Racial Justice (5): Healing for the world

 

The Tree of Life, by Jacques-Richard Chery (Haiti)

For more details, look it up here.

Ezekiel 47:1-12

47 Then he brought me back to the entrance of the temple; there, water was flowing from below the threshold of the temple toward the east (for the temple faced east); and the water was flowing down from below the south end of the threshold of the temple, south of the altar. ² Then he brought me out by way of the north gate, and led me around on the outside to the outer gate that faces toward the east; and the water was coming out on the south side.

³ Going on eastward with a cord in his hand, the man measured one thousand cubits, and then led me through the water; and it was ankle-deep. ⁴ Again he measured one thousand, and led me through the water; and it was knee-deep. Again he measured one thousand, and led me through the water; and it was up to the waist. ⁵ Again he measured one thousand, and it was a river that I could not cross, for the water had risen; it was deep enough to swim in, a river that could not be crossed. ⁶ He said to me, “Mortal, have you seen this?”

Then he led me back along the bank of the river. ⁷ As I came back, I saw on the bank of the river a great many trees on the one side and on the other. ⁸ He said to me, “This water flows toward the eastern region and goes down into the Arabah; and when it enters the sea, the sea of stagnant waters, the water will become fresh. ⁹ Wherever the river goes, every living creature that swarms will live, and there will be very many fish, once these waters reach there. It will become fresh; and everything will live where the river goes. ¹⁰ People will stand fishing beside the sea from En-gedi to En-eglaim; it will be a place for the spreading of nets; its fish will be of a great many kinds, like the fish of the Great Sea. ¹¹ But its swamps and marshes will not become fresh; they are to be left for salt. ¹² On the banks, on both sides of the river, there will grow all kinds of trees for food. Their leaves will not wither nor their fruit fail, but they will bear fresh fruit every month, because the water for them flows from the sanctuary. Their fruit will be for food, and their leaves for healing.”

Revelation 21:1-6, 22-26; 22:1-5

21 Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. ² And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. ³ And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,

“See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them;
they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them;
⁴ he will wipe every tear from their eyes.
Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away.”

⁵ And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.” ⁶ Then he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life.

²² I saw no temple in the city, for its temple is the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb. ²³ And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the Lamb. ²⁴ The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it. ²⁵ Its gates will never be shut by day—and there will be no night there. ²⁶ People will bring into it the glory and the honour of the nations.

22 Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb ² through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. ³ Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; ⁴ they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. ⁵ And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.

A ‘cutting’ of tree wisdom (Genny Tunbridge)

Wisdom is like a baobab tree; no one individual can embrace it [1]

Baobabs trees are native to Madagascar, mainland Africa, and Australia, and were introduced to the Caribbean in the colonial era. They can store up to 120,000 litres of water in their massive bottle-shaped trunks, and they are deciduous, leafless for 9 months of the year during the dry season to conserve water. The thin, twisty branches look more like roots, so the baobab is sometimes known as the ‘Upside Down Tree’. Myths and stories about baobabs abound, many explaining their appearance. In one, the baobab is always complaining, so God uproots it and replants it with its head in the earth and roots in the air! Since then the baobab has stopped complaining and become the most useful tree around. 

‘Tree of Life’ is another name often given to baobabs, reflecting their longevity (some live over 2000 years) but also that they provide almost everything humans need to survive, including water, shelter, clothing and food. The bark and huge stem are used for making cloth and rope; the leaves are used as condiments and medicines; the fruit is edible, rich in vitamin C. The hollow trunks of old baobabs were sometimes used as tombs for griots (traditional storytellers) – the trees perhaps believed to absorb and preserve the history and traditions contained in the griot’s words. Did enslaved Africans on Caribbean plantations draw inspiration and strength in turn from the wise baobabs, transplanted like them in a foreign land.

“Knowledge is a light that is in man; it is the inheritance of all that the ancestors knew and sowed deep within us, just as the power of the baobab is contained in its seed.”[2]  

Introduction to the theme (Al Barrett)

We’ve come again to the turning of the seasons. This week is the last of our 5-week season focusing on Black History Month and racial justice. And the inevitable question is, what next? The danger with any ‘themed’ season (just as with our previous season focusing on Creation) is that we quickly forget – we put it behind us, and turn our attention to something else. We ‘move on’.

But like Ezekiel in his vision, where we go next is not away from the river, but deeper into its flow. Next week, and for the four weeks of November, we’ll be wading further into the waters of remembering: a remembrance of those we have loved and lost personally, those who have died in the wars and conflicts of our world, and those saints who have walked the way of faith before us. And that remembering will be both looking back, to the past, but also looking forward: ‘remembering the future’, with the hope-filled promises of God in the words of the prophets of Scripture and the lives and witnesses of the saints that light our way.

So this week, at the turning again of the seasons, we turn back to ancient texts that point us towards a future that is still ahead of us: a universe renewed, ‘a new heaven and a new earth’, a ‘heavenly’ city that is planted firmly in God’s good earth, a garden city that might be called ‘Jerusalem’, but also ‘Eden’. Here, we’re told of a city whose gates are always wide open, never shut. A city where whatever glory ‘nations’ used to have, now pales into insignificance before the glory of God. A city where there is no more death, no more fearful night-times, no longer any mourning, crying or pain – a promise for all who have ever grieved, but especially for all who have ever been oppressed, enslaved, marginalized. A city where there is enough food for all – and where all have what they need. A city where, as God walks the streets and climbs the trees alongside her children once again, old wounds are healed – wounds not just of bodies and minds, but wounds of relationships between peoples and nations, between humans and our creature-kin, and with the earth itself. This is a city where the journey of reconciliation has run its course, and has come to its Source.

