I was eager to be a part of something bigger than my local congregation, or even the Lutheran Church. I was eager to feel and be a part of the energy of so many devoted faith leaders, as well as to make a very public statement that other Christians and people of other faiths do not join the Christian Evangelicals in supporting what is currently going on in Washington, nor of various social issues. (When I say I am pro-life, I mean pro-life across the board - including providing prenatal care, parental leave, and healthcare, immigrant and refugee rights, environmental justice, LGBT rights, education, addressing mass incarceration and other race-related issue... not just pro-birth.) I was eager to hear dynamic speakers, to glean insights from them, to come back energized, refreshed, and motivated.
In addition to all of that, my grandparents, Dick and June Solberg, marched with Dr. King in the original March on Washington, and were there to hear his epic speech. Before I left for Washington, I read about it in my grandpa's memoirs. He had recently been hired as the new dean of Thiel College, and marched with my grandma as a representative of the American Lutheran Church (a predecessor body of my own ELCA). I have long looked to my grandparents as models of faith, life, and ministry, and here I had an opportunity to walk in their footsteps, so to speak. The fact that the 1000 Ministers March for Justice took place on the anniversary of my ordination (and, my baptism!) sealed the deal. I was going!
There were so many dynamic speakers and moments, from people of so many different faiths and backgrounds, and every one of them had something important to say. I wanted to include a few highlights:
* One person held a sign that said, "Who benefits from the decisions you make?" I love this question. Sometimes we need to make decisions that benefit ourselves (like, saving money for retirement, or eating healthy food, or taking a vacation). That's okay. But when we are considering the decisions before us that have real effects on other people, especially other people who are less privileged than ourselves, this is a good reality check. Am I voting this way because it directly benefits me? Does a benefit to me mean that someone else suffers in some way? Who, and how? As Dietrich Bonheffer says, "When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die." Or as Jesus says, "Take up your cross and follow me." Nothing about Christian life says that we choose the best course for ourselves; it is always to choose what is best for your neighbor - especially your neighbor who is suffering.
* One speaker elaborated on that theme, saying that love is best expressed through sacrifice. We know that by looking at Jesus, who of course sacrificed everything for our sake, and who told us that true love means laying down your life for another. This speaker (sorry, can't remember names!) went on to say, "You want justice? Fine. What are you willing to sacrifice for it?" Boy, that made me think. I talk a big talk about justice, and am even willing to admit my own white privilege and the ways I have benefited from it. But am I willing to give it up? Am I willing to actively work against my best interest (even if just in the short term), if that is what it takes to achieve justice for all? And if I'm not - who am I to preach it? ("Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." MLK)
* I wish I could remember the exact words of this next one, but it was basically that loving your neighbor means not only directly serving them, but also not being ambivalent about your neighbor in need. I think this is a problem for Christians of privilege. Though of course we can't help everyone all the time, and have to make choices about where to exert our energy, I think so often we say, "Well, that's not my problem," or, "That doesn't affect me or anyone I care about," and we ignore the needs of others. ("Yeah, I know that black people are discriminated against, but is it really such a big deal? Or are they just making it a big deal?" So easy to justify our lack of care...)
* One rabbi had a line I just loved: he said it was all well and good we were marching today, but his people, the Jewish people, started marching 5000 years ago. 5000 years ago, they marched out of Egypt, out of their oppression, and celebrated the freedom God had granted them. This is such a central story for Judaism, which we just so happen to be starting in our lectionary readings. On Sunday, we heard about how the Hebrew women resisted Pharaoh's decree that all Hebrew boys should be killed because they were getting too numerous and strong. The midwives (who feared God, the text tells us) first said that the Hebrew women were so vigorous, they were giving birth before the midwives even got there. And God rewarded the women for resisting Pharaoh by giving them families. So Pharaoh made a harsher decree, telling everyone to kill the Hebrew boys. Still, some Hebrew women resisted, by hiding a baby, then sending him down the river where Pharaoh's daughter would find him. She adopted him, and Miriam, the baby's sister, managed to arrange for him to be nursed by his biological mother. That baby, of course, was Moses; the women's resistance to Pharaoh made it possible for Moses to then resist Pharaoh even further, and ultimately lead God's people out of slavery and into freedom. What a story for our times!
* Speaking of the Jewish community that was present, one representative from the Jewish Cantors Association got the whole crowd of us singing, "Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary, pure and holy, tried and true. With thanksgiving, I'll be a living sanctuary for you." Then we all sang it in Hebrew, with him feeding us the words! The women right behind us were Jewish, and singing their hearts out with grins on their faces during the Hebrew.
* Finally, one of our last speakers was Otis Moss III, and called the Church to repentance: of our exclusion of LGBTQ brothers and sisters, of our racism, our oppression of the First Nations (if we want to talk about taking back our country, he said, let's talk to the First Nations!), and of our silence - so that we can be the Body of Christ more fully in the world and with all the beautiful diversity that God has made in creation. This really resonated with me, because this is exactly where I have found myself in my own journey, especially since Charlottesville. To quote Dietrich Bonheffer again, "Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless." I have been compelled to do some serious self examination to discover where I have participated in these various sins, where I have been complacent or just negligent.
And the more I think about it, the more I think this is necessary - for all sides - if we want to find healing in this country. We need to all be able to recognize our role in causing division, and in disregarding those in need, and in placing our own safety and comfort above that of others, and in assuming our hopes and goals are the highest hopes and goals. No one will ever convince anyone else; we will only come together if we are willing to be vulnerable and self-reflective with each other. That is, if we are able to see in ourselves and in each other our common humanity. And repentance is such an important part of that.
All in all, it was a pretty moving experience. I was touched by our ability to appreciate the voices of different faiths, to speak in ways with which we could all resonate, regardless of background, to call out evil (rarely people, but rather, people's actions) but to otherwise lift each other up. It was a very spirit-filled event, that I was proud to be a part of. I'm so grateful I could be!
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| My marching companions from Upstate NY Synod |
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