I have been working this past year on an effort to encourage people to say the words “labor union” (without epithet) at their place of worship the weekend before Labor Day. My favorite encounter came this summer. I was at a worker justice rally in downtown Raleigh one Monday, handing out snappy fliers with a picture of an apple pie. The flier read “Labor Day is as American as apple pie. So are labor unions!” I spotted a labor trailblazer in a group of people, so I waited politely for my turn to talk to him. I flashed my smile and pulled out a flier, with flourish. He looked at it and said, without a blink, “Do you have a union?” “No,” I answered back. “Why not?” he asked. Huh. Read more
In May 1970, a 23-year-old black Vietnam veteran, Henry Marrow, was killed in Oxford, NC. The circumstances of his death, and the subsequent acquittal of his accused killers by an all-white jury, touched off riots and arson in Oxford, including the firebombing of a tobacco warehouse that sat almost across the street from where this sermon was preached. I (Kara Slade) wrote it with one eye toward the events in Ferguson, MO, and the other towards the history of the community in which I hoped to bring a word of confession, conviction, and hope. The following sermon, delivered on August 17, 2014 at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church in Oxford and based on the RCL New Testament texts for the day [Matthew 15:10-28 and Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32], is the result.
In Christ there is no East or West,
In Him no South or North;
But one great fellowship of love
Throughout the whole wide earth.
Join hands, then, members of the faith,
Whatever your race may be!
Who serves my Father as His child
Is surely kin to me.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
I’d like to begin this morning by noting that there are some sermons that I’m excited to preach, some words that I can’t wait to get up here in the pulpit and share with you. This sermon is not that. To be honest with you, I’m terrified this morning. I’m terrified because the word that the Holy Spirit gave me to give to you is one that might touch on some painful things. But just as a surgeon causes pain in the process of healing an illness, sometimes the proclamation of Word of God can be the same way. All I know is, what I can’t do is ignore those painful places and hope that they go away on their own – because they very obviously won’t. I can’t get up here and pretend that what happened this week didn’t happen, and that what has happened in the past in our own community never happened either. Read more
A colleague recently explained that his target readers are friends in the State Department. I explained my target readers are readers who haven’t given up on the local paper. About a year ago, I sent an op-ed, unbidden, to the Durham Herald Sun. I heard back that they really liked my piece, and that they wanted to run an essay for the first Sunday of every month. (You can find them all if you want, online.) Academics brag about how many words we’ve written in a day, but I have learned that saying something worthwhile in 800 is tricky. Last month, I wrote something on pornography, online education, and pull-down-screen preaching that was so tricky a colleague I respect told me he finds my work “disgraceful.” I stand by what I wrote. It was a good op-ed. I asked people to think, and to ask good questions, and even to laugh at themselves. The following essay is what I have submitted for this month’s entry. I never ran for student government, at San Angelo Central High, at Emory, or at Yale. I am not comfortable playing by rules if the rules are set by people who are intimidated by the truth. In other words, I never wanted to be Hillary, and I will not vote for her. Here is my first op-ed against the Fellowship Family. I don’t like the way they play cricket. And I am tired of seeing people bamboozled or intimidated by bullies who use the name of Jesus as a geopolitical lubricant. They are not beyond redemption. But their behavior is lacking in grace.
“I know I have to forgive him, because otherwise I won’t get into heaven.” A friend said this to me recently about someone who had treated her horribly. Casting forgiveness as a duty is one take-away message from the New Testament. But how did that particular bumper sticker receive such tenaciously sticky backing in mainline, evangelical circles? Harboring a spirit of revenge is exhausting, even toxic. But carrying around the burden to forgive can also warp a soul. A song I sang as a kid goes: “So high, you can’t get over it. So low, you can’t get under it. So wide, you can’t get around it. You gotta go in through the door.” I remember being told that door was Jesus Christ. How did my own will to forgive become the door to heaven?
A few years ago David Crabtree interviewed me about John Edwards. My answers reflect my crushed hopes that John and Elizabeth Edwards were going to facilitate change in the South. I answered David’s question about forgiveness from the gut, and accidentally got it right. The idea that anyone in the Edwards family had a responsibility to forgive John Edwards seemed off. I had heard people in evangelical circles ask a similar question about the Mark Sanford and John Ensign debacles. Don’t family members have a responsibility to reconcile? When asked about one of my own fallen heroes, I said something controversial, but consistent. No.