But how do we get there from where we are now? Neither the world we live in, nor the Church of today, are the new Jerusalem. The water that flows from Ezekiel’s Temple, bringing refreshment, cleansing and teeming life to the stagnant places of the world, has been dammed up, siphoned off or poisoned; and what flows out from the Church’s sanctuaries, in the name of love, is too often polluted with anxious institutional self-interest, the misuse and abuse of power, or a kind of ‘broadcasting’ that’s indifferent to or ignorant of the reality of the life of our neighbours. Even when we talk the language of ‘reconciliation’, it can all too easily become a manipulative word, that we imagine we can use to engineer change ‘out there’ – to get everyone to just start being nice to each other – without the discomfort, pain and costliness of changes in us and the ways we live our lives.

That radical change the Bible calls repentance: literally, a ‘turning around’. And that, as we’ve seen over the course of this month, involves some other ‘R’ words too:

REMEMBERING… We’ve been reminded, in this Black History Month, that history matters. We may not be personally responsible for what happened in the generations before we were born, but it has left its mark on us nevertheless – in benefits or disadvantages, in collective wounds and traumas, in the shaping of attitudes, relationships and structures in the present. We remember the past, because its legacy lives on in the present – and we need to continue the work of disentangling what is worth celebrating, from what is in need of healing.

RECEIVING… We’ve been blessed, over these last months, by being able to read and hear ‘5^th gospel’ reflections on the lived experiences of many different members of our congregation – and not least during these last few weeks of Black History Month. Some of those ‘testimonies’ have been hard to write and speak – and also hard to hear, especially for those of us who are white to hear of painful experiences of racism in the world, and in the church. But those stories, those acts of honest sharing, have helped reveal for us something of the truth, the reality of the world we all share. As the singer and poet Samantha Lindo puts it, they have been contributions to ‘naming the water in which [we] swim’.[3]

RELINQUISHING… We’re discovering, I think – especially if we’re white, and even more so if our identity brings with it other kinds of privilege too (male, middle-class, non-disabled, etc) – that if we’re to truly hear the stories, truth and witness of others, if we’re to truly receive the challenges in what we hear and what we remember, in ways that will change us… then there’s some letting go that we have to do. Letting go of some of our defences and defensiveness, letting go of our tendencies to jump in too soon with words or actions (or to try and have the last word), letting go of our need to be ‘centre stage’, to be ‘needed’, or to be the person that ‘fixes’ things. Some of us are so used to being listened to, looked to, and holding on to our positions of comfort and status, that any kind of letting go can feel painful, costly. But it’s necessary. There’s no way round it.

REPARATION… As we encountered with Zacchaeus last week, if repentance is to be real, it needs to be more than a change of heart. The way we relate to each other, the way the systems work, the circumstances of our neighbours need to start to change too. The water of life, where it has been dammed up, needs to be unblocked to flow freely. The fruit of the garden, where it has been hoarded for the few, needs to be shared in ways that mean no one goes hungry. The wealth that has been built up through the forced labour of slavery, and through many other injustices in our world, needs to be redistributed. The power that has been held on one side of dividing lines of race, class and gender (among others), needs to wash the barriers away. And where we have been a beneficiary of these things, we need to play our part in ‘putting things right’ in ways that are real and tangible, and potentially costly – in our relationships, our communities, our society, our world.

Over the past few weeks, many of us who are white have heard stories, and been part of conversations, where we’ve felt ashamed of the history that we’re part of, and the structures we’re entangled in – and where we’ve felt guilty about what we’ve done, or not done, ourselves. Shame and guilt, as we saw in the story of Adam and Eve in Genesis 3, can make us want to hide, can paralyse us. But as we hear God calling us to come out from behind the tree, as we come face to face with God and face to face with each other (which also means coming face to face with ourselves), then we discover ourselves also called to take the next step on a journey – a journey towards the new heaven and new earth.

Reflection (Revd Dr Carlton Turner)

Carlton is an Anglican priest and tutor at The Queen’s Foundation for Ecumenical Theological Education.

These readings, what we call apocalyptic readings, always fascinate me. In fact, that final scene from the Book of Revelation always brings me a deep sense of peace and joy. Having grown up in the Caribbean and having studied the history and legacies of slavery and colonialism, I am reminded that the ultimate purpose of God isn’t simply justice, but healing and wholeness: “See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away (Rev. 21:3-4).” In this reflection I want us to hold on to this idea and hope of total healing that seems to be the last word throughout the pages of the Bible, both Old and New Testaments.

In our passage from Ezekiel 47 we find a vision of a river flowing from God’s temple. As the scene is described, we become aware of the dynamic nature of this river. Firstly, there is evidence in the translation of the text to suggest that the river begins as a trickle from the temple. It starts small but becomes increasingly deeper and more powerful. The prophet is led through this water by the angelic being, but the further they go, the deeper the river gets. It eventually becomes overwhelming and they must return to the riverbank. Then, the deeper truth is revealed about this water trickling from the temple, that becomes an overwhelming river; It brings healing and renewal wherever it goes. In fact, the trees and their leaves that are supplied by this water are for the healing of the nations.

Nonetheless, it would helpful if we remember that the beauty and power of this imagery comes in the midst of utter chaos and desolation. Jerusalem is a city that has no river or stream. Cities were usually built upon rivers and streams for their sustenance and defence. Ezekiel is writing in the memory of the destruction of the Jerusalem temple and the first deportation of the Jews to Babylon. You can inject that famous reggae re-chanting of Psalm 137:1: “By the rivers of Babylon, where we sat down, and there we wailed, when we remembered Zion!”

We find the same imagery in Revelation 22:1 – 5. The river flows from God’s throne and it flows through the Holy city. On either side of the river is the Tree of Life that is meant for the healing of the nations. But again, we would do well to remember that this last chapter of the Bible is speaking such amazing promises in the context of predicting war, destruction, persecution and death. War breaks out in heaven that reflects the very reality of war on earth. Every successive human civilisation has had to experience these absolute horrors, and yet, in the midst of these unspeakable images, there is the God who comes and abides with His people, and then wipes every tear from their eyes. And, when we look at the text more deeply, we realise that it promises, as Isaiah 11 does, a peaceable kingdom: there is neither hunger, nor pain, nor death; neither predator nor prey; neither chaos nor war; there is only shalom!

