Thoughts

It has been another remarkable week. Protests against racism and police brutality continue around the world, and there is a new groundswell of popular interest in and support for anti-racist efforts.

As Christians, we gladly join in these efforts as a simple outworking of the gospel in our cultural context. For the church, to proclaim and embody that “Black lives matter” should be a simple, non-controversial proclamation of the gospel into our specific context. And to work for justice should be a simple, non-controversial outworking of our Lord’s command to love our neighbors as ourselves.

I hope it’s not a flash in the pan. I’m praying and hoping and learning how to work for the long-term systemic change we need to ensure that we don’t go “back to normal” in a few weeks.

I find myself cautiously encouraged by the mass support we are seeing for justice right now. Mitt Romney marched with Black Lives Matter protesters. NASCAR banned the Confederate flag from races. Confederate monuments are coming down all over the US. Branches of the military are banning the display of the Confederate flag. The president of the Southern Baptist Convention (!!) urged members to say “Black lives matter” as an urgent gospel issue. The editor of Christianity Today is calling for Christians to practice restitution (not just repentance) for racism.

As Jemar Tisby has been saying, “Something different is happening this time…”

And while some celebrities and politicians might be jumping on the anti-racism bandwagon only to garner fans or votes, and least ?this? is the bandwagon! As the Apostle Paul said about those who were preaching Christ for false motives while he was in prison, “What does it matter? The important thing is that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is preached. And because of this I rejoice?” (Phil 1:18).

So I’m rejoicing that so many are affirming that Black lives matter right now. I’m also lamenting that it has taken this long. I’m also repenting, because I’m part of the problem. My ignorance and reluctance to stand in solidarity with my Black sisters and brothers in the past has delayed justice.

As I “cautiously rejoice” at what we’re seeing right now, I’m also listening soberly to those who have been in this struggle a lot longer than me who are saying that a lot more is needed. Marching in protests and posting on social media alone won’t bring about the systemic change we need to unravel 400 years of racialized terror and trauma.

Let’s keep repenting and lamenting and praying and hoping and listening and learning how to do the long term work of justice.

I’ve been thinking lately a lot about the importance of lament and mourning. The simple act of actually allowing ourselves to feel our grief and sadness, and responding to it by lamenting what isn’t right, and mourning what we’ve lost.

Someone on a podcast I was listening to the other day casually mentioned that they “shed some tears” after a difficult conversation, and that phrase grabbed me: we “shed” tears.

On a superficial level, of course, we are simply describing a biological event: “to pour forth in drops,” as the dictionary puts it. But we also use this word to describe how a caterpillar “sheds” old skin it doesn’t need anymore, or how a tree “sheds” leaves in the fall to prepare for winter and new life in the spring, or how a duck’s feathers “shed” water so it doesn’t get wet when it swims.

Apparently the etmyology of the word comes from the Old English sceadan, which means “to divide, separate, part company” (among other things).

I wonder what else we shed when we shed tears. We all feel better after a “good cry,” so I wonder if shedding tears also sheds us of the toxicity (emotional and physical, I’d imagine) of ignoring or suppressing our grief.

When we shed tears, we allow old, useless things to fall away, making room for new life to spring up.

Yesterday my wife Deb forwarded me Richard Rohr’s Daily Meditation email. He was reflecting on Moses asking God to “show his glory” (Exodus 33:18), and how God responded in an unusual way: “I shall place you in the cleft of the rock and shield you with my hand until I have passed by. Then I shall take my hand away, and you will see my backside, but my face will not be seen” (33:22–23).

Rohr then brings his own experience of prostate cancer into the light of this passage:

My best spiritual knowing almost always occurs after the fact, in the remembering—not seen “until God has passed by.” I realized that in the moments of diagnosis, doctor’s warnings, waiting, delays, and the surgery itself, I was as fragile, scared, and insecure as anybody would be. If I could stay with the full narrative all the way into and through, only afterward could I invariably see, trust, and enjoy the wonderful works of God.

… It is largely after the fact that faith is formed—and gloriously transmuted into hope for the future. Only after the fact can you see that you were being held and led during the fact. During the fact, you do not enjoy or trust your own strength at all, in fact, quite the opposite. You just cry out in various ways. Then God, for some wonderful reason, is able to fill the gap.

This rings true in my life. But then I got to thinking about all we are learning now about trauma. Trauma is held in the body, and it actually keeps people stuck in the past. Whenever the trauma is triggered, the body believes it is actually still experiencing the traumatic event.

It seems to me, then, that trauma can block spiritual transformation, because it doesn’t allow a person to look back on an experience. The traumatized don’t have an “after the fact” unless their trauma is processed and healed, because they’re living in an eternal “now” of being hurt.

Heal the trauma and then you can look back on the event and see how God was holding you the whole time. If you don’t heal the trauma, you’re stuck in the confusion and fear of “during the event.”