Foundry UMC DC: Sunday Sermons
Religion & Spirituality:Christianity
Peacemakers: A Sermon Preached by Rev. Ben Roberts at Foundry UMC, August 12, 2018
Peacemakers
Matthew 5:1-11
A sermon preached by Rev. Ben Roberts at Foundry United Methodist Church, Sunday, August 12, 2018
N-A-T-S, NATS, NATS, NATS, WOOOOOOO!
A run is scored, the people sitting in (formerly Gwenda Martin’s Section) and around Larry Slagle's section extend their arms holding hat in hand, with the top of the hat pointed downward. They begin to chant; N-a-t-s, then what? NATS, NATS, NATS WOOOOO.
What if someone new was near by? They have question; you explain it to them, this is what we do when a run is scored. For each run we do this. N-A-T-S, NATS, NATS, NATS, WOOOOOOO!
A run is scored, someone else joins in, N-a-t-s, NATS, NATS, NATS, AHUUUGA!
What do you do? You would correct them, hard...it's not ahuuuuga! It's woo, pronounced WOOOOO. What are you doing get with the program?
They inquire, what's the difference, it's still jubilation? No, it's woo. Maybe you are a tolerant person, you let it slide...the first two times, but tonight the Nats decide to score 25 for some reason not thinking about spacing the blessed runs out maybe, want to win some other games occasionally? Other games need runs Nats, all games matter!!!!
You don't let ahugahhh slide, certainly not 24 of them. You call the usher. “This person is saying ahugaa not woo, they need to go. Get them out of here.” Usher totally gets it being there day in day out, they get rid of this person. Figure out the rules and participate or go.
We teach (sometimes), we correct, this is how racismworks...I mean baseball, this is how baseball works. Slipped up there.
But you get it, you understand how culture and cultural norms work. We teach we correct. We do it with gusto. We do it as duty. We do it as doing our jobs. We do it because we've been taught too, and whether we believe it or not, we find it important and normal to do so.
This is how racism works, this is how racism works too.
Rev. Dr. Shively Smith introduced for us a few weeks ago concept of “Sankofa.” She told us about the symbol, the Sankofa bird, with its feet planted forward and its head turned back. The word comes from the Akan people in Ghana. Sankofa is a Twi word meaning to go back and get it. One of the ideas around it being, the future can be planned by learning from the past. It’s important to go back and retrieve what’s at risk of being lost. A week before that Rev. Dr. Serene Jones told us of the power of faith communities to help their people be happier by sharing stories that also include hardship and difficulty. Those stories can make us more resilient. And so, this is what I have for you today. It’s just the sharing of story with the hopes it can help us live forward better together.
Rev. Dr. Robert Brewer teacher, friend, and Th.D. in Homiletics, that is the craft of preaching advises this. “Don’t start a sermon with a question, because then the congregation will just be thinking about the question rather than what you’re saying. So, When did you first notice something was wrong with race or racism in the world?
Battlefields and historic sites were our playgrounds for good part of my childhood. From revolutionary war sites, to the many Civil War sites, and the battleship memorial in Wilmington, NC. These were the road trips we would take as a family and it was also our back yard. We would learn history through those places, we would learn the stories of the battels and the wars which occurred in those places. Cortney can tell you that I still enjoy going to those places when take trips. As a child, one of the best things about those places were the gift shops. What kid doesn’t love a gift shop. We would end up with little army men to play with when we got home.
These toy soldiers were usually little blue men, and little gray men. The little blue men being the north and the little gray men being the south. We were young when we had these. Somewhere in the range of 4-8 years of age. I was not processing all that the blue and gray meant. History of the civil war and the history of the state of North Carolina, and the history of my family were very intertwined, not always processed, but intertwined.
In addition to these battlefields we’d also visit cemeteries where relatives were buried like my grandfather, great grandparents and many cousins. They are all together in a little family plot near an old federal style house called Dalkeith where my family still gathers for Thanksgiving each year. The family bought the house in the late 1880’s, but it was built in 1825. We are confident there was enslaved African people present on that farm through 1865. We aren’t confident if the enslaved Africans were housed on the land or housed nearby with their labor being forced on multiple farms in the area. But that’s not really talked about at Thanksgiving.