We are now at the end of Black History Month in our observances and this message of healing is appropriate. The story of Black people in the world is not an easy one to come to grips with. At the beginning of the month Al introduced the themes that we have been reflecting on. In it he points to the long history of Black oppression, marginalisation, criminalisation, and exclusion, and even genocide. The Transatlantic slave trade, brutal plantation slavery and colonisation, were undergirded by a philosophical, theological, and sociological idea that blackness was taboo, and that black people were beast of burdens, without the right to freedom and autonomy. The legacies of this are clear for the British context: the Windrush scandal; the murder of Stephen Lawrence and the resulting Macpherson Report; statistics within the prisons or mental health institutions that have racial indications; Covid-19 and its exposure of the racial/ethnic face of ill-health; and then the aftermath of the public killing of George Floyd! Added to this, the Church of England is being charged with ‘institutional racism’, with books such as Ben Lindsay’s We Need to Talk about Race, and Azariah France-Williams’ Ghost Ship interrogating the deep institutional nature of racism in British society, including the Church.  But, beyond all this, there are the internalised wounds that Black people carry; wounds that have been handed down, and that undoubtedly will be passed on. The biggest question remains, where is the healing, where is the shalom?

I believe that deep within the wounds of the Black experience there is a hopefulness and a healing that resides within our lament. A point I make in my own writing is that slavery wasn’t an event that happened to Black people, but one that they survived! They survived through their indigenous religious and cultural observances such as their music, their religious traditions, their proverbs and their story telling, and their ingenuity and creativity. It is fair to say that within the very wounds of slavery, anti-Africanness, and racism, Black people also have a deep reservoir of sacred power, or creative spirituality, that surges to the surface coming out in Reggae, in Soca, in Gospel Music, in pop music, in carnival, in Pentecostal worship, and even in the alternative spirituality of the Rastafari. What I’m suggesting is that healing for Black people comes in the midst of their pain. These means of healing above have been so powerful that Church and society have often worked hard to criticise or demonise them.

As we move into another month and another observance, I encourage us to remember the need for healing, and the potent forms of healing that Black culture possesses. Perhaps, these ways of being, acting and seeing the world will not only be of benefit for Black people, but for all people. They will be, in a way, like the deepening River of Life, or the Tree of Life; they are for the healing of the nations, the healing of all people. Let’s end with the deep lament within Psalm 137 that the African Caribbean experience brings alive for us:

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down
Yeah, we wept, when we remembered Zion

There the wicked
Carried us away in captivity
Requiring of us a song
Now how shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land?

Let the words of our mouth and the meditation of our heart
Be acceptable in thy sight here tonight

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down
Yeah, we wept, when we remembered Zion…

(Lyrics by Boney M)

Reflection (Sybil Gilbert)

I was born in Kingston Hospital. All my life I was the weakling of the family. I spent so many times in hospital, if anyone mentioned the word I would have a panic attack. My first encounter with hospital was when I was a baby in a cot. My cot was looking out of the window. It was late at night, I could hear a noise and saw nurses or people wheeling trollies past my window. The worst thing the nurse could do was to move my cot away. I was so afraid. It was the middle of the night, and no one would explain to a curious child what was going on. Some years later a cousin of mine explained that there was an epidemic and several children had died. I asked him to take me to the morgue. I wanted to know what happened when you died.

My grandmother’s was the first funeral I can remember attending. My young cousin who was a ‘towny’ did not want his feet getting dirty so he sat on my shoulder the whole time. I can remember her coffin was made in the village, it was lined in purple, beautiful velvet. My gran-mom smoked a pipe. My cousin Beverley said that now Grandma had died the pipe was hers. She decided to put some dried yam leaves and lit the pipe. There was an outside toilet, a small one for the children. It was a good thing she sat on the child one or else she would have fallen in the pit. It took days to sober her up! Her parents, my favourite uncle Leslie and Aunt Chris, were very cross. But they could not help laughing. It was the only time I had rabbit to eat and never again. Grandma is buried at the back of her home. It was a family plot. The land was given to her and the family by my grandfather who was a Jew. They have 5 children but never married.

A story my cousin told me of my grandmother taking him to meet my grandfather, and coming home gave him a tot of something before putting him to bed. My grandma was a force to be reckoned with. She was strong. A district midwife. Someone described her as only looking after poor people. I admire her because from her there is a list of midwives starting with my mother, my niece and several others in the caring profession.

In 1956 I met my grandfather for the first time. It was a GCE year, I was reading the book The 39 Steps. My favourite uncle took me to see and meet my grandfather. He took me but not my sister, who looked like my dad (my mum had married a black man). My grandfather said ‘you look like your mother, come closer and sit by me’. Then he said a strange thing. ‘Your mother was my favourite daughter, but I disowned her because she married a black man.’ I was so shocked I wanted to leave but my uncle said we could not leave, so we spent another few days there. My uncle saw how upset I was, so he took us to Downs River Fall to cheer us up. I never saw my grandfather again, although he left me something in his will. My father was just as racist as my grandfather. He had his own dry-cleaning business when he worked for the hotel, and the white people, they paid; his friends did not pay, they were always paying tomorrow.

The school I attended was a girls school with children from America and Jamaica. We mixed very well. Yet when children became grown ups life changed. Children mix together, they play together, then something changes. We start to notice the colour of skin, who is rich or poor. God asked us to share the wealth and bounty he gave us. Yet we don’t. So many refugees have died trying to seek a better life. Do we see them as God’s people, or just spongers? Why should we have to share with them? The world has become very selfish. Coronavirus this year 2020, so many people were put in isolation. The whole of God’s world was affected. For the first time churches, schools, offices, etc were closed. We became afraid. Wondering if there was a cure or a vaccine that could save lives. So far this has not happened. For a short time we called it a world epidemic.

