Just when I thought 2020 couldn't get any tougher, it did.
I have been deeply grieved by images on the news and in the papers this past week -- Heart-wrenching footage of a human being's life brutally taken away; a disturbing incident in New York's Central Park; crowds in America's streets giving voice to justifiable anger; cities, already under lockdown, now facing curfews; police in riot gear; clouds of smoke in front of the yellow Washington, DC church where I'd meet with my friend Rev. Lisa from seminary; looting in my old Boston neighborhood; even our own Metro Nashville Courthouse set ablaze.
Yesterday and today brought several conversations with area clergy, parishioners, leaders in the diocesan Beloved Community Commission for Racial Reconciliation -- conversations with God, as well -- to help me find a coherent position as a father, a priest, and as your rector. Turns out, those roles sometimes pull me in different directions.
In the latter role, that of rector, I believe it's my obligation to pray deeply and seek wise counsel. I am glad that St. B's is a place that does provide financial support to organizations that help the powerless; that we have been engaging in the conversation on racism, both in public forums and in small groups; and that we are a people who pray about this crisis, in our worship, in our homes, and with our brothers and sisters across the diocese in forums like the online prayer of lament and Litany for George Floyd this past Monday sponsored by the Beloved Community and the U.S. Conference of Mayors. I'm glad we do have individual parishioners and families who are moved to direct action, like participating in last weekend’s protests or tomorrow’s march downtown. I'm also glad others in our family are deeply committed to the longer, slower work of forming coalitions of people to do whatever's necessary to give power and authority and agency to those who have historically lacked these things -- work on housing issues, wages, incarceration, education. Finally, I’m glad for the trust from people in our family who need St. B’s to be a place where they can work through these issues safely, people who are honestly exhausted by the “now-ness” of it all and need some time to figure out exactly what God is leading them to do. Though, as a parish family, we are not of a single mind about issues like race, we have demonstrated time and again that we do desire to stay together at the same table. Personally, I can assure you I am doing my best to listen, learn, and lead in the way Jesus would have us go.
Let me be clear — I remain hopeful as I write you today. I was moved to hope by Dr. Lee C. Camp's thoughtful presentation at Monday's online Theology on Tap (watch here or listen here) and by reading his book (copies in the Gallery when it does reopen!). I'm hopeful in light of our Bishop's statement condemning both racism and violence, and I'm hopeful because I'm hearing from so many of you about the ways you are already committed to bearing witness to the gospel and the reign of God in a scary, sometimes violent, always beautiful world.
When I thought, 2020 couldn't get any tougher, and then it did . . . I've been inspired by you.
Meanwhile, as we pray for racial healing in our world, we also continue to navigate the ongoing Covid-19 pandemic and restart public, in-person worship at St. B's. The daily 12:15 p.m. Eucharists are increasingly well-attended, and this Sunday, June 7, we will have two services -- an in-person mass outside in the memorial garden at 8:00 a.m., and our usual live-streamed worship from inside the nave at 9:30 a.m. We currently plan to hold to our ten-person limit for in-person worship throughout the month of June so we can observe the data resulting from Nashville's reopening. Sign-ups for this Sunday's eight slots will be available starting at 6:30 p.m. today.
These daily services and the new one on Sundays are just one lever we're pulling to create opportunities for us to return to Holy Communion. The Eucharist is more important than ever, and not just because we have been away from the Lord's table for so long now. It's important because it nourishes us, it sustains us for the long, hard work of bearing witness and seeking justice in the world -- the work of listening, learning, lamenting, praying, hoping, and laboring. In an address on May 21, Pope Francis said, "For the church, a preference for the poor is not optional." Our work is seeing what God is already doing (has always been doing) in the world, and coming alongside to shoulder our part of the load. The work is hard. The Eucharist is food for the journey.
I'll end with a prayer I've been praying from a book my reading group recently took up, a book called Be the Bridge: Pursuing God's Heart for Racial Reconciliation by Latasha Morrison. The prayer itself is by Corregan Brown:
A Prayer of Confession
God, I have been blind to the plight of my fellow image-bearers. I have been deaf to their cries for justice and mercy. I have been mute when there was no one to speak for them.
Lord God, unbind my mouth.
Place your healing over my eyes that I might see, and unblock my ears that I might hear.
I lay my sins at your feet that you might cleanse me, heal me, and send me to do your holy work of reconciliation with my brothers and sisters.
Amen.
I pray that prayer for myself -- as a man, a father, a priest. I pray it for our city and our country. I pray for George Floyd and his loved ones. I pray for our elected leaders and for the people who protect and serve us. I pray for the millions of people in America who are angry, frustrated, oppressed, and afraid. I pray for you.
And I ask you to pray with -- and for -- me.
Lord, have mercy.