The family plot at the cemetery is at Bethlehem United Methodist Church in Arcola, NC. At the foot of my immigrant, WW 2 United States Navy Veteran, grandfather Brodie’s grave is a little emblem they give to retired Methodist Pastors, it’s a circuit rider. At the foot of a number of my older relative’s graves, are little metal crosses with letters C.S.V. on different points of the cross. C.S.V., Confederate States Veterans. I knew what the C.S.V letters stood for this even when I was little, but again the privilege of not having to process was very real. I do think I knew enough to know that that meant they were the little gray men, the toys we would play with.
We’d go to museums like the North Carolina History where two small artifacts are kept. Both carved from beef bone, one is a bird clutching a snake, the other is a book surrounded by what resembles a horseshoe shape. They were carved by George W. Davis, a cousin, while he was a prisoner of war, a little gray man, held in a prison in Elmira, New York. We were in museums.
In Lexington, Virginia, home of the Red Hen, is also home of the cemetery where my father’s parents are buried. And Just a stone’s throw from my WW 2 United States Army veteran Grandfather Roberts, is the grave and statue of General Stonewall Jackson, C.S.V. Lexington is also home to my father’s alma mater and the place where my grandfather taught, cytology and histology, Washington and Lee University. Home of Lee Chapel where Robert E. Lee is buried, and where Confederate Battle flags hung just beyond an opening at the front of the chapel space.
These were our playgrounds and our toys. Me, my brothers, my parents and theirs. These where spaces we learned stories both from the family and from history. Some stories incomplete, few stories reflected upon in the moment. When did you first realize something was wrong?
In 2nd grade, so when I was 8 years old. I recall specifically and vividly the moment I realized something was wrong. It’s stuck with me ever since. It is possible I’m not remembering this perfectly, but here it goes. We were sitting in the rear section of our classroom on the floor. That meant that whatever we were doing it didn’t involve desk work and there’s a good chance we were watching a movie as part of our discussion. Mrs. Adams was my teacher. Mrs. Adams was an African American woman and had responsibility for teaching young children multiple subject. I won’t be able to stress the significances of this enough, but having her as a teacher in the state of North Carolina is proving more and more invaluable.
On to our subject, through whatever medium, we were learning about the civil war. I don’t remember the film and I don’t remember any other aspect of the discussion. However, enough was said to finally articulate that slavery, was one, a thing, and two was a central to the civil war. Thankfully, I had a teacher (or teachers) who could say plainly enough that slavery meant black people were owned as property. And this was largely (not exclusively) the case in the South (my playground) and with the people of the gray team as owners (my team), and fighting to preserve this right to own and force people into labor.
Eight-year-old Ben’s head (and probably heart) nearly exploded at this point. All of what I knew about my family and the gray team was coming into focus in a new way. Deep processing and unpacking was not necessary at this point, but I knew enough thanks to good parenting that this slavery thing, this owning people thing, this working people against their will, this abusing people thing, this violence, this denigration of an entire group of people thing, this separating of families, mothers from children, husbands from wives, sisters from brothers, peoples from land thing; was not a good thing.
No time, much less capacity, to think though because, my God! My friend Meghan is sitting right beside me. Holy crap! Our whole existence has a new meaning, and what on earth shall I say to my black friend Meghan who was, I’m sure, more disturbed by all this than I was.
So, I did what any 8-year-old would do when confronted about a truth of history indicating a form of responsibility for a bad thing. I lied! I lied my tail-off! Bold face falsity as a means of self-preservation, friend console-ment, but mostly self-console-ment.
An example of what I mean here: you say to a young child knowing the answer is yes, “Did you take the cookie when we told you not to?” What’s the answer? “No.” Same for pretty much every kid, and far too many adults.
I turned to my friend Megan, I leaned over and I said, I remember this clear as day, “My family was on the blue team.” Such a little liar.
If you’re finding yourself having sympathy for 8-year-old Ben, don’t. Eight is a pretty late age to be learning something is wrong with racism in America. Maybe it doesn’t seem old for a white kid, but black boys and girls at that age are learning, as a matter of life and death how to navigate what they already knew was a problem.
This was it, this was the first time I think I realized something was wrong. I’m embarrassed it took so long. Even up to last week I was still trying to change it because it presents racism as binary (white and black) and related to tangible institutions like slavery or segregation when we know it’s so much more than that. But it’s my story and it’s mine to grapple with. The tendency, however, to deny our story, to lie to ourselves or others about the conditions of the world and our culture is not mine alone.
When did you realize something was wrong? Do you remember your story? Is there something that you need to go retrieve from it before it’s lost? Is there something in that can help us live forward better and be more resilient in difficult times?