Lord, you care for us, you gave us all we need. You ask us to look after the sick, feed the hungry and homeless. Grant us Lord the wisdom to share all your bountiful gifts, in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Reflection (Gloria Smith)

On reading the two bible passages and Carlton’s reflection I am struck by the hope that is expressed in all three. Not the kind of hope that the secular world believes in but Christian hope that trusts that God is faithful, will never abandon us, and in the end brings healing. I am always in awe of hope in the midst of destruction, oppression and desolation – and this hope has been a recurring theme over the last few weeks, even in the midst of some truly awful personal experiences.

I grew up in inner city Winson Green in the ‘60s and I’m ashamed to say I lived in a home where racism was commonplace. It was a strange world, because at school there were people from many different cultures and from what I am able to remember it felt like at school everyone was treated equally. That was my perception and maybe my best friend Gloria Peters, an adopted black Caribbean girl, or Ranjit, a young Sikh boy may have felt differently. But to me it felt different, more inclusive than home. 

Throughout my teaching career, I have worked in inner city schools where the children were predominantly from Pakistani/Muslims families. It took me a while to begin to understand the issues they encountered, but it was made really clear when taking the children out on trips. There would be strange looks and whispers from schools with predominantly white children, and on more than one occasion I felt it important to speak to other teachers about the way both children and staff were responding.

For the most part, our children really wanted to learn and we as teachers were given much respect by parents simply for teaching their children. The gratitude was at times overwhelming and it made me realise how important education can be. However on reflecting now, it has also made me realise that although I was in the minority because of my skin colour I was never ignored or treated negatively, which I now understand is how my friends of colour often feel treated.  I realise now how much was down to my whiteness because Muslim teachers had far more difficult experiences when they were perceived as not being as capable, than their white colleagues, even within their own culture. They had to be outstanding to be acknowledged as half decent. ‘White privilege’ is so damaging to people of colour.

In the final term of Year 1 at Queens theological college I learnt we would be doing a Black Theology module. I felt excited because I felt I wasn’t racist and would enjoy the lectures. However, the lectures and lecturers challenged that perception. At first I struggled with a black lecturer who on occasions I felt at the time was oversensitive. She began by telling us we would feel uncomfortable and would be challenged and that made me feel defensive straightaway. I’m not keen on being told how I will feel! At the time some other white students felt the same and it seemed to legitimise our feelings – which can be quite dangerous – but looking back I think she was simply preparing us for difficult topics that were to come. So now I ask myself – So who really was feeling oversensitive? The lecturers were really generous in sharing their own stories, and as I read more and was prepared to really listen I got to understand where they were coming from and what invaluable lessons we were learning.

This is why I passionately believe education to be so important in the healing of the nations.  At its best it gives opportunities for understanding other points of view in a safe environment. It allows people to really hear what is being said about experiences. But it is also important and necessary for history to be told from the perspectives of all involved. British history has for far too long been told from the white person’s perspective, the victors, the powerful. Now more than ever children and adults too need to hear it from the point of view of the powerless, the marginalised, the oppressed, the downtrodden, the slave.

My hope is for that time when all white people can really see things from the perspective of people of colour and are prepared to stand alongside, acknowledge and make amends for the past and move forward together. Then that heavenly vision in Revelation has a chance of being realised.

Questions for reflection / discussion

As I read / listened to the readings and reflections for this week…

·         what did I notice, or what particularly stood out for me?

 

·         what did they make me wonder, or what questions am I pondering?

 

·         what have they helped me realise?

 

·         is there anything I want to do or change in the light of this week's topic?

 

An Act of Commitment to the Work of Racial Justice:

People of God, we stand in the line
of Moses, the prophets and the Christ,
crying out for justice and peace.
God calls us to be a people of reconciliation,
loving a world that is hungry, hurting and divided.
Courageous people have taken the risk
of standing up and speaking out
with those who have been pushed to the edges.
This work involves risking ourselves
for the sake of God’s love,
moving beyond ourselves
in order to discover and embrace Christ in one another.
We are all called to the work and ministry
of justice and reconciliation.

Therefore let us join together
with people of faith and no faith throughout the world,
in committing ourselves today to racial justice:

· Do you affirm the inherent worth and dignity of every person?
I do.

· Do you support justice, equity and compassion in human relations, and liberation and flourishing for every person?
I do.

· Do you affirm that white privilege is unfair and harmful to those who have it and to those who do not?
I do.

· Do you affirm that white privilege and the culture of white supremacy which infest our nation and church must be dismantled?
I do.

 

Therefore, from this day forward:

· Will you strive daily to understand white privilege and white supremacy and how their existence benefits those among us who are white?
I will.

· Will you commit to help transform our church culture to one that is actively engaged in seeking racial justice and equity for everyone?
I will.

· Will you make a greater effort to treat all people with the same respect that you expect to receive?
I will.

· Will you commit to developing the courage to live your beliefs and values of racial justice and equity?
I will.

· Will you strive daily to eliminate racial prejudice from your thoughts and actions so that we can better promote the racial justice efforts of our church?
I will.

· Will you renew and honour this pledge daily, knowing that out church, our community, our nation and our world will be better places because of our efforts?
I will.

[‘Racial Equity Pledge’, by First Unitarian Church of Dallas, Texas;
adapted by St Francis Xavier Church, New York & Fr Robert Thompson]

Activities / conversation-starters with young (and not-so-young!) people

• In today’s reading, we read: “the leaves of the trees are for the healing of the nations.” Gather some leaves. Try to find as many different sizes, shapes and colours as you can. As you hold each leaf, think of a person, place or situation which needs healing, and hold them before God in prayer. Let go of your leaf as a sign of handing over that situation to God for healing.
• In both our readings today, we read about the “river of life”. Find somewhere you can put your hand into flowing water. If you can, use a river or stream, but if you can’t get to one then putting your hand under a tap, or asking someone to pour water over your hand would also work. What do you notice about the feeling of water flowing over you? How does it make you feel? I wonder what it life-giving about flowing water? I wonder what situations you know of that need new life – in your own life, your community, the church? 
• Our reading from Revelation includes a vision of the heavenly city as somewhere where “death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more”. What other things do you think will be ‘no more’ in heavenly city? What would the perfect city be like? Write a description and/or draw a picture.

