chasm between these two narratives is
vast. It is so vast that, as multiple
protests have sprung up in the past year, I’ve heard people say, in complete
sincerity, “I just don’t understand what they’re protesting about.”
With the news from Mizzou this week, I think the chasm remains about as
wide as it was a year ago, when protests in Ferguson, Mo., dominated the
news. Twelve months later, we’re really
no better at entering into someone else’s narrative. Things are still falling apart, and the center
seems barely to be holding.
Uncertainty and chaos are nothing new, of course. This morning, the lectionary happens to give
us readings that speak to the uncertainty and chaos of two other significant
moments in the life of God’s people. The
reading from Daniel is the end of a prophetic vision in which the writer describes
how he hopes God will deliver the Jewish people from the reign of an oppressive
Syrian ruler in the mid-160s BC. Even
though God’s people will be delivered
from their suffering, the prophet says, the process won’t be pretty: “There shall be a time of anguish such as has
never existed,” the prophet writes (12:1).
But the outcome will bring life to those presently suffering and resurrection to the faithful
departed; it’s a glimpse of the end of the age.
Similarly, in the Gospel reading from Mark, Jesus is warning the
disciples about serious challenges for the Jewish people coming down the line
in that time and place. He tells them
the Temple will be destroyed amid “wars and rumors of wars” (13:7) – a reality
Jerusalem experienced when the Romans crushed a rebellion in 70 AD. But here’s the point, Jesus says: Don’t mistake passing chaos for the coming of
the Kingdom at the end of the age. All
“this must take place,” he says, “but the end is still to come” (13:7). Uncertainty and chaos may reign in the moment,
but they’re not the end of the story.
So what is the end of
the story? Well, if it weren’t for the fact
that we’ll be celebrating the feast of St. Andrew next Sunday, we would hear
about the end of the story in the readings next week. For the rest of the Church, next week is
Christ the King Sunday, the last Sunday before the beginning of Advent. On Christ the King Sunday, we celebrate what
the author of the Book of Daniel was also celebrating: that the Kingdom of God,
and the kingship of the messiah, supersedes all other claims of authority. In the fullness of time, Christ will come in
ultimate power, healing things that fall apart, holding all peoples together,
gathering the nations before the glory of the heavenly throne. Clearly that process is neither quick nor
easy nor free of suffering along the way.
But it is the arc of history, the arc of reconciliation, the arc of the
kingship of God.
So, in times of uncertainty and chaos, our call as followers of
Christ the King is to be harbingers of his
rule and reign. That means two
things: First, we must consciously,
intentionally, insistently refuse to lose hope, even when things fall apart and
the center seems not to hold. And
second, as a sacramental proclamation of that hope in the power of our risen
Lord and reigning king, we must bring our king’s rule to life in the here and
now.
I wrote about one example of that in the newsletter and bulletin
this week. At Diocesan Convention, Fr.
Marcus and Cheryl Cementina led a session helping people talk about racism out
loud. People shared their fears of even
addressing the topic. We spoke about
prejudices. We struggled with the
difference between political correctness and beloved community. We raised the awkward question of whether
black people should modify culturally conditioned behaviors to fit white
culture, or whether white culture should flex to accommodate them. It was a glimpse of the kingdom, I believe –
a glimpse of what it looks like when the center does hold and community is knit together.
We’ve seen that here at St. Andrew’s, too, during this year of
discord and division on our nation’s streets and campuses. In May, we went to United Missionary Baptist
Church on the east side to worship with our black brothers and sisters. Our choir sang, and I preached, and we all
raised our prayers together. Then in
August, the people of United Missionary Baptist came here and shared Eucharist
with us, with Pastor Mike Patton preaching and their choir bringing down the
house. Well, in the coming year, we’ll
keep moving down this road of reconciliation.
We’ll worship at United Missionary Baptist again on Sunday, Jan. 17 (and
there will be worship here that morning, too).
For Lent, we’re putting together a series of shared Bible study, so we
can learn firsthand how our brothers and sisters hear the Good News in a
different context. And we’ll be
collaborating in mission, too, serving together as agents of healing and new
life. You’ve heard about the
social-entrepreneurial start-up we’ve been supporting, Empower the Parent to
Empower the Child, which trains moms for solid parenting and living-wage jobs. Well, I spoke with Pastor Mike this week, and
United Missionary Baptist is interested in getting involved, too, with some of
its members serving as mentors for women in the program.
We’re doing this because we worship a common king. We’re doing this because Jesus is Lord over
St. Andrew’s and United Missionary Baptist.
We’re doing this because Jesus is Lord over the protesters at Mizzou and
the university’s administrative team.
We’re doing this because the Church, at its best, is the center that can and
will hold, a sacred space we can inhabit together, where we can learn from
each other and enter into each other’s narrative, without feeling the need to
tear the other narrative down. We worship
a common king who longs to deliver us from both interpersonal and systemic
harm. We worship a common king who
lovingly, peacefully, powerfully demands that we turn away from turning away
from each other. In fact, we worship a
common king who will soon take William Butler Yeats’ poem full circle, though
Yeats wouldn’t have seen it this way. Advent
is coming, when our common king will take off his crown, and bend down low, and
enter into the muck and the mire of this blessed creation that always seems to
teeter on the brink of despair. Our king
is coming, not in the regalia of power but emptied of power as he asks us to
be, “slouch[ing] towards Bethlehem to be born.”1
- Yeats, William Butler.
“The Second Coming.”
Available at: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172062.
- Williams, Mara Rose, and Tod
Palmer. “Tensions
over racial issues at University of Missouri smolder amid calls for ouster
of president.” Kansas
City Star, Nov. 8, 2015.
Available at: http://www.kansascity.com/news/nation-world/national/article43712697.html. Accessed Nov. 12, 2015.
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