I really don’t know where to start with the recent events in Charlottesville. In fact, I’ve had so much trouble sorting through all of it that I have rewritten this half a dozen times already. I don’t think I’ve felt such anger and frustration and helplessness and sadness all at once like in a long time. But here are some of the thoughts that have been swirling around in my head and in my heart:
For too long, I have been too naive about things like the Ku Klux Klan and the neo Nazi party. I’ve known for most of my life that racism and racists still exist in our time. But I’ve been operating mostly under the assumption the the KKK and the Nazis and the Alt-Right were something like fringe cults – I assumed that they are small, that they operate in secret and that, in a diverse democratic society, they could never again be groups of any consequence in the public sphere. Surely, they would never again take to the street wearing hoods and carrying torches like they once did. But like I said I was naive.
All they needed was an opening from a man running for president who quibbled on whether or not he was okay with the support he was receiving from a former Grand Wizard of the KKK and that was enough. I just want to scream, “We should have defeated this evil by now!” This is something from the past. By now we should have used everything in our power to overcome the sin of racism and focus on things like equitable education, better healthcare or reducing violence. But the truth is our original sin of racism taints each and every issue. And we do not get to choose the issues and the challenges of our time. But we can choose how we respond – steadfast in our conviction and our courage.
Like many of my friends, I am angry. Angry that this type of display could still exist in our time. Angry at the words I have seen shouted at other human beings created in the image of God. My blood boils at the words of a man who can dare to say that there is blame “on many sides” for the violence – when it is clear that one side is demonstrating simply for their rights to exist while one side carries guns and torches and drives cars into crowds of people. You don’t show up for a peaceful demonstration with torches and rifles and body armor.
And right alongside the anger, I feel a devastating sadness. Heather Heyer is the name of the woman whose life was cut short by a man driven by hate. Heather was a 32 year old woman who worked as a legal assistant. She was a daughter, a friend, and advocated tirelessly for civil rights. But her life was cut short. Never again will she breathe deep the wonder and beauty of this world. Never again will she take long walks in the cool August evenings. Never again will she see the soft purples and warm oranges of the sun as it sets against the Virginia horizon. Because when the racists and the KKK and the Nazis and the Alt-Right came to her town, she knew she had to be in the streets. She knew she couldn’t stand down, even when it meant standing in front of a speeding car intending to harm.
And I can’t help but think about how I am like Heather. I am 30 years old. And I can’t shake the feeling that it could have been me.
It would have been me.
Because I know that when the racists and the KKK and the Nazis and the Alt-Right come to my town, I know I have to be in the streets. I know that I cannot stand down. Even if it means standing in front of a speeding car intending to do harm.
Because if the Gospel of Christ means anything for me, it means being in the streets when the racists and the KKK and the Nazis and the Alt-Right come to down. And never backing down.
That Saturday found me doing a chore I haven’t done in quite awhile – pulling weeds in the flower beds at my parents’ house. I really don’t like pulling weeds in the flower beds at my parents’ house. The sun was high in the sky and the late August heat of Kentucky was in full force. My knees ached as I hunkered down for about an hour or so to pull weeds and lay mulch. As I sat there in my chore-and-heat-induced-misery, I couldn’t help but think of Jesus when told a story and basically said, “Don’t worry about pulling up the weeds. Let the weeds and the wheat grow up together and at harvest time, I’ll figure it all out.” Maybe next time Mom asks me to pull weeds, I’ll tell her about that story.
But then I let the story sit with me a little longer. The way Jesus tells it, a farmer goes out to sow good seed and then, when he is asleep, an enemy comes in and sows weeds among the wheat. When the servants discover this, they alert the master but he tells them to let the weeds and the wheat grow up together. It’s too risky to pull up the weeds as it may damage the wheat. So at harvest time, the master will sort it all out.
When I was out in the hot sun pulling weeds, I just kept thinking, “This is so pointless.” These weeds will grow back in a few weeks or in the spring time or whenever. I can pull all I want and clear out as many weeds as I can. They’ll still just grow back. Weeds are persistent.
Evil, too. Evil is persistent too. Maybe Jesus knows all too well the back and forth of goodness and evil in our world. We spent years sowing the seeds of civil rights and equality. We’ve come so far in working to advance the dignity and worth of each person, regardless of color or nationality or status or orientation. We tried to pluck every single weed that we could. But all the while, someone else was sowing the seeds of racism and hatred of the other.
And so we have this world where all of it is growing up together. Beauty and terror. Love and hate. Vibrant diversity and hardened racism. Good and evil. Frederick Buechner wrote, “Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid.” Even when the weeds are thorny and persistent. Even when we weeded and plucked and pulled all we could a long time ago. That doesn’t mean that we stop tending the garden. Time to get back to the weeds. And don’t be afraid.
Comments