As a writer – and, therefore, an avid muser – and as a fellow pilgrim living through the Great Pandemic, the New Civil Rights Movement, and my own season of change, I can tell you that I’ve been quiet for the same reasons I should not have been quiet. My mind is weighted. With grief, anger, sorrow, fear, worry, anxiety. Amid all of those usual suspects is contentment, understanding, joy, courage, faith, and peace.
You yourself know it is quite possible to navigate daily such an array of emotion.
My perfectionism has also kept me quiet, and so, hang my own high expectations of myself and my writing. I’ll just tell you now what’s been rolling around in my brain. I’ll start with Black Lives Matter.
Years ago, I was hesitant to say it myself. I, too, asked, “well heck, don’t all lives matter?” I, too, thought going colorblind was a step in the right direction. Perceiving the root of the problem, I was quick to retort: Jesus is the answer!
Yet, we cannot claim every life matters until every life matters. Sweeping culture beneath our feet is a misstep. As for Jesus, well.
Mercifully, “red and yellow, black and white/ They are precious in His sight,” is gospel truth. We all matter to Him. His love is pure and He is our answer. Look to the Cross if you doubt.
Yet, what have we to gain at such a time as this by declaring our platitudes? By singing our old Sunday School songs? By preaching, preaching, preaching?
For me, to say Black Lives Matter is to say, “I love you.”
It says, “I acknowledge racism.”
It says, “I am listening.”
To make it about anything else is to turn a deaf ear, to turn a cold shoulder, and to miss the opportunity of a generation to be the very hands and feet of Christ Jesus, our Hope.
That’s all I have to say about that, for now. Next week, I’ll talk about practical ways we can be the hands and feet of Christ.