 

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[1] West African proverb

[2] Tierno Bokar, a Sufi Muslim who lived in Mali and was known as the Sage of Bandiagara in the first half of the 20th century.

[3] Look up https://www.samanthalindo.com/blog-2/naming-the-water for a YouTube video of Samantha Lindo performing this song.

Racial Justice (4): Betraying the system

‘Zacchaeus’, by Revd Ally Barrett

(one of the illustrations in Al Barrett & Ruth Harley,
Being Interrupted: Re-imagining the Church’s Mission from the Outside, In,
published by SCM Press on 30^th November 2020)

Luke 19:1-10

[Jesus] entered Jericho and was passing through it. ² A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was rich. ³ He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. ⁴ So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. ⁵ When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.” ⁶ So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. ⁷ All who saw it began to grumble and said, “He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.” ⁸ Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” ⁹ Then Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. ¹⁰ For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.”

A ‘cutting’ of tree wisdom: Climbing Trees (Genny Tunbridge)

Climbing trees can be life-changing! Zacchaeus was short, so he climbed a tree to be able to see Jesus rather than remain hidden in the crowd.  Often translated as ‘sycamore’, the word Luke uses for the tree - ‘sukomorea’ - really refers to a variety of fig tree. This grows to about 20 metres, with wide spreading branches, good for climbing.

Wealthy, privileged, a corrupt beneficiary of an oppressive system… Zacchaeus had all the advantages, apart from that of height: he needed the tree to be able to see. From high in a tree, things look different – a wider horizon, a different perspective. Zacchaeus’ short stature, his one disadvantage, compelled him to climb so he could see, until - being seen by Jesus – suddenly he was able to see clearly how his own behaviour had disadvantaged others.

Luke rarely mentions precise botanical details, so when he does, we should listen. Elsewhere[1] Luke uses figs and fig trees to symbolise fruitfulness, particularly in the context of repentance and salvation. His contemporaries knew that the sukomorea fig was mostly eaten by poor people who could not afford better varieties. It is surely also not a coincidence that when Zacchaeus repents of how he has defrauded people (verse 8) the word he uses comes from ‘sukophantes’ – meaning an extortioner or defrauder, literally a fig-informer![2] Through this play on words, the fig-tree tells us what Zacchaeus has been, until his encounter with Jesus – helped by the tree – sets him on the path of righteousness[3].

Introduction to the theme (Al Barrett)

I wonder who we identify with, when we read the stories in the gospels, of Jesus’ encounters and conversations with those around him? Often, I’m guessing, we might easily find ourselves in the company of the disciples: those willing followers, who have seen something irresistible in Jesus and his way, who delight in being included in ‘the gang’, but who often come across as slow to ‘get it’ and quick to put their foot in it!

Sometimes, we might be tempted to identify with Jesus himself. Those of us with activist tendencies, especially, are often drawn to Jesus’ busyness: his teaching, preaching, and proclaiming the kingdom of God; the way he challenges the authorities, and welcomes the outcast. We want to be like that Jesus, and we might well have been encouraged – at some points in our life – to ask the question ‘What Would Jesus Do?’, and try to do likewise.

But what about the ‘baddies’ in the gospel stories? ‘The scribes and the Pharisees’ with all their trick questions and power games, the rich young ruler who just couldn’t let go of (all) his many possessions, the Roman soldiers who pop up occasionally as the human face of the occupying Empire, and even the ‘baddies-turned-goodies’ like the hated tax-collector, Zacchaeus. How often do we identify with them?

This question is important. And it’s important not just for how we relate to the stories themselves, but for how those stories shape the way we live our lives, and live out our faith. And who we identify with in the stories is intimately linked with our own identity, and the kind of position and status our identity gives us, in wider society and in church. For example (and this may or may not be obvious!), if you’re a woman, you might well find it easier to identify with female figures in the gospels than males – female figures who often go unnamed, who are not usually counted among the core group of disciples called ‘the twelve’. If you’re a man, the chances are higher that you’ll see yourself among ‘the twelve’, or even put yourself in Jesus’ shoes. Just ponder, for a moment, the way that this might see our experiences of reading the gospels diverge in dramatic, and perhaps even dangerous ways.

Less obviously, the gospels could well read very differently depending on our skin colour, and our different experiences of life because of our skin colour. Whiteness (like maleness, and middle-class-ness too) carries a whole load of assumptions: having the right to speak and be heard, being able to move unchallenged through any public space, being ‘centre-stage’ (the world revolves around me!), being the one who does things – for myself, and on behalf of others – and being ‘in charge’ or ‘in control’. When those of us with these kind of assumptions read the gospels, identifying with Jesus can be very dangerous indeed – it can reinforce exactly those assumptions that are already distorting and damaging our relationships with others.

What’s the alternative, then? For those of us who are white (as well as for those of us who are male, or middle-class, or in a position of leadership, or non-disabled, or heterosexual – let alone a combination of several of these), we might be better off identifying with Zacchaeus. Zacchaeus is an example of someone who benefitted greatly from the status quo, from the way society was organised and from his own position within it. And Zacchaeus, when he encounters Jesus, not only repents of the way he has been living and seeks to make reparations (mostly by giving away much of his money) to those he has wronged, but also, in quitting his role as a part of the Roman Empire’s economy, he becomes a traitor to the system. As in the game of Jenga, he plays his own small part in pulling out one of the many, many bricks in the tower, that brings the whole edifice just a little closer to collapsing.

For those of us who are white, then, following in Zacchaeus’ footsteps invites us to become ‘race traitors’: to pull out the next brick or two in the towers that keep whiteness ‘centre stage’ and ‘in charge’. Remember adrienne maree brown’s words we quoted two weeks ago:

‘Where we are born into privilege, we are charged with dismantling any myth of supremacy. Where we were born into struggle, we are charged with claiming our dignity, joy, and liberation.’[4]

Reflection: Reparations and Reconciliation (Professor Anthony Reddie)

Anthony is a Methodist, an author and educator, and is Director of the Oxford Centre for Religion and Culture.

The resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement has brought our attention to the vexed question of how we mark the past in terms of the systemic racism that has confronted Black people over the past 500 years. Violence unleashed on Black bodies by White power, made manifest in the death of George Floyd, was nothing new. Being caught on camera was new, but his death itself was not. Long before George Floyd’s death, we had the era of slavery and then colonialism and the brutalisation of Black bodies at the hands of White power.

I write this piece as a descendant of enslaved Africans. My surname of ‘Reddie’ is a Scottish name and speaks to the fact that at some point in the 18^th century, a Scottish settler in Jamaica owned one of my ancestors. The sins of the slaveowners were never accounted for in the moral and monetary economy of the nation. On the contrary, at the abolition of slavery in the British empire in in 1834, slaveowners were awarded a sum of 20 million pounds, or approximately 40% of the GNP of the nation at the time. This required the then government taking out a loan that was not repaid until 2015, through taxation. This means that the descendants of enslaved Africans like myself, who are also British citizens, having been paying for the repayment of slavery for the incarceration and oppression of my ancestors.

Many of our major institutions were involved in machinery of slavery, given the stupendous profits that were available for those prepared to dirty their consciences and souls for the dubious privilege of financial enrichment. One of these institutions was the Church of England. So in the context of Black Lives Matter, the call for reparations is one that forces British institutions to consider the legacies of slavery and what can be done to signal real solidarity with Black people, especially those who are the descendants of enslaved peoples.

The 'Black Lives Matter' movement emerged in order to counter the patently obvious fact that Black lives do not matter. This is not just a question of economics or materiality, it is also about seemingly 'ephemeral matters' like the impact on our psyche and associated questions of representation and spirituality. It has been interesting observing the concern of some white people for matters of law and order and governance and property re: the tearing down of the Colston stature in Bristol. The fact that the Church conducted a thanksgiving service for a slave trader (and philanthropist, as if the latter expunges the former) until 2017 is a brutal smack in the teeth for the descendants of enslaved Africans, the majority of whom who still identify as Christians, are Anglicans in the Church of England. It would appear that our loyalty to the state church has rarely, if ever, has been reciprocated. Reparations is not simply about monetary compensation, it is also about the recognition of our pain, frustration and endless wait for justice.

For Black lives to matter, the Church in Britain must consider the needs of their Black sisters and brothers within the body of Christ and be mindful of our psycho-social needs given the legacies of slavery. Black people in Britain continue to wrestle with our existential crucifixion that leads to us being more likely to struggle with mental ill health issues, such as schizophrenia. In light of Black Lives Matter, White people will have to live with the discomfort of wrestling with the legacies of the Edward Colston’s of this world and the patent lack of commitment to confront this unedifying part of British history, in which White Christianity in Britain is rightly indicted.

James H Cone, the greatest of all Black theologians once argued that Theology’s greatest sin was silence in the face of White supremacy.^[5] We saw that quite clearly in the many years in which Edward Colston’s statue stood untouched, with a refusal of the White cultural nationalists who love the Judeo-Christian heritage of Britain, to even countenance the adding of plaque actually naming the pillar of English respectability as a slave trader.

 It is clearly the case that monetary exchange cannot repair the harm that has been exacted on African peoples, but as the current CARICOM initiative makes clear, the call for Reparation is as much for the healing of the damaged psyche of oppressors as it is for those who are the oppressed. Reparations in the context of this paper is a call for a means of justice-making that is necessary if catholicity within Christianity is to be maintained.

Invoking the biblical motif of reparation, one can identify the model of Zacchaeus (Luke 19: 1-10) as a prototype for the model of restorative justice advocated by the Tax Justice Network.^[6] I think the example of Zacchaeus is a classic example for us to consider as we look at the whole question of reparations in light of Black Atlantic chattel slavery. Jesus meets Zacchaeus where he is and offers to come to his house to break bread and partake of a meal. That is, Jesus offers forgiveness by way of accepting his hospitality in the form of a meal, which some have seen as Eucharistic. Jesus’ presence ‘at table’, in fellowship with Zacchaeus can be seen as a sign of God's outpouring of love and grace on the sinner. But this act is not done in isolation. The 'Eucharistic' meal^[7] is accompanied by Zacchaeus giving back the monies to all the people he has wronged and cheated.

In adopting a socio-political reading of this biblical text, one can work on the clear assumption that Zacchaeus’ wealth was accumulated by means of exploitation, and Jesus’ ethic expects Zacchaeus to give back that which he has taken from other, in order to be reconciled to God, through faith in Jesus. Interestingly, Zacchaeus does not need to be told to pay back that which he has wrongly taken. It would appear that his understanding of the ‘Jesus Way’ demands restorative justice as the self-sacrificial price to be paid for entry into this new way of living. Salvation is by means of faith and (restorative) action. Zacchaeus can do it, but the rich young man in Luke 18: vv.18-25, cannot!

The power of this process if undertaken with due consciousness to exposing the truth is one that will be unflinching and unsparing critique of the hypocrisy of White Christianity, particularly, that which has emerged from Euro-American evangelicalism.

The notion of the church as a body that is united under the Lordship of Jesus Christ is one of the enduring truths of the Christian faith. This sense of unity that is so boldly proclaimed as central to the self-understanding of the church itself, has often proved more illusionary than real.  Until the scourge or racism is seen as detrimental to unity, universality and oneness as say doctrinal differences, then the case for sacredness of catholicity within Christianity will remain imperilled. 

The Christian church is obliged to preach a gospel of reconciliation, as her Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, lived a life that was steeped in and was the epitome of reconciling love. The realities of the cross, however, is a poignant reminder that this reconciling love comes at a cost. Many theologians have written of the costly nature of grace, reminding us that mere rhetoric without prophetic action undergirded by a commitment to restorative justice is nothing more than a grossly inadequate watered version of the concentrated real thing. 