I believe no one wronged by another human being has a responsibility to reconcile, for two reasons. First, forgiveness is God’s work. To ask a mere mortal to make forgiveness their duty is to mistake a person for Jesus. Second, I have heard the term “reconciliation” used to elide the ramifications of injustice. The word is often used more for opacity than truth. Camera operators apply a thin layer of petroleum jelly to the lens before an actor’s close-up – to make the image more “forgiving.” “Reconciliation” has been used like petroleum jelly in some circles– to blur the truth. Spokesmen have told people who have suffered injustice to focus their spiritual energy right back onto their former relationship to an individual or a group that has wronged them, and then used the blurring power of “reconciliation” to smooth over the fractures of that wrong.
This constitutes religious gaslighting. In case that term is unfamiliar, here is a definition from Wikipedia: “Gaslighting or gas-lighting is a form of mental abuse in which false information is presented with the intent of making victims doubt their own memory, perception, and sanity.” Take, for example, a commonly used Biblical passage from 2 Corinthians: “And all things are of God, who hath reconciled us to himself by Jesus Christ, and hath given to us the ministry of reconciliation.” Whatever this means to a Christian surviving or recovering from injustice, such passages should not be used to conjure an alternative world where wounds are healed because a third party has described them as healed. I have seen “reconciliation” used like a Jedi mind trick. A Christian leader with sufficient training can almost convince a human being that she didn’t see what she saw and did not suffer what she knows she suffered.
A Christian leader whose name became synonymous with “Reconciliation” is Desmond Tutu, for his work with the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa. His name has come up again recently, with an emphasis on “Truth” and the invasion of Iraq. In July, 2012, at a forum on faith and public life, Tony Blair again denied praying with George W. Bush about invading Iraq. Several weeks after the event, Archbishop Tutu publicly refused to appear at a conference on “Leadership” with Tony Blair. “If leaders may lie, then who should tell the truth?” Tutu asks in his September 1, 2012 essay for The Observer. Tutu suggests Bush and Blair “should be made to answer for their actions in the Hague,” and reminds readers: “Good leaders are the custodians of morality.”
I want in closing to ask about the glue that has made a bumper sticker version of forgiveness so tenaciously sticky. The Fellowship Foundation facilitates the colossal, week-long, spectacle of faith and leadership that is the National Prayer Breakfast. The word “reconciliation” appears repeatedly on their official website, and I heard “reconciliation” used as often as “Jesus” when I attended the Prayer Breakfast two years ago. I think the concept is being used to dupe perpetrators as well as survivors, encouraging obliviousness or cynicism. (Blair and Bush have displayed both.) Reading Tutu’s words, and thinking about what truthful reconciliation must mean – whether in matters of war, or domestic violence, or racism, or geopolitics – another “R” word comes to mind. That word is “Reparations.” I’d like some glue on that bumper sticker.
A sermon preached by the Rev. Dr. Kara N. Slade at the opening Eucharist of the Scholar-Priest Initiative conference, at Duke Chapel, June 26, 2014
2 Kings 24:8-17, Matthew 7:21-29
Since confession is good for the soul, I’d like to begin with one of my own. I panicked a little – well, more than a little – when I saw the lectionary texts for this evening. Ordinarily, I’m the first to sign up for anything with a homiletic difficulty setting of “extreme,” but our lessons from 2 Kings and Matthew seem a strange word indeed with which to begin this conference. We have come together to talk about “welcoming theology home,” and yet in today’s Gospel we hear what sounds like a decidedly un-welcoming word from Jesus:
‘Not everyone who says to me, “Lord, Lord”, will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only one who does the will of my Father in heaven. On that day many will say to me, “Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many deeds of power in your name?” Then I will declare to them, “I never knew you; go away from me, you evildoers.”’ Read more
This poem is by Rev. Robert E. Hall, my father. I asked if I could post it for Memorial Day.
Life can come at us, willy nilly,
wound and defeat us,
Grandma E, widowed young by WW I.
She walked to Hilley’s Dress Shop
twelve blocks round trip
six days a week.
On her feet eight hours a day
selling and sewing.
she walked nine blocks to First Baptist Church to worship.
For their new sanctuary,
she did without hair appointments
to fulfill her pledge.
In WW 2, she rented out rooms to make ends meet.
It was not the life she had hoped for.
And yet she was…
Her life was God-led,