We read the same texts they are reading at the worship service on the Mall today. The focus for is on the Matthew 5 text, verse 9, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” It’s either a hard or very appropriate day to think of peacemaking when there are planned gatherings celebrating and encouraging violence.
Our key verse begs the question, “Really? With them?” I’d say, “yes” and “no.” With the people of all the various groups that gather today? “Yes.” With the ideas that white supremacist espouse? No, never. Resist always evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves.
What a lot of us need to do today is begin making peace with our stories. Make peace with their incompleteness and their privilege. Make peace with them so our reaction to them isn’t what 8-year-old Ben did, lie about it, be embarrassed by it, feel guilty about it, re-write the history of it. You can’t change it, but you can learn from it. Ignoring the fullness of our stories isn’t helpful and only prolongs our inaction on the ways racism persists in our collective daily story.
I’ll give you another story Foundry Church. When this congregation began 1814 it was over 50% African enslaved and free. But we were segregated in our seating and leadership. By 1836 Asbury Chapel was formed and the black constituency of Foundry made their way to that space further entrenching the forced racial divide that for Foundry persisted roughly another 130 years. In 1965 Norman and Francis Prince joined Foundry as members becoming the first black members of the church since the early 1800’s. It would be another 30 years before we became a reconciling congregation, committing ourselves to welcoming all people.
Then between 2000 and 2001 a group of Foundry members decided it was time to make peace with our own story. I’m deeply grateful they did too. A congregation wide study on racism and white privilege took place over the course of at least a year. Joint classes and discussions were held with both Asbury and Foundry members. Through that Foundry was able to put together a formal act of repentance for the sins of racism through the church. Asbury received that and there were marches back and forth between our two buildings; of course, there was food. But these were the steps taken to make peace with our own story and culpability. To learn more from them and examine the deeper roots of entrenched systemic racism. Since then we’ve been able to collaborate in ministry in our downtown area. And we’ll stand together today on the mall against all forms of hate.
Those Foundry and Asbury groups took a risk. They risked admitting to not knowing everything. They risked publicly acknowledging ways we have collectively and individually participated in systems of racism. They risked having others’ opinions about them being lowered. They put in work to make peace with a story, so that we could live forward better.
Our verse today, “peacemakers;” one French translation uses “répandent (autour d'eux la paix).” I like this one, “it’s to spread peace around them.” It makes peace something you possess and spread all around you. In English though, peacemakers ends up essentially meaning peace is created. A peacemaker’s work is to reconcile two or more adversarial parties. That’s more appropriate for us today. There’s work to be done; with our own stories, so that we can alter the trajectory of our current shared narrative.
Every second Sunday, the racial justice ministry team gathers for discussion, field trips, lectures or some other activity. We do something every month. Take advantage of that, it can easily help reframe your story and what you’re seeing around. This fall we’ll be working through writings of Howard Thurman. I’ll recommend you get involved with that group. I’ll also recommend to you the book “Waking up White, and Finding my self in the Story of Race,” by Debby Irving. It’s a good baseline consciousness raising narrative of the author’s own figuring out of how racism is operating in systems of our culture and how she was operating within and perpetuating them, as a nice person, as well.
Today if you’re wanting to go to the rally, but don’t want to get “yelled at” or something like that know this; if they only time you choose to show up is when the white nationalist come to town or shortly after another unarmed black or brown person is killed, you’re probably going to hear some yelling. Show up any way. Don’t ask someone who has an embodied experience of racism to sanitize their emotion or feelings for your comfort. Just show up. Then show up the next day and every day in between.
Go ahead and make peace with the fact that you are going to make mistakes on this journey. That you are not all knowing and that there are ways that even you, good as I know you are, still participate in racist systems. Don’t let some sense of guilt or shame hold you back from engage the work, that is one of the subtlest yet most effective ways evil works to perpetuate this whole mess. Risk your public reputation as good a good person who has it all figured out, so that you can engage in the real work of peacemaking, of reconciliation; the work God calls us to.
Soon you’ll begin to realize that the real conversations don’t happen in 3-hour blocks at rallies. Soon you’ll realize that the real work of breaking down your own privilege happens as you draw closer to one another, not in groups of thousands, but in groups of 2 or 3 or 4. This is where the real work of peace happens.
Maya Angelou says this, “if we face the past with courage we don't have to repeat it.” There is peace making work to do friends, let’s commit ourselves this day.
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