In age of Trump, Brexit and Covid 19, in which systemic racism has been made manifest, nothing less than an anti-racist model of Christian discipleship will do. It is my hope that the resurgence of Black Lives Matter will create a change of culture and ethical commitment on behalf of White people in which love and justice for one’s neighbours will be in greater evidence than has been the case in previous epochs. It is my hope that this will prove to be case!  Zacchaeus provides a telling example of what is possible if material, restorative justice is added to spiritual repentance. Too often, Black people have something of the latter, but nothing of the former. It is my hope that this will now change!

This week’s ‘5^th gospel’ reflections are both from white people. This is not an accident, but intentional, as those of us who are racialised as ‘white’ continue to reflect on how we listen, learn and respond to the experiences of racism of our Black sisters and brothers.

Reflection (Ruth Harley)

You may be unsurprised to hear that I have a certain sympathy with Zacchaeus. Not just because – like me – he is ‘short in stature’ but also because, trying to see Jesus in the crowd, he climbs a tree. I have always loved climbing trees. As a child I spent a lot of time up trees and one of the things I loved about being up a tree, among the branches, was the hidden-ness of it. I could look down and watch other people, but they couldn’t easily see me. I wonder whether for Zacchaeus, as well as being a handy vantage point, the tree was appealing because it gave him the option of seeing without being seen?

Or so he thought. But Jesus does see him. Because the truth is, encounter with Jesus is never a spectator sport.  And so Zacchaeus has a choice: stay safely in his tree, unchanged by this strange encounter, or come down and open himself up to whatever might come from it.

I wonder if you can remember from childhood the feeling of being up a tree – or any high place – and preparing to jump? Perhaps you have butterflies in your stomach, or your heart is beating faster. Once you push off and let go, there is no going back.

And so it is for Zacchaeus. And so it is for all of us. Opening ourselves up in relationship with Jesus – as in any relationship – is a risky business, and there is no going back. Once we know something, or someone, we cannot un-know. For me, as a White Christian, that has been my experience of engaging with the experiences of my Black siblings in Christ, and the work of Black theologians. I cannot un-know what I now know about the racism which has pervaded, and continues to pervade, the churches and theological traditions which have formed me. I cannot un-hear the stories of pain and struggle which my Black sisters and brothers have been generous enough to share. I cannot – and I would not want to – go back to being oblivious to the unearned and unjust privilege which my Whiteness confers on me, in the church and society I inhabit.

“The truth,” Jesus said, “will set you free.” And so it will, but perhaps not without a struggle. To quote the feminist writer Gloria Steinem: “the truth will set you free… but first it will piss you off.” And so it should, when that truth is the pervasiveness of the sin of racism, and all the ways that we who are White have – knowingly or unknowingly – benefitted from it. So it should, when that truth is that the church has again failed to keep vulnerable children safe, as we learned in last week’s IICSA report. So it should whenever we see – and cannot un-see – the truth of all the ways we have failed to love our neighbour as ourselves.

But the truth will set us free, however hard it may be to hear. The truth will transform us, as Zacchaeus’ encounter with Jesus transformed him, if only we – like Zacchaeus – are brave enough to come down from whatever trees we are hiding in, to let go of whatever illusions we cling to about ourselves and our neighbours, and allow ourselves to be transformed by God who is truth and love.

Reflection (Al Barrett)

I moved around a fair bit as a child, but most of my childhood was spent between the (very white, middle-class) market town of Newbury, in Berkshire, and a (very white) Royal Air Force base on the edge of London, where housing was ordered strictly by the rank of the RAF employee (in most cases the man of the family). Among many other things my childhood gave to me, I was brought up to work hard, to be polite and respectful, and to do as I was told. Everything around me told me that this was a 2-way ‘deal’: if I kept my side of the deal, then the institutions of society would keep their side of the deal too. Those institutions were there for my benefit: to educate me, to keep me safe and healthy, to enable me to get a job and earn a living, to give space for my voice, to enable me to flourish. And Church was in on that deal too: if I kept my side, Church too would be a space where I could grow and flourish.

Thankfully, that wasn’t the sum total of my childhood learning. I was also brought up to be curious, to ask questions about the world. When we lived in Newbury, the Greenham Common air base was just down the road. We would often drive past the large, colourful camp of the ‘peace women’, and their long-term campaign against the nuclear weapons that were being kept there. I remember the general attitude of the locals to them: these women weren’t hard-workers (they were ‘lazy’ and ‘scroungers’), they weren’t polite and respectful (they were ‘rude’ and ‘smelly’), and they certainly weren’t doing as they were told – and so they deserved scorn, derision, and whatever else was coming to them. But what if – my young self wondered, quietly – what if they’re right?

As I grew up, I began to learn that institutions often care less about people than I thought: that our end of ‘the deal’ often isn’t reciprocated as much as we’d like to imagine, and that they can demand more from us than they have a right to. My dad worked hard, got promoted repeatedly, but did that make him happy? Not so much.

But it took until my mid-20s before I began to realise that ‘the system’ works much better for some people (especially for people who were white, middle-class and male like me) than for others. For most of my adult life I’ve lived in neighbourhoods where it’s been very clear that ‘the system’ is failing many of my neighbours: failing to keep them safe and healthy, failing to enable them to learn and grow and flourish. But it’s only been in very recent years that I’ve really, with my head and heart, begun to understand how much ‘the system’ is failing so many of my sisters and brothers of colour: failing to keep them safe and healthy; failing to educate, employ and pay them fairly; failing to give them justice, to give them space for their voice, to enable them to flourish.[8]

And the Church – the institution that has kept me in a job for the last 20 years – has too often been part of that ‘system’, rather than a prophetic challenge to it. People like me have been part of the problem, rather than part of the change that’s needed. Even in our own local church, in our local councils and boards and other structures – even now – those having their say, making the decisions, setting the agenda remain overwhelmingly white.

