I met Wanda about a year ago, when she and her family came to worship at St. Luke's (the congregation I serve in Charlotte, NC). St. Luke's has a reputation (and I have found it to be completely warranted) for being incredibly hospitable. In fact, I tell people "If you do not want to be immediately loved and embraced, then this may not be the place for you."
How Wanda and her family ended up here, is a story that I still get angry about. They had worshiped at other places and not only did they not feel welcomed, they felt un-welcomed (Not un-welcomed by pastors, necessarily - although sometimes by pastors; but by members of congregations). Talking about this with her is actually how our relationship began. You see, Wanda is black and her husband is white, and their children are a beautiful mixture of both. Now...to be clear, I do not believe that there was ever any open animosity directed toward her family (I may be wrong about this), but there was a "feel." Anyhow, while I would most likely have "written-off" church if I were them, they just kept looking...and now, here they are among our growing, colorful gathering at St. Luke's.
The first time she and I met outside of church was at her work (you know, your typical "It's-been-wonderful-having-you-worship-with-us-let's-get-together-and-have-a-cup-of-coffee-and-chat" pastor thing). She is a professor at Johnson C. Smith University (one of the oldest Historically Black Colleges and Universities in the country. Anything I know about such things, she has taught me.). She - among other things - is professor of dance (which, if you know me, made me fall immediately in love with her! Don't tell my husband...hehehe.). So, we met on the campus and had coffee in a great coffee shop there. It was the first time I'd ever been on the campus of a black college. I was immediately aware of my "whiteness." I don't know whether or not she was.
We ordered coffee.
She told me the story of their feeling unwelcomed at other churches (actually, it was her girls who felt it most). And we just started talking.
I have no idea what possessed me (actually, I'm pretty sure that it was the Holy Spirit that possessed me), but I just asked all kinds of questions about what it's like to be black. And she let me ask them on that very first day. And she still does! It's not that we always talk about race, but it is so wonderful to have someone who encourages the conversation and cheers for me, as I gain strength to speak the truth to power. When those conversations get going, I spend a lot of time saying "Really?" "Really? People still act like that?" "You are kidding me!" "I don't get it...I just don't get it." And she just smiles her wonderful smile as if to say, "Oh, dear sweet, utopic Sara (Apparently - according to the online dictionary - I made up the word "utopic." What I mean, is seeing everything as if it is Utopia)." I always end up saying something like "You will tell me if I am being offensive, won't you?" She hasn't done it yet, but she promises that she will.
Anyhow, over the course of this year, we have become friends.
Our schedules have both been a little crazy this summer, so yesterday was the first time in a while that we could get together for lunch. And after catching up on family life in each of our households, I just blurted out in one continuous stream, "I'm so angry about the whole Trayvon Martin thing, and I don't know what to do! And here I am sitting with my white-privilege skin talking to you, and I cannot imagine how you must feel! Aren't you pissed (Sorry, that's the actual word that I used. If you are completely offended, you can just exit the blog)? I feel so helpless. I cannot believe this has happened!" She said something like, "Yes, I'm angry. More sad, really...but not surprised." I said, "Are you serious?!?! How can you not be surprised about this?!?!"
And we talked and talked and talked.
This past Sunday's gospel lesson (Luke 11.1-13) included Luke's version of the Lord's Prayer. In my sermon, I said something like "If the lesson stopped with the end of that prayer (11.1-4), I'd be perfectly happy. But it doesn't."
It's a really hard gospel lesson for me, because it says things like ask, seek, knock...and what you ask for will be given to you, and what you look for you will find, and the door that is closed will be open (11.9-13). But, I know too many people who ask for perfectly obvious and right things (things that I AM CERTAIN are in line with "thy will be done"), and they get no answer.
The face that always comes to mind when I hear this lesson is that of the young woman who shared her story of being beaten and sexually molested her entire childhood even as she prayed and prayed and prayed that it would end, and it never did. To tell her that God answered her prayer, and his answer was "no," is a lie! Maybe worse is to tell her the lie that her abuse is somehow part of God's great plan (which is another way to tell her that God somehow "willed" it for her). So, I struggle with this text. I struggle with the on-going reality of racism and abuse of power and hatred and manipulation - so that the least and the lost and the last continue to be voiceless (not only the Trayvons of the world, but all those who are "little and lost"...For example, those who will have difficulty finding "valid" identification and so will have difficulty voting in future elections.). And I get angry.
But I continue to pray (perhaps out of habit, as much as anything else - thanks Mom and Dad)...I continue to say "Our Father, hallowed be your name" (Luke 1.2).
Sometimes, that's about as far as I can get in that prayer, before I too am angry or sad about the "state of affairs" in the world to pray any further.
My friend, Mark, used to complain about how antiquated the word "hallowed" is. And he is right...It is antiquated. Maybe I'll find a better way to say it. What it means is "let us live in such a way that your name - O, Creator God - is held in honor."
For brief meetings and lunches, and in the safety and seclusion of restaurants and college campuses and church sanctuaries, Wanda and I live in such a way that God's name is held in honor. And we actually discuss how to live "God-honoringly" in our world - where doing so may not be as "safe."
But, if I am honest, that doesn't feel like much. And I still feel defeated and angry. But, I suppose, you are reading this too. And maybe you can string together such times in your place in the world. And for more and more moments and in more and more places we can dare to live in such a way that God's name is held in honor.
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