Zacchaeus is an uneasy inspiration for me. As a tax-collector he no doubt worked hard, he might well have been polite and respectful, and he did as he was told by the people up the food chain from him. When he encountered Jesus, he didn’t go back to his job as a good, hard-working, ‘reformed’ tax-collector. He calls out ‘the system’, compensates everyone who’d been wronged by it at his hands, and – I imagine – walks away from everything that his previous life involved. He no longer does as he has been told by his masters. He becomes a traitor to the system that had previously benefitted him. I’ve only taken the first few steps on Zacchaeus’ journey of conversion. I know there’s a long way still to go.

Some resources for self-reflection and prayer:

An Examen for Racial Justice

An ‘examen’ is a series of questions for self-reflection, before God, looking back over a day, a week, a season – or even a lifetime!

• Have I fully loved God and fully loved my neighbour as myself?
• Have I caused pain to others by my actions or my words that offended my brother or my sister?
• Have I done enough to inform myself about the sin of racism, its roots, and its historical and contemporary manifestations? Have I opened my heart to see how unequal access to economic opportunity, jobs, housing, and education on the basis of skin colour, race, or ethnicity, has denied and continues to deny the equal dignity of others?
• Is there a root of racism within me that blurs my vision of who my neighbour is?
• Have I ever witnessed an occasion when someone “fell victim” to personal, institutional, systematic or social racism and I did or said nothing, leaving the victim to address their pain alone?
• Have I ever witnessed an occasion when someone “fell victim” to personal, institutional, systematic or social racism with me inflicting the pain, acting opposite of love of God and love of neighbour?
• Have I ever lifted up and aided a person who “fell victim” to personal, institutional, systematic or social racism and paid a price for extending mercy to the other? How did I react? Did my faith grow? Am I willing to grow even more in faith through my actions?

by To Go Forth – a blog from the USCCB, Department of Justice, Peace & Human Development - inspired by Pope Francis.

A Prayer for my White Colleagues in Education, by Sarah Signorino

(although this prayer was written in the United States, in the context of an educational institution, hardly a word would not apply for those of us who are white in a UK context, in our workplaces, neighbourhoods, our society more widely – and yes, our church too)

Lord, help me wallow in my discomfort,
stew in my unease,
sit with my disquiet.

As we journey through this
racialized pandemic,
harmful leadership,
seeing
clear inequities,
anger,
hurt.
Aid us in our focus.

How are we people for and with others?
Help us open our eyes
as we look at our own faculty, our staff, our boards, our students.
What do they look like?
What voices are absent?

Help us acknowledge our history:
What have we done to exclude, persecute, and silence?
How have we been complicit?
Forgive us for not being there, for not doing enough.

How can we invite, empower, and lift up these voices?
We need to do better.
We need to move now.
Who can we invite to our tables?

Help us go to the margins,
especially those at our own institutions.
Let us stand with the lonely,
the sick, the persecuted, those who have been violated.
Let us sit with them,
in our own unease.

Help us listen to these voices.
Help us reflect.
Help us prayerfully act.
Help us rise,
not to erase our discomfort
but to be fully present,
seeking solidarity,
seeking repentance.

Lord, help us wallow in our discomfort,
Let us lean in.

These resources for prayer and reflection are taken from:
https://www.xavier.edu/jesuitresource/online-resources/prayer-index/prayers-for-racial-justice-and-reconciliation

Questions for reflection / discussion

As I read / listened to the readings and reflections for this week…

·         what did I notice, or what particularly stood out for me?

 

·         what did they make me wonder, or what questions am I pondering?

 

·         what have they helped me realise?

 

·         is there anything I want to do or change in the light of this week's topic?

Activities / conversation-starters
with young (and not-so-young!) people

• In today’s Gospel reading, there were things Zacchaeus needed to let go of in order to follow Jesus – his money, his assumptions, his power and privilege… I wonder what you need to let go of? What separates you from God or neighbour, or stops you following Jesus more fully? Write or draw the things you need to let go of on a piece of paper, fold the paper into a paper aeroplane, and let go of it – throw it as far as you can.
• Find a tree you can climb (or, if you can’t go out, either find something to – safely – climb on indoors, or look at the image on the front of this week’s worship pack and imagine you have climbed the tree with Zacchaeus).  Climb to a height were it is just about safe to jump down, but feels a bit risky. Sit in the tree and wonder… I wonder how Zacchaeus felt when he was in the tree? I wonder if it was easy or difficult to decide to come down? I wonder how he felt when he came down from the tree? I wonder how you feel when you look down from the tree and think about jumping? If you are feeling brave enough, jump down… I wonder how you felt when you jumped?
• After Zacchaeus came down from the tree, Jesus went back to Zacchaeus’ house with him for a meal. We don’t know what happened during that meal, or what they talked about, but we can imagine… Imagine a conversation between Jesus and Zacchaeus. You might want to write down what you imagine. You could even turn it into a script and record or video it. 

---

[1] Luke 6.43-45, 13.6-9, 21.29-31

[2] ‘Who cares that it was a sycamore? Climbing trees and playing on words in Luke 19.1-10’, J L Magness (Leaven, vol 5, 1997) https://digitalcommons.pepperdine.edu/
cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1816&context=leaven

[3] Zacchaeus means ‘righteous’.

[4] adrienne maree brown, ‘Report: Recommendations for us right now from a future’, http://sublevelmag.com/report-recommendations-for-us-right-now-from-a-future

[5] See James H. Cone ‘Theology’s Great Sin: Silence in the face of White Supremacy.’ Black Theology: An International Journal, Vol.2, No.2, 2004), pp.139-152.

[6] The Church Action Tax Justice network is seeking to campaign for a progressive and redistributive model tax that will see rich companies pay their fair share of taxation that will contribute to the wider cause of social justice. https://www.catj.org.uk/blog/zacchaeus-tax-campaign

[7] I am not assuming that this meal can necessarily be understood as Eucharistic one in the strict sense of that term; but even if this is not the case, it still represents Christ's healing presence with an estranged individual.

[8] https://bylinetimes.com/2020/06/08/black-lives-dont-matter-in-britain/